Broken Compass Page 18

  He likes to razz me about it, a hint of bitterness showing through sometimes. He doesn’t like me being, as he calls it, a “chick-magnet.”

  I bet that was him before I got this job beside him.

  “You can have them,” I tell him, like every time.

  “Choose one. Go for it. They’re pretty chicks.”

  Not to me, they aren’t. Whenever I think of girls, there’s only one face in my mind—freckled, with green eyes, a full mouth, an oval framed by red curls.

  I’m fucked. I knew that from the day I met Sydney. Nothing has changed.

  “You really aren’t into girls? How about we get you some boys to have fun with?”

  “Fuck off,” I hiss, my breathing picking up, my heart starting to race.

  “Touched a nerve?” Jonah laughs, delighted, as I stalk away from the bar, trying to control myself.

  Not to throw a punch in his smug face.

  Not to throw up.

  In the back room, I take deep breaths. Fuck you, Jonah. Fuck you, world. You won’t win. I won’t let you, I won’t.

  But every day feels like a defeat, every touch is pain, every thought is hell, and no matter how fucking hard I’m fighting it, I wonder how much longer I’ll last before it crushes me to the ground.

  “How’s things?” Sophie asks me as I wipe down the counter.

  My new morning job is at a small movie theater, where I man the counter during matinees and also mop and clean. What can I say? I’m a jack of all trades. Whatever pays the rent. Kash can’t keep paying for all of us.

  “Hey, Soph. Same old. How about you?”

  “Oh I’m fine.” She grins and grabs the rag from my hand, wiping down the rest of the counter. “I did the nails of a lady so old she must have dated Noah. But now she has the most amazing nails you ever saw, courtesy of yours truly. I bet she’ll land a hunk in no time.”

  I snort. “Life-changing nails?”

  “Sexy nails.”

  Sophie works next door in a beauty salon, doing nails and studying beauty magazines. One day she wants to open her own shop.

  She’s undemanding. Friendly. She’s content to talk sometimes, and nothing more, even if everyone here thinks we’re an item.

  “You look happy,” she says.

  I shrug. “It’s a quiet morning.”

  The truth is that life is pretty good right now. Living with Syd and Kash is cool, even though leaving school was a hard choice.

  Well, not much of a choice, really, not unless I wanted dear old dad to come after me. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, and I’d beg to stay where I am now.

  And the days are good, mostly. Bright. Peaceful. If I manage to avoid thinking about the nights, I’m peachy.

  “You said you work another job nights?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “A dive-bar. The Dirty Dawg.” I wince at the name. “I bet that tells you all you need to know about it.”

  She laughs. “It’s almost as bad as the Nail Princess.”

  That’s the shop next door where she works.

  “Both are fitting names,” I mutter, distracted when a couple walks in, hand in hand, staring into each other’s eyes, lovestruck.

  My stomach clenches, my chest goes tight. If only I could…

  But no. Fuck, stop this.

  “Hey, Nate.” Sophie hums as she hands me back the rag and raps her multicolored nails on the surface of the bar. “I should leave you to work.”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “Talk to you later.”

  Why does love have to be so damn hard?

  Working all day and most of the night means I barely see my roomies, and it’s both a curse and a blessing—a burden and a relief. They saved me. I owe them everything, I owe them my life and what scraps of sanity I have left. If Kash hadn’t grabbed me and hauled me away that night… if Sydney hadn’t come along and talked to me for days until I could register her words, her presence a warm counterpoint to Kash’s strength… I don’t know where I’d be.

  And my way of showing my gratitude is to avoid them.

  But I need to work, I remind myself. I’m not avoiding them on purpose.

  Well, not most of the time.

  Tonight I’m home early. Again, not by choice. Thing is, the bar closed early, if not permanently. A drunken argument turned into a fist fight, turned into stools and bottles flying, windows crashing, and then the cops showed up.

  No idea who called them, but the bar isn’t exactly legal, and neither am I. My fake ID wouldn’t pass careful examination, and surely not that of an officer of the law.

