Broken Compass Page 19

  “What is this aura thing like?”

  He rolls his head toward me, lashes lifting, eyes opening to slits. The faint light from the half-open blinds casts his face in milky light. “Blurry vision. Flashes of light… halos. I see halos.”

  “Like those of saints?”

  “I guess.” He lifts an arm and curls it under his head, pale skin stretched over strong muscle. His thick, dark hair is messy. “I saw one around you the first time I met you.”

  For some strange reason, that pleases me. “You know what that means,” I say smugly. “You like me.”

  He doesn’t deny it, which pleases me even more. But then what he says dawns on me. “You had a migraine when we first met?”

  “No. Sometimes I catch it in time. Food helps.”

  “Noted.” And the mystery of the creepy staring is now solved. “I’ll be sure to feed you next time you look at me weird.”

  One side of his mouth curls up. “You really are a funny guy, underneath it all.”

  “Flattery will get you anywhere.”

  “Really? I’ll keep that in mind.”

  For what? I wanna ask. The guy barely speaks to me on the best of days. I gaze at him, at the pallor of his face, the dark smudges under his eyes. He has pretty eyes for a guy, I think randomly. In the dim light they look gray, but they’re actually a golden color, fringed by those thick, dark lashes.

  Not that West’s eyes aren’t pretty, too.

  And why the hell am I thinking of the guys’ eyes? Like I ever noticed guys before. I’m straight as an arrow. What I feel for Syd… is different. Her pull on me is distinct.

  Isn’t it?

  God, what a fucking strange night.

  Light burns my eyes, and I grunt, turning my face away to shield it. My head pounds, a steady, maddening throb in my temples. I come awake in degrees, folded awkwardly on a bed that’s definitely not mine. The angle is all wrong, and there’s a scent all around me that’s pleasant but unfamiliar—like dark spice and vanilla.

  What the hell happened last night?

  I push myself upright, my back creaking, my neck stiff and achy. The fuck. I push hair out of my eyes and rub at my dry mouth. It tastes vile.

  “Rise and shine,” someone says behind my back, and I jerk, only to relax a second later when I recognize the voice.

  “Dammit, don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Nate grins down at me, leaning back against the wall. He’s dressed in sweats and a ratty T-shirt that clings to his chest. He has a mug in his hand.

  I really should stop staring at him. What’s wrong with me? “Hey, is that coffee?”

  “Yeah. For you.” He walks over and places it on the nightstand. “Didn’t wanna wake you. You were knocked out.”

  “Man…” I stretch and yawn hugely, my jaw cracking. “I was bushed.”

  That’s when I catch his gaze on my exposed stomach, and it sends a wave of warmth through me.

  “I’m glad you’re better this morning,” I mutter, dragging my T-shirt back down.

  “Yeah… yeah, I am.” A flush spreads over his cheekbones, and my eyes are drawn to his mouth.

  Whoa. Definitely something weird going on, on either side.

  I mean, I like Nate. I care for him. He’s a friend. But that’s it, right? Finding him attractive doesn’t mean anything.

  And dammit, I’ve never had to question my sexuality before this. Never had the time for it. It’s a complication I don’t need. God knows my life is a fucking mess already.

  “You’ll find another job,” I tell him later, at the kitchen counter, as he pours himself a mug of coffee and tells me about the police raid on the bar where he used to work. “Don’t sweat it.”

  “I’m just… worried.” He says it with obvious reluctance. Nate doesn’t like to appear weak, I know. “That’s all. I wish I had money at the side, for a case like this.”

  “I’ll cover the rent,” I tell him, finishing my coffee. “It’ll be okay.”

  “I hate it when you do that,” he mutters, and my head snaps up.

  “What?”

  “I don’t mean…” He winces. “I don’t hate you. And I appreciate all you’ve done, man. Seriously. But I can’t keep leeching off you. S’not fair.”

  “Life ain’t fair.” I look into the depths of my mug. “I still have some money saved away.”

