I wish I knew what to say, but all that comes out of my mouth is “Oh. Yuck.”
He doesn’t laugh, and he seems to clench his jaw as he nods. “Yeah. I don’t know if the... if the guy is still there.”
“I’ll come with you.” It seems like the very least I can do. But Nico immediately rejects my suggestion.
“No. That’s not a good idea. I don’t—” He shuts his mouth and stops talking suddenly, almost as though he’d been slapped in the face, and my stomach drops. Pushing himself forward, Nico starts over. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just go. Thanks for the food and stuff.”
He stands up, careful to not step on the tray sitting next to thebed, and he gathers his phone and then puts his shoes on.
I want to hop up after him, pull him back into another hug, tell him that whatever’s bothering him—whatever’sreallybothering him—we can figure it out. But I can see him starting to spiral. The tension in his shoulders is growing, and his jaw is clenched again. When he stands back up after putting his shoes on, his hands have balled up into fists, which he holds tight against his sides.
I don’t want him leaving like this.
I’ve never really known what to do or how to handle him when he starts to get upset. It always seems best just to let him go so he can calm down, because he always does. But this time, something’s different. I don’t know what it is, but Idoknow I can’t let him leave.
So I shake my head and jump up after him as he turns toward the door. “Nico, wait. Please.”
He stops, his shoulders slumped over so he looks even smaller than he is. “What?” he says, the sharpness of his tone halting me in my tracks.
Maybe Ishouldjust let him go. That’s what he wants, after all. But as soon as I have the thought, I know it’s wrong. I can’t just let him go this time.
“I’m coming with you,” I say with much more confidence than I feel, and before he can reply, I turn and head over to my dresser. “Give me a minute.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t move while I sift through the middle drawer to find a pair of comfortable sweats, tug them on, and then slip on a clean pair of socks and my tennis shoes. I grab my cell phone and stuff it in my pocket, and then I step ahead of him and pull the bedroom door open the rest of the way.
It’s only then that I see his face. Tears escape from the corners of his eyes, although he’s trying to blink them back, and his cheeks are tinged red.
“Y-you should stay here, Alex,” he says quietly, all of the anger gone from his voice now.
I shake my head. “Not unless you’re staying too.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. Then his fists loosen, and he turns his head to look at me.
“Can we just hang out here, then? Watch movies or something? I don’t want to... go out.”
“Yeah. Of course. Whatever you want.”
He almost looks like he’s going to laugh, but he doesn’t, and instead, he nods and turns back to the bed. Without a word, he starts straightening the blanket and pillows. After a second where I allow myself to breathe, I head over to help.
Chapter Seven
Nico
Mom (6:15 p.m.):Where are you?
Mom (7:33 p.m.):I made dinner
Mom (7:59 p.m.):I called twice with no answer. Did I raise you to be this rude? Really?
Mom (9:21 p.m.):It’s late. Where the hell are you?
“Bro, your mom’s callingme. Should I—”
“Don’t answer,” I cut in, and I sigh and unlock my phone. “She’s been texting me all night, and I just...”
I shake my head, not wanting to elaborate, and I open up my text messaging app as Alex settles back on the couch opposite me with another bowl of popcorn. It’s our third so far today.
Nico (9:45 p.m.):I’m at Alex’s. Stayinghere tonight.
