“Go.” Nate releases Cassandro so harshly that he hurls forward, his arms barely stopping his face from hitting the ground.
The two-letter word uttered is harsh—a command—one that Cassandro doesn’t seem to register as he turns on his back, staring mindlessly at the man who towers over him, in both height and in bulk.
“I said—go!” Nate yells again.
This time, Cassandro bolts.
My feet stay rooted in place, but my eyes follow the billowing trench coat as his pace slows.
You’d think he’d have kept up his run, been scared as to what might happen to his life, but there’s a newfound pep to his step. He throws a thumbs-up in the bush’s direction, and something—or someone, should I say—rustles out.
Dressed in black from head to toe. A large, chunky camera held in his hand. The obvious hole carved out of that bush to accommodate it.
I turn to Nate, my mouth parted in shock. His dark-green eyes hit me like a crashing wave—anger, betrayal, sadness, it’s all written within them.
“I know it’s the oldest line in the book, but I swear it isn’t what it looks like.” The words tumble out in a rush. “There was a camera on the other side of the street, and I’m thinking it was all a bigger plan to—”
“I believe you.”
My heartbeat stops. Despite the little time we’ve spent together, the man still trusts me enough to believe my side of the story.
“There’s going to be pictures of you kissing another man on the internet,” Nate says.
It’s a statement. With no emotion. No anger. Blank. Just the facts laid out on the table. And none of it was good. For Nate’s reputation. For the credibility of our engagement. For the friendship we’ve started to forge.
I wipe my lips on the back of my hand, disgust rippling through me. At the movement, Nate’s eyes drop to my mouth before he inhales deeply. I take a step forward, arm halfway out to offer some reassurance, when his phone rings.
His face turns ghostly at the sight of the Caller ID.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“It’s my mom.”
His thumb hovers over the decline button, and I see the war going on through his mind. He let her go to voicemail the last time we were together, and I’m assuming he’s done it many times since.
Eventually, he decides to answer, apparently doing me the favor of putting it on speaker.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?” There’s an obvious hesitation in his tone.
“Hey, Nate. Gosh, your dad and I can’t even begin to express how much we’ve missed you…Richard,” she yells. “Come say hi.”
Soon, a deep voice booms through the line. “Well, hello, son. Care to explain why you haven’t called recently? We aren’t getting any younger, just so you know,” he chuckles.
The words themselves aren’t the greatest, but it’s apparent that they’re coming from a place of amusement and love. Nate seems to take them to heart, though, as guilt settles in his expression.
“I’m sorry for missing so many calls and family dinners. I’ve missed you both so much—it’s just been…so hectic lately…”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” his mom reassures. “Actually, it’s one of the reasons we’re calling. We wanted to hear about that fa—fiancée of yours. What was her name again, Richard?”
Both our eyes widen at the words before Nate’s soften in deep sadness and regret.
This was the one thing he’d been avoiding all along—his big-on-love parents asking about us. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to tell the truth either, so he avoided it altogether.
“Vivienne. Her name is Vivienne.” Nate doesn’t wait for his father’s response.
“That’s right! Vivienne! What a pretty name for such a pretty girl. We didn’t want to bring up the topic of meeting her under these circumstances, but with the cheating allegations that came out, we wanted to assure you that we don’t believe any of it. You’re a great guy, Nate—we raised you well—and know you’d pick an equally great girl.”
My mind is spinning in circles as the information registers.
