“Fuck. Nate.” I sink down beside him, ignoring his flinch, and take his hand to study the dark imprint of fingers around his wrist. “Who did this to you?”
He yanks his hand away, face going white. “I said I’m fine.”
“No, dammit, you’re not.” I curl my hands into fists so I won’t grab and shake him until his teeth rattle. “Tell me this: does your dad beat you?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His cheeks flush and he finally turns to meet my gaze. His is angry. “The fuck, West? I’m telling you the truth.”
“Take your shirt off.”
He opens his mouth, closes it. Then he gives me a sharp grin. “Aww, you just want to see me shirtless.”
“Fuck off. Just do it. Show me.”
“Fine.” Jaw set, he grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head, letting it drop in a heap on the bed. “See? I’m all good.”
Damn. He’s thin. Did he lose weight since we last had PE together? And weirdly, his arms look more muscular than before.
But he’s right. No bruises, apart from the one on his wrist.
“Happy?” he snarls, and fumbles for his shirt, shoulders tense and movements choppy. “Told you I’m okay.”
“What about these?” The top of a bruise is showing on his bony hip where his pajama bottoms have slipped a little. “How did you get a bruise there?”
“It’s nothing. Told you.” His gaze is pleading with me, but for what, I have no idea. To drop it? To leave? “I fell against the kitchen table. I was dizzy. But I’m good now.”
All this makes no sense anyway. I think about the thump I heard, but that hadn’t come from the kitchen. I rub at my tired eyes.
Think, West, think. How do the pieces fit together?
I feel like everything’s moving too fast. Or I’m moving too slow.
“Hey.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. His cheeks are still flushed, as if with fever. “I just… thanks for checking on me, man.”
“That’s what friends are for,” I mutter, and sling an arm around him. “Okay? Anything you need, I’m here.”
He nods, a slight dip of his chin. “Same, man. You think I don’t know the burden you bear. But I’m not blind.”
I don’t know if to reply or pretend I didn’t hear him, but he turns slightly, slips his arm around my back and we sit together, like when we were younger, just breathing together.
I also know things about him I won’t admit to. I doubt he wants me to know, or he’d have said something, but when you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known Nate, when you’ve spent so much time with them, it’s hard to miss the signs, and sooner or later, we have conversations such as this.
“Fine,” I whisper, “and someday you will tell me about the scars. You promised.”
“They’re old, West.”
“I know.”
Silvery lines on his back. They’ve fascinated me since the first time I saw them. They didn’t seem sinister then. I couldn’t imagine what had caused them, and Nate had brushed the topic off, like it didn’t matter.
Now I have a theory that makes me feel cold.
He’s right, though. They’re old. At least there’s that.
The itch under my skin eases as we sit there, like it does when I’m with Syd. I can breathe more easily. I feel safe somehow, and I can keep Nate safe, too, while I’m beside him.