Chapter 32

32

Nick

Islept like shit last night and even Neal is avoiding me this morning. Usually he likes pushing my buttons but I guess one look at my grumpy mug was enough of a warning for him to fuck off.

I don’t know how many times I’ve checked my phone but Joey hasn’t texted me or called. He did open the messages from yesterday but hasn’t said anything. Brent was probably right and he’s dealing with some kind of family emergency but I just want to know that he’s okay. That his family isn’t fucking up his head. Since he’s been radio silent, I assume they are and that’s why he won’t talk to me.

I open our thread and send him a message even though it’s early and I don’t expect him to be awake.

NICK:

Good morning, baby.

Dragging my ass out of bed, I take a piss and stand in the middle of the room. I should probably go eat breakfast. Or get drunk. It’s five o’clock somewhere.

Food is probably a good idea and it gets me out of here for a while. Away from the memories of Joey and the plans we made for the week.

The dining hall is quiet enough that I have an entire table to myself. Not really what I wanted but probably for the best. I was hoping for some social interaction, something to distract me.

I’m shoving some French toast into my mouth when my phone lights up with a notification. An email from Expedia? What the hell? I’m about to delete it when the subject line catches my attention. Your flight confirmation DEN – SEA.

Clicking on the email, I sigh when I see my name and flight information. Brent bought me a fucking ticket home and it leaves in…seven hours.

I shove the rest of my food in my face hole and clear my tray. I should probably take a shower and shove some clothes in a bag. Do I have clean clothes? Who knows. I can do a load at home if I need to…

As I head into the dorm building, Bryce stops me.

“You hear from Carp?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head.

“I messaged his sister on the book of faces last night and she messaged me this morning saying he was home.”

Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? “Oh, thanks.” I’m a fucking moron. Since I don’t do social media—growing up with foster kids means no sharing of information online—it didn’t even cross my mind to see if Joey had one. Now I have to go stalk it.

I shove some shit into a duffle bag, take a quick shower, then pull up the website on my phone browser, and search his name.

A few people come up but I recognize my Joey when I see him, even if the picture is old. His profile picture is a selfie from a few years ago with a group of hockey players in their kits. All smiles and cheering, so I assume it was a big game they won. He looks happy, despite the bags under his eyes.

Flipping through the pictures he has, I don’t learn much. Hockey and his siblings are all he ever posted about and that was few and far between. His security is shit too. I can see places he’s checked into, family members, friends list, pictures, schools he went to.

A text pops up in my phone and I switch over to look at it.

BRENT:

Get on the damn plane and come home. I’ll pick you up at the airport.

NICK:

Who made you my keeper?

BRENT:

You did.

NICK:

That doesn’t sound right.

BRENT:

🙄 Get on the damn plane.

NICK:

Where’s my Uber?

BRENT:

🖕🏻

Since it’s a Friday night and all of the universities around here are starting spring interterm, it takes a while to get through security, but the flight is short and Brent’s stupid face is waiting for me when I land in SeaTac.

Brent gives me a half smile and a tight hug. Fuck, I needed that. Brent has been my person for years, even from several states away, and I miss him.

“Hey, man, welcome home.”

“Thanks, I think.”

We walk shoulder to shoulder toward baggage claim ten.

“How was the flight?”

I deadpan, “Flighty.” He shoves me and I laugh. “How do you think it was? I made it here, so it wasn’t terrible.”

There are people bustling everywhere, some confused, some walking with purpose. It’s an international airport, so multiple languages are being spoken around us, but it all blends together as background noise with the wheeled bags and crying children.

Of course, my bag is the last one to come out so everyone on my flight has walked off by the time we can leave.

“Do you want to come to my place tonight or head to Mom and Dad’s?”

I drop my head back against the seat and stare at the freeway through the rain. Do I want to see my parents? Yes, but I also don’t want to answer all of Mom’s questions. I don’t want to be alone but I don’t want to be overloaded with people either.

“Your place.”

Brent nods and on the way swings through a Carl’s Jr. because Western Bacon Cheeseburgers are life and I’m starving.

“If you don’t stop checking your phone, I’m going to take it,” Brent says when we’re sitting on his couch. He turns on Doctor Who but I’m not paying attention to it. I’m scrolling through my text thread with Joey. Again.

“Fuck off.”

