FORTY-TWO | NATHAN
I leaveStassie Tetris-ing our suitcases and head to the kitchen to grab her a drink, desperate to get out of the way so she doesn’t ask me to help.
Pushing the door open, weirdly, the one person I’m not expecting to bump into is my dad. It sounds silly to say you bumped into someone in their own house, but he’s never home.
I suspect he hasn’t noticed me, too busy engrossed in whatever he’s reading, but then he speaks. “What time are you leaving?”
“A couple of hours.”
“I like her. She’s strong willed. That’s good. She’ll need it if she wants to succeed. You love her?”
“Yes.”
He nods to himself and finally looks at me, linking his hands and resting his chin on them. “She reminds me of your mom when I first met her. Bold, beautiful, not afraid of anything. She called your grandfather a pigheaded misogynist once, y’know.” He smiles, and for the first time in so long, it feels genuine. “To his face as well. I almost choked on my drink, I was mortified, and when we argued about it, she challenged me to prove he wasn’t a pigheaded misogynist.”
I lean against the worktop, giving him my full attention, desperate to hear about Mom. “I didn’t know that.”
“I couldn’t, obviously. Your grandfather was a bastard, for lack of a better name for him. He was very hard, and your mother didn’t like it about him. I think she was the only person who’d ever stood up to him in his whole life. She was the only person who ever stood up for me, at least.” He picks up the papers he was reading, and I think the conversation is over, but he puts them back down, sighing. “Anastasia loves you, too, that much is clear. A woman like her, one like your mom…she’ll be fiercely loyal and protective. You’re lucky.”
“If Mom was so great, why did you do it?”
I don’t need to clarify what it is. He knows what I’m talking about, even if I haven’t said the words.
“Humans make mistakes, Nate.”
“Some mistakes are unforgivable.”
He nods. “I know.”
Stassie burst into the kitchen, slowing when she spots the two of us on either side of the island. “Sorry to interrupt, I can jus—”
“What’s up, Stas?”
“I need you to sit on the case. It won’t close and Sasha isn’t heavy enough.”
“I’ll help in a second.”
She nods, leaving as quickly as she arrived. I look back at my dad, but he’s returned to whatever papers he was looking at earlier.
Right now, with the defeated slack of his shoulders and the blank expression on his face, I realize, for all his faults, no one can loathe him more than he loathes himself.
* * *
It feels bittersweetto be heading back to LA. Sure, putting a thousand miles between us and my dad is the best thing to do for everyone’s sake, but I didn’t get enough of watching Stassie go full big sister on Sasha.
I know I should be grateful for the day they did get together since we weren’t supposed to see her at all, but I’m greedy. I’m greedy to see them both so happy in each other’s company.
Stassie’s New Year’s resolution is to read more, so our entire flight back to California is spent with her nose buried deep in the book she bought at the airport.
“It’s a reverse Pretty Woman retelling,” she tells me excitedly. “She’s autistic and she hires an escort to help her get better in bed. It’s so good and Stella is so funny and cute.”
I pinch the book from between her fingers, examining the turquoise cover, then flicking to a random page in the middle of the book. “You’re reading porn in public? You’re disgraceful!”
Her hand flies toward my mouth, shushing me as I throw my head back laughing. “Stop shouting,” she rasps, looking around to see if anyone is listening to us. Her voice lowers, and she pulls me closer. “It’s not porn. It’s a romance book that happens to have a little bit of sex in it.”
She tries to hide her face, but I hook my finger under her chin, tilting her face up to mine. I gently press my lips to hers, leaning into her ear to whisper. “Anything you read, I’ll do to you when we get home.”
When I lean back, I can see thousands of possibilities flashing across her face. “It’s honestly not that kind of book…but I do have some at home that might be,” the flush of her cheeks intensifies, “of interest to you.”
“I love a woman who enjoys reading.”
* * *
“Fuck off,Hawkins. You’ve had her for weeks, can’t you share her for two freaking minutes?”
I wasn’t even doing anything when Sabrina started hurling abuse at me. Well, I leaned over to kiss Stassie on her head as I passed the pair of them, but other than that I’ve left them alone. Henry, however…
“You’re not the only one who needs to talk to her, Sabrina,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and putting his big-ass feet on the coffee table like a petulant child. “I have stuff, too, y’know.”
Crossing the room, winking at her instead of going near her, because Sabrina fucking terrifies me, I throw myself down beside Hen. “S’up with you?” I hand him a beer while he looks at me like I’ve got two heads. “Your stuff? Can I help?”
“I don’t have stuff…but I could have stuff if I wanted to have stuff. I could have more stuff than Sabrina. I could have more stuff than all you guys.”
“No one has more stuff than Sabrina,” Robbie whispers, looking over his shoulder to check she’s not listening. “Both metaphorically and literally.”
Catching up with the guys took all of fifteen minutes when we got home, but Sabrina can’t do anything within fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes is her minimum warm-up time.
After another hour of hushed conversation in the kitchen, Anastasia saunters over with Brin and squeezes her ass between me and Henry. “Did you have a nice Christmas, Henry?”
“You drowned,” he says in response.
It stuns her a little and her head whips round to look at me, quickly looking back to Henry. “I know, but I’m okay now. Nathan pulled me out.”
“You could have died.” He’s looking at his hands instead of her, and I don’t know why I’m surprised. Henry loves Stas like she’s his sister, and he’s messaged me every day to check she’s okay. I thought that was enough for him but clearly not.
“But I didn’t and I’m here,” she says softly, leaning her head against his shoulder.
He stands up quickly and heads to the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator for longer than he needs to. “Can we go to bed? I’m tired,” she says to me quietly. I take one last look in Henry’s direction and give her a nod, knowing the kid needs a bit of space.
Following her upstairs, we work as a team to wash, undress, and brush until we can tumble into bed. She snuggles into me, tracing her fingers across my chest. “I miss your bed.”
“Want me to buy the same mattress?”