  “I was saving money to leave,” he says. “But I had to give it to Syd. She was waiting for her mom. And her mom’s not coming back, but the point is… I wanted her to stay.”

  “I know, okay? I know, man.” I totally get it.

  And I see how selfless Nate is, and how much he cares for her, even if he doesn’t show it most of the time. To deprive himself of a chance to leave the hell he was living in just so he’d help her out is something I’m sure I wouldn’t have had the strength to do.

  Respect.

  “Have you talked to West recently?” I see his broad back stiffen at the question.

  “Why is everyone asking me this?” He groans and slams his mug down, sloshing coffee over the rim. “Back off, will ya?”

  “Syd told me West is in trouble. I thought you might know more about it.”

  I’ve been thinking about him, even more since the night we left. West intrigues me. Almost as much as Nate. Although after this latest complication—this… finding-Nate-attractive biz—I’m not sure about anything anymore.

  Nate is wiping the coffee spill, one hand rubbing his temple. His features are pinched.

  “That migraine still bothering you?”

  “No.” Said through slightly gritted teeth. “Not much.”

  Ah-huh. “Do you know what triggers them? Apart from lack of food.”

  “Stress.”

  That makes sense. “And knowing West is in trouble stresses you.”

  It’s not a question but he whips around and glowers at me. “Of course it fucking stresses me. He’s my best friend!”

  I lift my hands. “I know, dude. You just don’t act much like it lately.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He braces his hands on the edge of the counter, hangs his head. “Please, Kash. Check on West for me.”

  “I will.” I get up, come to stand beside him. I’m not really a touchy-feely sort of guy. Tentatively, I rest a hand on his shoulder, and he tenses—then lets out a sigh. “But why keep him at a distance?”

  “Dammit, you’ve seen me, how I was that night. I’m so screwed up. I can’t let him see. He can read me so damn easily. And now he may be in danger because of me.”

  Ah hell. “In danger? Why?”

  “Because his dad has gone after West.” Sydney walks in, and I expect her to glare at Nate like last night, expect to see anger linger in her green gaze.

  I only see sadness. Makes me wonder how much she heard before walking in.

  Then my gaze drifts lower, and I swallow hard. She’s dressed in a white mini dress today, all summery and sexy, a slender black belt drawing my eyes to the dip of her waist and the flare of her breasts and hips. An hourglass figure.

  Yeah, I’m starting to find Nate attractive, but Syd has me wound up already. She slips under my skin, overheats my blood before I know what hit me, and it gets stronger every day. The more I see her, the more I want her.

  What a motherfucking bad idea…

  With a soft curse, I reach down to adjust myself in my jeans—the pair I slept in—and her gaze follows my hand, eyes darkening.

  Then it’s her turn to swallow, and she turns her gaze back to Nate. “You need to talk to us Nate. About your dad.”

  Her words break the spell.

  “The hell I do.” Nate shrugs my touch off and turns around to go, brows drawn together.

  “What were they doing to you?” In my mind’s eye, I see him in his parents’ bedroom, see his mom come out dressed in that transparent nightgown. “Your parents. What did they do?”

  Sydney’s sharp inhale is too loud in the sudden quiet. She leans back against the kitchen door, a
nd twists her hands together.

  Nate has stopped. He’s so still he doesn’t seem to be breathing. His face is white as a sheet.

  Then he shrugs, the movement stiff. “They’re not.”

  “Not what?”

  “Not my parents.”

  Sydney shoots me a shocked look. I can only return it. This sure is news to me. “What about your mom?”

  “She’s not my mom. Stepmom.”

  Stepmom. “Is she the one who used to hurt you?” I ask.

  “No, man, that’s… No.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats, but not before I see them shaking.

  “Your dad?”

  “No, it’s not… Look, I don’t fucking wanna talk about it. Ever. So drop it.”

  “At least tell me what the scars on your back are,” I say.

  “What the hell do you think they are? You said it. Scars.”

  “From what?”

  “From trying to run from home when I was ten. I was caught and punished.” A shudder goes through him, and I’m taking a step toward him, concerned, when he curses.