“That’s it.” Brent snatches my phone from my hand and jerks it as far away from me as he can get it while I launch myself at him. Crawling over him, I pull on his arm, trying to get my phone within reach. Unfortunately for me, he has long-ass arms.

“Goddammit, give it back!”

He rolls into me and we fall onto the floor with a loud thud that I’m sure his neighbors hate me for.

“You need to stop obsessing. Staring at your phone won’t make him text you back!”

We’re both starting to pant as the wrestling intensifies. Luckily, he doesn’t have the athletic training I do, so I’m stronger and faster than he is. Not that it’s doing me any fucking favors right now.

“This is the most reaction I’ve gotten from you since you got here!” Brent grabs my nipple and twists while I howl.

“Motherfucker! What are you, twelve?” I’ve got his arm in an arm-bar but it means I can’t get his other one which has my damn phone.

“My bad, was that your favorite nipple?” Brent yells as I get my legs around one of his.

“Maybe it was, what of it?”

Brent laughs, relaxing just enough for me to get my hand into his armpit and tickle. He lets out a high-pitched screech that makes my ears ring, but he pulls his arm in to protect himself and I’m able to grab my phone. I shove Brent off me and roll away from him, shoving my phone down the front of my pants where I’m pretty sure it’s safe for a minute.

“That was a cute scream,” I pant. “You use that as a mating call so all the girls will come flocking to you?”

“Don’t mock it till you try it,” he laughs. “Fuck, my stomach hurts. I’m too full of bacon and cheese to be roughhousing like that.”

“You’ll be okay, drama queen.” I pat his cheek and leave him on the floor while I go to the kitchen to get water. It’s been a while since I was here but it’s a typical, young person apartment. Dark brown shitty carpet, brown fake wood cabinets from the 80s, Formica countertops, linoleum that’s probably older than me, and white walls. But it’s clean and it’s comfortable. Brent lived with a grandma who was a hoarder at one point and can’t stand to live in messy or cluttered places. He’s a clean freak to the extreme when he’s stressed.

“If you leave the cap to that water bottle on the counter, I will put it in a very uncomfortable place for you to find later.”

A shit-eating grin splits my face as I take another drink and toss the cap on the floor. It slides under the table and hits the wall.

“I’m going to murder you while you sleep.”

I laugh and put the now empty water bottle in the sink, just to fuck with him.

He’s still laying on the floor when I head to the bathroom. “You gotta get some stamina, bro. No wonder you’re single.”

He flips me off but manages to get off the floor while I go to take a piss. My phone slips down my pants and gets stuck at my knee. As I’m trying to reach for it, it starts to vibrate. Grabbing it in a hurry, my fingers hit the screen, and a voice comes from it.

“Uh, Nick?” Joey!

“Shit. Fuck! Joey, hold on!” The bunched-up fabric snags the corners, stopping me from lifting the damn thing free three times. “Hey! There you are.”

My heart flutters in my chest, happy to see him but nervous about what he’s going to say.

“Hey.” There are dark purple circles under his eyes and his smile is small. He looks defeated but is trying to hide it.

“You okay?” I hop up to sit on the counter, ignoring my bladder for now, and lean against the mirror.

“Yes?”

“Are you asking me?”

Joey rubs his eyes, digging his fingers into them. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” I don’t want him to be sorry, I want him to trust me. I want him to need me.

“Disappearing on you and then ignoring your calls. It was shitty but I didn’t know what to say.” He’s looking down, away from the camera, and I hate it. I want his eyes on me. Always on me. “I still don’t.”

“Yeah, that sucked. I’m not going to lie to you. I thought something bad had happened to you.”

He flinches and I hate that too. After a minute of silence, he flicks his gaze up but doesn’t really move to lift his head. “I’m not good at this.”

“Me neither.” I let out a breath, just looking at him. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

His voice is so quiet I almost miss his next words. “I miss you.” He wipes his hand under his eye and fuck if I don’t feel that like a punch to the stomach.

“I miss you too.” A small smile tilts one side of my mouth. “I was really looking forward to a record-breaking orgasm count during break.”

Joey snorts a laugh but finally lifts his head. “For you or me?”

“Both, baby. Orgasms all around.”

He smiles but something off camera catches his attention and it falls. Joey opens his mouth to speak but I talk first.

“What do you need right now?”

“You.”

“You have me. I’m yours, remember?”

In the background, a feminine voice calls his name and he sighs.

“I have to go.”

