Stars (Penmore #1) (27 page)

“I’ll go help him. How about you girls go sit in my car.”

I don’t even know how we do it, but we follow his instructions. I don’t remember gripping Marissa’s hand in mine. I don’t remember her unlocking the doors, us climbing silently into Andy’s BMW completely consumed in our own grief, crying our own tears, but not letting go of each other.

I think I see the blue and red flashing lights in the rear-view mirror. I think I recall, after hours of yellow tape and movement, Gray opening the door, pulling me into his arms then carrying me like a firefighter to his car.

I know he whispered, “Sleep, baby,” before he placed me along the backseat.

And I did. I don’t know how, but when the darkness embraced me I went willingly.

In the darkness, none of this was real; Nate was laughing and teasing me there.

It was only in the light that I had to admit that it was indisputable. With my eyes open, I had to accept that he would never laugh again.

GRAYSON

I couldn’t sleep. I watch Parker’s chest rise and fall from the driver’s seat. It was the only thing keeping me sane. Knowing that she was alive and breathing under my protection, knowing that I could safeguard her, is the only thing that kept me from losing my shit.

We would need to go to the police station. I told the officers at the scene that I just wanted to give her an hour. An hour where she wouldn’t have to go through what it was like to find… What it was like to walk through those doors and see…

I can’t even think the words. I don’t know how we’ll discuss it. Although, I’ll never forget the images burned into my brain. The slight blue tinge to his skin, the way it felt to touch his cold wrists. The smell of death and blood. The sound of Parker’s cries and panic. I don’t think she even realized that she screamed. Kept screaming as she made her way out of the house. I wanted to follow her, but Nate needed me.

I needed to close his eyes. I knew I shouldn’t contaminate the crime scene, had seen enough movies and TV shows to know that. But I needed to do that one thing for my brother. The last thing I’d ever be able to do. Give him that last bit of respect.

After all, we only had weeks together. That’s all I’ll ever have with my brother. Fucking
weeks
. My eyes keep becoming glassy with my tears, but I won’t let them drop. I don’t have the time. I need to watch Parker. I need to make sure that whatever touched Nate doesn’t get close to her. I’m so angry. I want to rip my steering wheel off and start trashing everything within touching distance, but I don’t.

She needs this.

Soon, I would have to wake her up. We would need to drive to the closest station. We would need to report how we found the murdered body of my brother.

Then the police would start a search. A manhunt for his killers.

Even if they didn’t know it yet, I knew this would lead to Mr. Simons.

This would be connected to his goons.

And this would end with my father.

GRAYSON

We were finally leaving the police station. It had to be nearly five in the morning. Stale coffee and white walls were unpleasant to be around for hours. However, they seemed to care. Lieutenant Bryant and Detective Nolan, with their matching glossy brown hair and dark blue suits, seemed to give a shit that the quarterback, the golden boy of Penmore State, just found his brother murdered in his own apartment.

Fuck, if football made this right for Nate, I would give up any stupid thought I had of not going pro. I wrap my arm around Parker’s shoulders as she yawns on her way to the car. Neither of us is in the mood for talking. After hours of describing Nate’s keys, the door, his position and our knowledge of anyone who might want to hurt him, we didn’t need to talk any longer. We let each other be silent; our eyes and hands did the talking for us. We loved each other, needed each other and would be there for one another. No matter how hard this was to handle. We didn’t need words to communicate that any longer.

If I thought putting on a Spiderman suit when we got back to my apartment would make her smile, I would. I would do anything to change this day into something we wouldn’t both look back on with feelings of utter hopelessness. However, I knew she just wanted to sleep. She needed to curl up and have the day end. To escape into a world where this wasn’t happening. I just needed to be there. All I required to keep my sanity was to watch her as she closes her eyes, protecting her from any dangers until things got squared away.

As if my abstract thoughts on the threats that might hurt her conjured him, Anthony Waters steps out of the bushes and rushes toward me with a look of practiced distress.

“I just heard, son,” he says as he wraps his arms around both Parker and me. “I came as soon as I could.”

I pull his arm off us as quickly as I can and take a look at the stranger before me.

I imagine he probably looked the closest to himself, as he ever would appear. His hair is greased back, his black silk shirt unbuttoned revealing the top of his chest hair and a thin gold medallion, and his expensive pants are pressed to a crisp. Gone was the cowboy; before me is the scumbag.

“Did they tell you who they were thinking might be behind this? I heard Nate worked at a bar. Could this have to do with alcoholics or drug dealers?” he asks, not completely hiding his self-serving agenda.

“Don’t pretend that you care and don’t fucking touch us ever again,” I grunt.

“Girl, talk some sense into your boy,” my father says to Parker before turning toward me and pleading, “I’m just after some answers. I deserve to know who killed my son.”

“Don’t talk to her, don’t touch her. And don’t pretend you give two shits about Nate. God forbid if anything happens to Parker or my mother, I
will
come after you with all I have. You think you know people?
Everyone
fucking knows me. I haven’t asked for one goddamn red carpet for being the town’s local hero. But if you fuck up, I won’t need to kill you. No establishment will have you. No one will help you. I’ll go on fucking ESPN and tell everyone that it was my father who essentially got my brother killed. I won’t need the police to crucify you, the public will.”