  Then he pushes past an open-mouthed Sydney, and seconds later the apartment door slams shut.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sydney

  I stare after Nate long after he’s walked out of the room, and the apartment. There’s a hole the size of the planet in my stomach.

  What just happened? I feel as if the ground is crumbling under my feet. The knowledge that Nate, my Nate, has been hurt so badly is carving me up inside like a rusty knife.

  Kash looks equally stunned. He’s leaning against the counter, eyes wide, looking at nothing, red splotches of color on his otherwise ashen cheeks.

  “Come here,” he says after a moment, and I shake my head.

  Last night I went in to talk to him about West, about his father’s threatening attitude, though what went down between West and me… that was another reason. West kissing me. Touching me. Making me come. And then his strong body arching against mine as he found his release.

  I feel hot all over just thinking about it. It felt wonderful.

  And bad. For some reason I feel as if I cheated on Nate. And Kash.

  Which is ridiculous. But I somehow thought I’d tell Nate, get it off my chest. Confess. But the way Nate looked at me last night was like I was a sugary morsel, and he wanted a bite. He was hard, it was impossible to miss it, as he looked at me clad only in my towel.

  But he all but kicked me out. I was so mad at him—and then it turned out he’d been laid out with a bad migraine all night. That he was worried about West, after all, despite his claims to the contrary. That, and his confession that his dad did hurt him, or had something to do with it, that his scars are from an attempt to escape when he was but a little kid… and my heart feels so heavy.

  I let him down. The guy who was putting money under my door all those months so I could stay, so I could wait for my mom even though I knew she wasn’t coming back.

  “Syd,” Kash says hoarsely, and this time I go to him and let him pull me into his arms. “It will be okay.”

  Will it? How?

  “Give him time,” Kash whispers, as if he can read my mind, his heart pounding against my ear through his powerful chest, his T-shirt warm and smelling of spicy deodorant and Kash. “It’s the first time he has talked about it. It’s a start.”

  I nod, the feel of his arms around me both comforting and exciting. “He trusts you.”

  “He trusts you too, Red. But you’re the girl he wants. He doesn’t want to appear weak to you.”

  “Weak? He’s the most stubborn, pig-headed jerk I’ve ever met.”

  Kash chuckles, the sound rumbling in my ear.

  The girl he wants.

  If so, why is he pushing me away all the time?

  I think again of his scars and burrow closer to Kash’s warmth. It makes no sense that I feel so protective of Nate. He’s a guy, so much bigger and stronger than me, almost a man, just like Kash.

  But it’s the child he was that I feel so protective of. The playful boy I caught glimpses of when I first met him, now buried in a fortress of stone. Now I understand the walls he’s been guarding his heart with. But what the hell happened to him?

  Why won’t he say?

  Over the next days, I see West at school. He greets me and acts all normal, like he didn’t have his hand in my panties, in me, like he didn’t kiss me like he was thirsty for me.

  Like I didn’t kiss him and touch him back, like I didn’t see him bared and hard for me.

  It’s weird. But I’m so confused right now—with how my heart aches for him, and for Nate, and with the memory of Kash’s kiss still burning in my mind almost a year later. My thoughts, my feelings are cartwheeling, spinning out of orbit, crashing all over the place.

  Even worse, when I ask about Nate’s dad, West tells me nothing else happened, and not to worry. When I ask about his granddad and sister, he doesn’t answer. When I lean close to him during the bio lab, he pulls away.

  I can’t. Three boys, gorgeous, kind, complex. Confusing the hell out of me. They’re hot and cold, showing me one thing, and then the other. I care for them, all three of them. I want them happy.

  But how?

  God, enough of waiting for them to do or say something. Enough. I need to act.

  West walks me to the bus stop, quiet and brooding. I take in his beautiful profile, the strong set of his shoulders, and draw a deep breath.

  Then I rise on tiptoe, put my hands on his chest for balance and plant a kiss on his cheek. “There.”

  He blinks at me, those pretty blue eyes confused. “What?”

