Redemptive (Combative, #2)(52)

“Maybe let her take care of you tonight, Nate,” he said quietly. “I think you might both need that.”


A minute or so after Tiny left, Bailey returned with a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other. “I thought this might help,” she said, indicating for me to scoot over so she could sit down on the edge of the bed.

I did as she wanted, and sat up to take the water from her, thanking her as I did.

After taking a couple of the pills, I set the glass on the nightstand and focused on her. “You and Tiny talked all night?”

She nodded. “We did. It was nice.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I like him.”

I chuckled. “Me too.”

“I learned something,” she said, her cheeks darkening with her blush.

“Jesus,” I murmured, settling my hand on her leg. “He better not have told you embarrassing stories about me,” I half joked.

She didn’t find it funny. Instead, she reached up, her finger tracing my jaw. “Ti amo, mio ragazzo bel rotto.”

I love you, my beautifully broken boy.





31




Bailey


Days turned to weeks, and I stopped counting—both the tiles and the time. I’m not sure if it was a good thing or not, but I could no longer do it to myself. Because with the counting, came the hope—the hope of freedom—and I owed it to Nate to stop thinking about it. Even though my ideals of freedom had changed from the basic memories of the outside world to dreams that included Nate and the outside world, it still wasn’t fair to put that much pressure on him, even if it was only in my head.

Tiny had dinner with us once a week, on Tuesdays I’d been told, and I enjoyed that time with them. They both seemed to relax during those nights and sometimes (like now) I just sat back and watched them. I listened to their laughter and banter, and I found myself wondering how there could be this much of a contrast from who they are as themselves, as opposed to the people I met in the darkened woods one fateful night, to the people they had to be. Then I remembered that Nate was only twenty-two and for some reason that made me sad. Really sad. “Is this the life you expected to have at twenty-two?” I asked him, cutting into whatever conversation he and Tiny were having.

“Um…” Nate gave Tiny a sideways glance.

“Twenty-three,” Tiny said, and Nate’s jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed at Tiny.

“You had a birthday?” I whispered. I don’t know why it hurt so much to know that, but it did. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nate lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips and paused with it there, his gaze locked on Tiny as if sending a silent message.

“Nate? Why didn’t you tell me?” I repeated.

He sighed, his shoulders dropping with the force of it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me!” I snapped. Sure, I was defensive, but they were supposed to be my friends. My only friends. My family. And they’d purposely kept something from me.

Nate finally turned to me as he tipped back the whiskey, his throat shifting when he swallowed. “It’s not a big deal, Bailey. It’s just another day, and it’s not like we could’ve done anything to celebrate so…”

The tears came fast and free, and I couldn’t contain them. Just like I couldn’t contain the sob that burst out of me. And so I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door because I was so embarrassed, and for so many reasons. Not just because I’d broken down for what to them might seem like nothing, but also because Nate was right. We couldn’t even go out to celebrate his birthday. I couldn’t buy him a present. I couldn’t even cook him a meal. And to think that only minutes ago I’d actually asked him if this was the life he wanted. Twenty-three and trapped with me. His existence was almost as pathetic as mine. No. It was worse. Because he had a choice. I didn’t.

“Bailey!” Knock. Knock. Knock. He didn’t wait for a response before opening the door, but he didn’t step inside. He just stood there, arms raised, gripping the doorframe. “This is why I didn’t tell you, babe, because I knew you’d act like this.” He licked his lips, his eyes slow as they blinked, trying to focus. He’d been drinking, like he did every Tuesday night, but he was nowhere near drunk. “And you can’t really be mad at me for knowing you too well,” he said, a slight smirk building as he released the doorframe and took a step forward. He peered down at me through his thick lashes, the corner of his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

I took steps backward until my ass hit the counter and I had nowhere else to go. Then I pressed my hands to his chest to stop him from coming closer. He was trying to seduce me into forgetting my feelings and most of the time it worked, but I wouldn’t let it now. “You don’t have to be with me, you know?” Puke rose to my throat as the words left me, but I needed to be strong. I needed to get through the rest. “You deserve to be with someone who’s going to love you completely, who’s going to know what the f*ck day it is so you can be together and celebrate your birthday—”

“I did celebrate my birthday,” he interrupted.

I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows.

He nodded. “With Tiny. He took me to dinner.”

If his admission was supposed to make me feel better, it had the complete opposite effect, and the sob that escaped me was proof of that.