“What about Jane? Doesn’t she cook for you?” West’s brows have drawn together and his mouth is a thin line. “Your dad—”
“Fuck my dad.”
The statement hangs in the air between us, like an axe waiting to drop. Nate has stilled, the spoon dipped in the soup.
West sucks in a sharp breath. “But I thought—”
The soup bowl goes flying, crashing against the wall.
I jerk back.
West’s hands clench into fists.
“What I think,” Nate says in the ringing silence, his eyes gli
ttering, and swings his legs off the bed, “is that I’m gonna head home. Need to catch up on some homework. Thanks for taking care of me and everything.”
“Wait, Nate.” I move to stop him as he struggles to get up, his face paling. “Let me help—”
“No.” He hangs his head, draws an uneven breath. “Thanks. I really mean it. I owe you guys.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry about the bowl. Sorry about everything.”
And with that he pushes to his feet, wavers for a long second, and then walks out.
“Something’s wrong,” I whisper.
West wrings out the washcloth and attacks the soup stain on the wall again, his jaw clenched. “Ya think?”
“The bruises,” I whisper.
“If his dad is beating him, I fucking swear to God, I…” He sighs, wipes his face on his arm, and dips the washcloth in the bucket again. “I have to get Nate to talk to me.”
I nod, my heart hammering. Nate’s dad is a big guy, and no matter how much taller he has grown since I moved in here, he’s no match for his dad. Just the thought makes me feel sick.
“Then talk to him. He may confide in you. He trusts you.”
“He trusts you, too.” At my dismissive huff, he throws the washcloth back in the bucket and sits back on his heels. “He does. But this could be one of those things.”
“What things?”
“Guy things. Nate… he really likes you.”
He gets up and I frown at him. “And?”
“And you’re a girl.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Guys are proud. We don’t wanna look like we can’t handle stuff in front of girls we like, so…”
“Jesus, West. If his dad is beating him—”
“We don’t know that.”
“The hell we don’t!”
“Come on.” He gives me a hand up, and I take it absently, letting him haul me to my feet. “We should eat something, too. Unless you have other plans.”
I let him tug me to the kitchen and sit at the table while he makes grilled cheese sandwiches. “How can you be hungry after all this?”