  I barely made it out the back door and would have run all the way home, if I didn’t have this idea stuck in my mind that anyone running like hell appears suspect. As it was, I speed-walked, so fast I made it home in half the time I normally need.

  So here I am, adrenaline buzzing in my blood like a live current, closing the apartment door behind me and leaning on it, still trying to catch my breath.

  Goddammit. That was close. And now I’m probably out of a job. I doubt the bar will pass inspection.

  My eyes are blurry, and I rub them, trying to clear them. My neck is so stiff it hurts. I roll my shoulders and groan. What a shitty evening. I haven’t even gotten paid for this week yet. I might as well kiss that money goodbye. Money I need for my part of the rent.

  Yeah, this sucks ass. I’ll have to find something else. Maybe Kash has some idea, or… or West.

  Shit, West. It’s been so long since I last saw him or talked to him… Too fucking long. Ever since that goddamn night, I couldn’t bear to see him. I don’t even know why. I guess… it’s because he saw me, really saw me that night, saw the wreck of a man I was, the shreds of my sanity trailing to the ground, and then walked away.

  Even worse, I’m not sure if I’m disgusted or relieved. After all, I’m still a wreck, even though I put on a good face. As for my sanity… I bet I’d give any shrink a field day.

  I just wish I could stop thinking about West, wishing… wishing for his voice, his presence, his laughter, his arm around my shoulders. His friendship, and his affection.

  A hand trailing on the wall for balance, I stagger into the living room. Thinking, obsessing, wishing. All useless. What I need is to take some painkillers and lie down in the dark and quiet, sink into nothingness. Tomorrow I have my morning job to do, I can’t afford to miss it.

  Our ancient TV is on, a wreck Kash rescued from a trash pile on a street corner.

  Another wreck. He likes collecting them. First me, then the TV set. The TV works better than me.

  I can hear the shower running, and I wonder if it’s Syd or Kash. I’ve barely made it to my bedroom door when my question is answered: Sydney emerges in a cloud of steam, clad in a fluffy pink towel.

  Even fuzzy around the edges, she’s so sexy she short-circuits my already misfiring brain.

  “Nate.” Her voice is warm and low, golden like honey. Soothing. Arousing. “Didn’t know you were home. Isn’t it still early?”

  Home. I like the word on her lips. I like the towel wrapped around her curves that’s baring so much of her freckled skin, revealing her shapely legs, her rounded shoulders, the shadow between her breasts.

  My body reacts instantly, like every time she’s around, tightening my muscles and hardening my dick. God, I want her. If only I could push her up against the wall and sink into her.

  If only the thought didn’t excite me as much as it made me sick to my stomach.

  Swallowing, I close my eyes and rub a hand over them. “Yeah. I’m gonna turn in. Night, Syd.”

  “Nate, wait. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Please.”

  She enters my room and I stumble backward until I land on my bed, throwing my hands back to brace myself.

  I growl. “What?”

  “Look…” She holds her towel in place with one hand over her boobs. It draws my eyes there, and my
dick gives a hard throb, trying to drive a hole through my pants.

  “I am looking.”

  A blush spreads over her cheeks, her neck. “Crap… I’ll go get dressed.”

  “No.” I want her there, in front of me, “No. Don’t.” Cuz I want to keep looking. I want so much with her. If only I could reach out and take it, take her.

  This is fucked up…

  The blush reaches the top of her breasts, and I watch, fascinated, as the twin mounds rise and fall on a breath.

  See, with this girl I always get hard. I’m so damn hard right now, but just the thought of rolling her under me, kissing her senseless, spreading her legs and… and fucking her…

  Cold sweat breaks on my brow and I swallow hard. Jesus fuck. My eyes blur again and dizziness hits me. It’s coming. There’s no stopping it now.

  Joy. “So what did you wanna tell me, Shortcake?”

  She’s giving me a serious look, so at odds with her fluffy towel and the cute ringlets of hair, the sexy curves, the pretty beestung mouth. “I’m worried about West.”