“Hey, look at me.” He looks half irritated but I don’t think it’s with me. “Take a deep breath and don’t believe the lies they tell you. Their fuckups are not your fault.”

His next breath is shaky but he nods. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yes, you will.”

Joey gives me a small smile and the call ends. My body sags against the mirror as some of the anxiety drains from me. I’m still worried about him but I know he’s physically okay. He didn’t give me any answers but I didn’t ask questions either. It was more important that he reached out to me. Even though he was nervous I would be angry, he called.

A text pops up as I slide off the brown Formica.

JOEY:

Was your phone INSIDE your pants?

I chuckle.

NICK:

Yes.

JOEY:

Why?

NICK:

How else am I supposed to send you pictures of the chocolate starfish?

JOEY:

The mental picture of how you would have to be contorted for that is not sexy.

I cackle as I take care of business and wash my hands.

“Should I be worried that you’re laughing in the bathroom?” Brent is leaning against the hallway entrance when I open the door.

NICK:

How about my dick? It really misses you.

JOEY:

…that is acceptable.

I smirk and put my phone away, shoulder checking Brent on my way past him and ignoring his question.

“You look…happier. Did you jack off in there?”

“Just a little phone sex,” I shrug and drop down onto the couch. “I’m ready for a nap.”

“It’s seven p.m. If you go to sleep now, you’ll be up all night.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

Brent’s phone starts playing the Star Wars “Imperial March” and he laughs. “Speaking of her . . . Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, B, do you have Nick? When are you guys heading out here?”

Brent comes around the front of the couch and turns so Mom can see me behind him.

“Hey, Mom.” I wave to her.

“There he is!” She waves too with the biggest smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re home. When do I get to squeeze you?”

“Probably tomorrow,” Brent informs us.

“Good, I’ll make pot roast for dinner. Are you staying, Brent?”

They go back and forth while I close my eyes. The heaviness of the last thirty-six hours has lifted some and I can finally breathe. Before I know it, I’m asleep.

Emma’s heart-shaped face is lifted toward me, tears in her big, tan eyes while her wild dark hair swirls around her in the wind. There’s a large red mark on her jaw that’s turning purple. I hate the family she was placed with.

No one cares or checks up on foster kids. They don’t look into families to see if the kids are safe there, if they’re happy. Since there are more kids than there are places for them, they don’t care.

A tear falls down her cheek and I brush it away with my thumb, careful not to bump the forming bruise.

“I hate it here,” she whispers. “I don’t want to go back.”

The roaring wind blasts us with rain, soaking the back of me as I try to protect her with my body.

“I have to tell my mom, she can do something. I’m sure of it.” Before the words are out of my mouth, Emma is shaking her head.

“It’ll just make things worse. An investigator will come in and I’ll have to stay there while they look into it.” She shivers in her too big black zip-up hoodie and ripped-up black jeans. Shrugging out of my jacket, I wrap it around her shoulders and zip it up before wrapping my arms around her.

My football hoodie isn’t enough against this weather, especially since I’m now getting wet, but I’ll be okay. She’s so small compared to me, I have to protect her.

Emma curls into me, pressing her uninjured cheek against my chest. I cup the back of her head, offering her every ounce of comfort I can, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. But Mom can help. She has to.

I kiss the top of Emma’s trembling head, frustration and anger turning my face hot.

“Nick! Dinner!” Dad yells from the front door and dread cements my shoes to the ground. I don’t want to walk her home. I don’t want to leave her in that house and wonder what bruises she’ll have tomorrow.

Sliding the sterling silver football helmet pendant over my head, I hang it around her neck. I kiss the helmet before tucking it into her sweater.

Emma lifts onto her toes and kisses me. It’s soft but bitter with tears and fear and resignation.

“I love you,” I whisper against her lips and they tilt up into a big smile. For just a second, her eyes are bright. “Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

She kisses me again, a quick peck this time. “I love you too.”

“Nicholas!” Mom yells this time, clearly agitated.

I growl and turn to wave, acknowledging that I heard her.

“Walk Emma home and come eat, let’s go!”

Huffing, I grab Emma’s hand and pull my jacket hood over her head before heading down the street.

“I don’t want you to go in there,” I say when we get close enough to see the house. Even though this is a nice neighborhood, the kind where kids run around unsupervised all summer, the cops are rarely called, there’s evil here. Everyone knows to stay away from that house. Yet somehow they keep getting foster kids. Kids that never talk about what goes on in there.