“Boy, you’re completely confused here. I don’t know what those men in there told you—”

“They told me nothing. Fucking nothing. And I told them nothing. Nothing about my fucking father and his fucking seedy acquaintances. But I know. I know Nate wasn’t involved with any criminal except for you.”

“Boy, I’ve made my mistakes before, but if this has to do with any of my business arrangements, I swear to you that Mr. Simons is the reason. Don’t get this confused, boy. I never wanted this.”

He should have dressed as the grieving father; his words would have been more convincing. My clenched fists and fighting stance clearly communicate to him that I wasn’t going to believe any of his bullshit, so he turns and walks away.

“So, that’s your dad,” Parker states softly when we can no longer make out his disgusting silhouette.

“Today, anyway,” I tell her as I open her car door.

“Charming. Do you think he’d like to go to the Cheesecake Factory with us while he’s in town?” she asks sarcastically, causing me to laugh as I head toward my own car door. And, for a moment, I forget that today was beyond imagination.

Unfortunately, it’s only a moment.

PARKER

The phone started ringing.

Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up.

“So, you told him,” Millie answers. She never was one for small talk or idle chitchat. Always liked to answer the phone mid-way through the conversation. I usually love that about her.

“Mill—”

“No, don’t be nervous about telling me. I was expecting you to call me once you did it. I’ve been patiently waiting. Who am I trying to kid? I’ve been freaking out over this phone call since you left my house. How did he react? Did he throw things? Did he cry?”

“Mill, I did—”

“Wait, I don’t want to know. Because it makes total sense if he freaked out at first, right? Like I definitely freaked out. So I don’t really want or need to know because then I’ll worry and obsess. And when he eventually calls me to tell me how he feels, I won’t believe him. Or maybe I’ll, like, hold it over his head if it takes him a couple of days before he calls.”

“Mill, wai—”

“But it’s all right. I’ve worked out exactly what I’m going to say when he calls. I’ll start really cool and be like, ‘Hey. Yeah, I’m good.’ Maybe I’ll even make a joke about suing the condom company, yeah? I’ll keep it light before I tell him my first ultrasound is next Friday if he wants to come. I think they let you listen to the baby’s heartbeat. Is that too soon? Parker? Should I leave out the joke? How come you aren’t saying anything? Do you think it’s all a bad idea?”

I can’t tell her. I can’t let her know that he’ll never get to go with her to an ultrasound to hear his baby’s heartbeat. He won’t ever get to laugh with her over the condoms. He won’t see the baby born, see his or her eyes open for the first time. Nate won’t get to chuckle over the silly things their baby will say as he or she learns to talk. He won’t get to see their baby walk, run or ride a bike. He won’t be there for
any
of it. I don’t want to do this. I don’t have the strength to say this. I
hate
this.

“What, is the invitation too soon? You think I should wait until the second one, don’t you? I just thought this one is the least scary check-up, but if you think I should wait—”

“Mill. Nate’s been hurt.” Quick. Fast. Rip it off like a Band-Aid.

“Hurt? Is he at the hospital? Do you think I should get on a flight? Was it bad?”

“Mill, he’s not at the hospital—”

“Why the fuck not? Please, tell me he’s not one of those hippies who don’t believe in science and medicine. If he expects me to have this baby at home without drugs, he has another think coming.”

“No, Mill. That’s not it.”
Deep breath. Keep going.
“Gray and I, we found him, Millie. And it was too late. The doctors… They wouldn’t have been able—” I can’t help the tears.

“No. Stop.”

“Mill—”

“You’re mistaken. It has to be Gray. They look alike and people struggle to tell the difference all the time. It’s not Nate.”

There was hope in her words. It wasn’t just denial or fear. Even though they could be heard in her erratic breaths. It was the hope, which I knew I was crushing with anything I was about to say, that
destroyed
me.

“Mill, I saw him—” I choke out. “It was definitely Nate.”

That’s when I hear them. At first, they’re soft. Like wind battling against a window. Her breathing changes and her soft crying can be heard. Until she sucks in a breath, and with it the realities of her future. Then her cries turn to wild and fierce.

I stay on the phone. I don’t say anything else. I just listen.

She cries for an hour as I sit silently on the other end.

Letting her know that she wasn’t alone, even if that was all she could feel.

*****

If listening to Millie’s cries was torture, I cannot describe what it’s like to then have to watch the man you love drowning in his grief. I watch him guarding me; constantly afraid he’ll lose me as well.

Every day, I struggle to make him stop fretting, enjoy even a moment with me. Kiss me. Touch me. Laugh with me.

Each time he chuckled during a story I told or smiled at me when I returned from class safely, it felt like a victory.

I finally got to be the one who eased him of his grief occasionally.

And I hated it.

I hated myself for ever wanting to reimburse him and help cheer him up. I wanted him to be himself, quick to smile and laugh. But as quick as each happy moment was, before I could help him, the clouds would begin to appear in his eyes.

The raging despair was often only matched by the growing anger he had for his father.

I’m so grateful he has his writing. He often goes off to write each day. His stories are beautiful. The other day, he turned my story of chasing him into the woods—well, I guess
our
story—into a picture book. I feel like he escapes into his writings. He runs away, like I used to, so he doesn’t feel the loss of Nate. I was just ready and waiting for when he couldn’t run any longer.