  “West.” I bitter snort escapes me, because wasn’t I thinking of him just now? And wish I wasn’t. “I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Don’t do that, Nate. Don’t pretend not to care.”

  Anger flares in my chest, making my blood pump faster in my veins, twisting the vise of pain around my head. “I said I don’t give a fuck. He chose to stay behind, and you know it.”

  “And you know his reasons. Heck, you named them for us that night. West has his own problems to deal with.”

  Lights flash in the room and I groan. Not this. Not now. “You fucking kidding me? He has problems? Stop making up stories, Syd.”

  “I’m not.” Her eyes glitter, furious, reflecting my own anger. “And you know it. You know how his granddad treats him, how his sister is so messed up. You should know better than anyone. You’re his best friend.”

  “Was,” I say bitterly. “I was his best friend. Poor little lost boy. His granddad doesn’t love him. I’m brokenhearted.”

  “Damn you, Nathaniel Brady,” she whispers, her hand clenching in her towel, brows knit. “You of all people shouldn’t compare heartaches.”

  “What does that mean?” My head is pounding so hard I think I’m gonna throw up. “Shit. You know what? Save it.”

  “What did your dad do to you, Nate?”

  “Nothing. I’ve fucking told you, okay? Nothing—”

  “You’d better be telling the truth, because now he’s after West.”

  I sit up, groaning at the spike of pain behind my eyes. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.” Her voice is cold, and it’s all wrong. “He threatened West.”

  The room lurches, and I grab at the bedsheets not to topple over and fall to the floor. “My dad threatened him?” I feel like I was kicked right in the gut. “What the fuck. Are you sure?”

  “I was there. He demanded West tell him where you are. Told him they’d have a talk later.”

  “Is West okay?”

  She rolls her eyes. “How about you ask him yourself? You haven’t talked to him in months.”

  Dammit. “He has to leave there. Oh fuck…” Bile rises in my throat. Memories tangle with the here and now, twisting me up inside. “Tell him to leave, Syd.”

  She should leave, too, in case I toss my cookies at her feet, but instead she frowns down at me. “Will you tell me now what your dad did? What the danger is?

  “I can’t, Syd.” I bite back a moan. “Can’t tell you. And I can’t face West.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t. Just… tell him to get out of there. Please.” I bend over and close my eyes, praying to a God I’m not sure I believe in for the pain to go away. Acid fills my mouth. “Do this for me.”

  “What’s wrong?” A sharp intake of breath. “I will tell West, but are you sick? You look awful.”

  “Go, Syd.” My stomach roils and cramps, but there’s no way I can make it to my feet, let alone to the toilet in time. It’s okay. The trash can is by the bed, always within easy reach. “Get out.”

  “Nate—”

  “Out.”

  I open my eyes to slits as she turns and stomps out, slamming the door shut behind her, her outline burning with bright light, the room tilting. The slam tears through my head like a blade.

  Hissing, I grab the can, drag it closer and retch, my stomach contents rushing up—and then I’m puking my guts out.

  I barely draw breath before I puke again. The acid burns my throat, my mouth, makes my eyes water and leak.

  Fuck. I fucking hate this. Someone shoot me.

  By the time I’ve emptied my stomach completely, my head feels like it’s about to burst. Curling up in a ball on the bed, I close my eyes and hope to pass out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kash

  The restaurant wasn’t busy tonight, so I’m home half an hour early, and I’m in a good mood, despite the creepy, itchy feeling I got between my shoulder blades on my way back.

  As if someone was watching me.

  But that’s bullshit.

  When I open the apartment door and find Syd at the kitchen door, looking my way, I smile. Tossing my keys in the bowl on the table, I take in her sexy sleeping shorts and the white T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, my gaze lingering on the lush curves clearly visible underneath, and my mood brightens again.

  “Hey, girl, what’s up?” To be perfectly honest, I’d been looking forward to coming home, to this girl, even if she isn’t into me. I think I’ve felt like this for a while, but only realized it tonight.

  But Syd sniffs and turns away. “Nate’s an asshole,” she says, and I lift a brow.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. What happened?”