  “You don’t get to shut me out,” I inform him. “Not like Nate tried to do. I won’t let you.”

  He’s staring at me.

  “I care for you,” I say, and my throat clogs up. “If it’s because of what we did, if you don’t want it, that’s okay. But please don’t shut me out.”

  “Syd…” He hauls me into his arms, and it feels so good that I have to swallow a sob. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not sure what you want from me.”

  “I want…” I press my cheek to his chest and listen to his heartbeat, heavier than Kash’s, inhale his scent of soap and pine and peppery sweat. So uniquely West. “I want you.”

  He kisses me. His kiss is hot, and hard, and it lights me up. My arms wind around his neck and he backs me up a few steps, his mouth chasing mine, his tongue thrusting against my tongue, making me moan.

  The press of his body on mine, the scrape of his stubble on my skin, his hands on my back, his mouth, his taste… I’m burning, and throbbing between my legs. I’m wet. Dripping wet and hot all over.

  Holy shit. Just from this.

  When he draws back, I’m panting, and so is he. His gaze locks with mine, his pupils blown wide. “Syd…”

  The bus arrives. Other students are staring at us, some giggling and pointing as they start to climb inside. And all the while in the back of my head, a voice is screaming that I’m messing this up more than I already have, instead of fixing it.

  “What are we doing?” West whispers.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, even as the ache between my legs is so maddening I want to rub my thighs together, ease the pressure.

  “Me neither,” he admits. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with you, but I just can’t stop. I don’t wanna stop, Syd. Sometimes…” He rubs a hand over his face.

  “Yes?”

  “Sometimes you’re the only light in my world.” He says it so softly. So seriously. It scares me. And it makes me giddy.

  My heart is racing as I take his hand. “Let me help you.”

  He says nothing, mouth tightening.

  “Please, West.”

  This time he gives a curt nod. “Fine.”

  “Will you tell me how things at home are?”

  “I will.”

  “Promise to tell me if I can help?”

  He breathes in. “Sure
.” He stares down at our linked hands, then up, into my eyes. There’s a question there, but I don’t have the answer.

  I don’t have any answers at all.

  Nate’s door is closed when I arrive home in the night. After my shift at the ice cream parlor, I got a babysitting gig looking after two cute girls, but by the time I make it back, it’s kinda late.

  Worry gnaws at my stomach. Isn’t he in yet? I doubt he already landed another night job. Holy frigging shit, these boys are going to give me ulcers.

  Shrugging off my light jacket, slipping off my sandals, I have a glass of water and tell myself to stop worrying. Also, he may be inside, already asleep.

  But my mind won’t give it a rest, and besides, what would it hurt to just check that he’s here?

  Cracking his door open, I glance inside.

  There he is, fast asleep, lying on his back on top of his bed. He’s still fully dressed, one arm folded under his head. Faded blue jeans, black tank top, bare feet, messy dark hair. He looks as if he lay down to rest and fell asleep.

  His lips are parted. His jaw is dark with stubble. He’s utterly beautiful. Why does he have to be so gorgeous? So gorgeous, and so sad.

  As I stand at his door, transfixed, he makes a sound. It’s not a good sound, more like a choked moan. Then his back arches off the mattress, and he gasps out loud.

  “Nate!” I take a step back, then a step forward, unsure what to do. “Nate. Wake up.”

  He hauls himself up on one elbow, drawing ragged breaths, then drags his hand over his face. He blinks at me but doesn’t seem to see me. In the strip of light from the door, his face looks ashen and gray.

  Boy, that must have been one hell of a bad dream.

  I move slowly toward the bed, but when I approach him, he scoots back, curling in on himself.

  “Nate, it’s me, Sydney.” I sit on the edge of his bed. What I want is to climb on the bed with him, stroke his hair, wrap myself around him and chase away every bad dream.

  But when I reach for him, even as my hand touches his bare arm, he jerks back again.

  “Get off me,” he hisses, his voice unrecognizable, “get the fuck off me.” He shoves at me and scrambles back, his head hitting the wall with a thunk. “Don’t fucking touch me.”