“He’s not home, so hopefully I can disappear into a bedroom and hide until school.” Emma shrugs like it’s normal to be afraid of the adults you live with. I guess for her it is. Her birth mom wasn’t physically abusive, just neglectful.

“If he comes after you, come to my house, okay?”

When she doesn’t answer, I shake her hand a little and she nods, but I know she won’t. She never does. She always stays to protect the smaller kids.

Wrapping her arms around my waist, she gives me a quick hug before running for the house and disappearing inside. I don’t leave the sidewalk until I see her wave from the upstairs window. I give her a little wave then hustle back home before Mom gets really pissed.

I’m soaked when I get back, so I have to change my clothes. Mom huffs at me but I promise to be quick.

“Get Brent down here too!” she yells after me. My roommate, foster brother, and best friend typically spends most of his time in our room. He doesn’t handle chaos well.

He’s laying on his bed with headphones on and a book in his hand.

I point to my ears, telling him I need to talk to him, and he pauses whatever he’s listening to and removes one earbud.

“Mom says go eat dinner with us.” I change quickly and he grumbles but climbs off the high bunk bed and follows me out of the room. Mom made spaghetti and garlic bread, which is normally a meal I would inhale, but my stomach is in knots over Emma.

When everyone is sitting and plates have been filled, Mom flicks her gaze between me and my plate that I haven’t touched.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” She reaches for my forehead.

“Emma is being abused.”

Everyone stops talking, even the little kids Jack and Ross who are sitting across from me. They’re six and seven but they know what I just said. No one that comes into this house is unaware unless they’re infants.

“Nick, this isn’t really the place⁠—”

“It’s never the place or the time.” I slam my hands on the table. “She’s being hit. She’s got a bruise on her face this time. That bastard hit her! You have to do something!”

Mom and Dad share a look, the little boys are curling in on themselves, and I want to scream. They don’t handle raised voices well, I know that, and now I feel like a dick. Squeezing my hands into fists until my arms shake, I suck in a deep breath and force myself to speak calmer.

“You’re a mandated reporter. You can’t ignore this.”

“I’m not ignoring it, Nick. I never have.” Mom covers my hand with hers. “The first time you mentioned anything to me, I told our case worker.” I scoff and pull my hand off the table, crossing my arms instead. “They said there was an investigation but nothing came of it.”

“Because any kid that goes into that house is terrified to talk!” I swing my arm out like I’m pointing to the house. As if she doesn’t know which one I’m talking about. “No one ever does and you don’t think that’s weird?”

“There’s no proof, Nick. I’m sorry.”

I shove back from the table, pulling at my hair, and let out a scream as I bend over my knees.

I hate this. I hate being helpless. I hate that someone I love is being hurt and all I can do is sit back and fucking watch.

Hands rest on my back and I don’t have to look to know it’s Brent.

“Breathe, man. Just breathe.” He’s crouched in front of me, talking quietly and calmly, giving me something to anchor myself to. Mom and Dad don’t try anymore, they just let Brent deal with me while they take care of the mess I created.

Fuck. I have to apologize to the boys too. It’s my fault they will be scared and probably jumpy for a while after this.

But all I want is for my mom to hug me and tell me we’ll find a way to help Emma. I drop down onto my haunches and Brent wraps his arms around my shoulders.

I startle awake when something wraps around me. Without thought, I drop off the edge of the bed and roll to standing, panting and looking around for the threat. My heart is pounding and panic is riding me hard. Something tickles my cheek and I swipe it quickly, only to realize it’s tears.

What the fuck is happening?

Rolling my shoulders, I force my body into a relaxed stance and look around again. I’m at Brent’s apartment, not my childhood home. I’m no longer sixteen and helpless.

But you can’t help Joey…

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I head to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I’m not sleeping any more tonight. If I close my eyes again, I’ll be back on the sidewalk waiting for her but she’ll never come out. One of the boys that lived in the house will bring me the necklace and say she left. No one ever said what happened, whether she ran away, was taken away, nothing. The girl I loved and would have died for was taken from me and I never found out what happened to her.

The cold water chases away the last of the fog from the dream, letting the pain of her wash over me and settle in my gut. I searched her name for years, looking for any tidbit of information, but I never found anything.

With my phone in my hand, I settle on the couch and scroll until the sun comes up.