  “West is in trouble, but Nate just doesn’t care. And I’m done with him.”

  Whoa. “Wait, Syd—”

  But she flounces off to her room and slams the door shut.

  What the hell now? Girl is in love with Nate, so what happened? She worships the earth beneath his feet, even if he rarely allows her near him anymore.

  With a sigh, I shrug off my denim jacket, toss it on the back of the sofa and wander into the kitchen for a glass of water, or maybe a beer, if Nate left me any.

  Turns out he has. I screw off the top and sip at it, standing at the kitchen window, staring out, at the nightscape—more buildings, some houses, a few trees, just shapes cut out of darkness.

  The night wraps around me, grips my chest in a hard fist, my excitement to get home from earlier dimming. What am I doing here? Why haven’t I left yet? Against my better judgment, I stayed. I helped Nate. If he and Sydney are fighting, that’s none of my business.

  Maybe it’s time for me to go.

  Opening a second beer, I wander out into the living room, my thoughts spinning in a loop.

  Nate’s pretty fucking messed up, and although I have a pretty good idea why, I never got the whole story. Even when I dragged him out of that room, out of that apartment and that life, when I sold the rest of my stuff to provide for him and Syd, and didn’t vanish into the shadows as was my plan, he never opened up to me.

  If anything, he speaks much less to me now than he did then. I’ll never forget that first time I met him, when he came and talked to me. Yeah, I was the closed-off guy back then and though I don’t kid myself that I’ve turned into a chatterbox now, I try.

  Like I wanted to try tonight, to talk to Syd, ask how her day was, tell her about mine, but she barely glanced at me.

  And why am I so disappointed that she locked herself up in her room? All this time I’ve been avoiding her, and now I want her to stop and make time for me? Take care of me?

  Fucking stupid. As if she could, even if she wanted. And that’s all right. It’s as it should be. It’s just that… I get so lonely sometimes, in this self-imposed exile.

  The apartment is so quiet. Nothing is moving.

  Except for what sounds lik
e a groan. From Nate’s room?

  I’m seeing and hearing things tonight, it seems. Lifting the bottle to my mouth, I take another swig of cold beer, let it slide down, cooling me, numbing me.

  But the uneasy feeling that started as I hiked home from the bus stop earlier is back, and before I know it, I’m knocking on Nate’s door.

  “Hey, it’s Kash. Nate!”

  No reply, and I’m about to turn away, when another groan drifts through the door, raising the hairs on my arms.

  Shit.

  I burst in to find him curled up on the bed, face scrunched up in pain, the stench of sour vomit making me gag. I know what this is.

  Migraine. I Googled the fuckers after that goddamn night at the party where I tried to get Nate and West to shake hands again. Fat lot of good it did them. The truce didn’t last all that long.

  With a curse, I carry the trash can with the sloshing vomit to the bathroom and empty it, then rinse it and carry it back, in case it’s needed again.

  Then I sit down on the bed and pass Nate anti-nausea pills, painkillers and a glass of water. “Hey, buddy. Take these for me, will ya? They’ll help.”

  He grunts something unintelligible but doesn’t resist when I stack his two pillows and prop him up. He swallows the pills without hesitation, then lies back on the pillows, eyes closed, and I stay beside him, waiting for the medication to kick in, lost in my own thoughts. His breathing is quick and shallow, punctuated with uneven, sharp intakes when the pain spikes.

  It makes my own breathing catch, my heartbeat pound behind my eyes. I wish I could help more, better, take away the pain.

  At some point he asks if I can switch off the light, and I get up to do so. “Makes the headache worse?”

  “Yeah.” His voice is a rasp. “The aura shit is bad enough.”

  “Aura?” I flick the switch, plunging the room in darkness, the only light filtering through the slats on the window, faintly illuminating the bed and Nate. I blink, waiting for my vision to adjust.

  Aura. Wait, that rings a bell. Something about vision disturbances that sometimes accompany migraines.

  Hell.

  More time passes.