in my mind. Cautiously, I ask, “Have I met Aaron? Or Nora?”
Nate stares at me for a moment. “The memory thing, right? From your head injury?” He gives me such a sympathetic look that I wonder if that’s the answer. I knew it, but then I forgot. Memory issues are common with TBI. Relief washes over me.
“No, you haven’t met them,” he continues. “We … stopped talking a few years ago. Do you remember that?”
I nod. I must have just heard their names somewhere. It’s the only logical explanation. I guess if I’m going to have forgotten things, it’s best that it was gossip I forgot.
“What do you remember about … us?” he asks.
“I missed you,” I say. I thought I remembered everything up until the accident, but maybe I’m wrong. I look at him and continue, “I remember that you changed. We talked all the time, and then you were a jerk. Not all at once, but …”
“I’m sorry.” He stares at me, and I’m not sure if he’s the boy I used to know or the jackass I’ve seen around parties the last couple years.
I think back to the last night we spoke. “Then one night you were awful. The party out at Piper’s parents’ lake house? You knew everyone was watching us, and you acted like you didn’t even know me.”
He swallows and looks at me, not meeting my eyes, but gazing in the general direction of my chin. “I wish I could tell you that I’d already apologized for that and everything else before now, and you forgave me, but I’d be lying.”
I nod.
“I want you to forgive me, Eva.” He meets my eyes now. “I’ve wanted that for years, but … I know I’m only tolerated by your crowd these days. I couldn’t walk up to you.”
“I was the one who came to you that night,” I remind him.
“Yeah, and I was a mess then. I just wanted to be numb, and beer and girls seemed like a good idea.”
“Seemed?” I echo.
“I don’t drink anymore.” He looks straight at me. “Even so, what would they do if I walked up to you? Baucom, Piper, and the rest of them? Sober and at a party or at school?”
I’m not sure what to say. He is—like Amy Crowne—fine to be with in private or after a few drinks at a party, but he’s definitely not considered date material or even friend material. He hasn’t been since he stopped being a part of our crowd.
“Well, we’re talking now,” I finally say. “Are you going to ignore me later?”
“No.” He rubs his hand over his head, just like he used to when we were kids.
“You still pet your head when you’re nervous, Nate.”
He pulls his hand away quickly, but he flashes me a smile I haven’t seen in far too long. Then he says, “Aaron does it, too. He calls it ‘helping to think.’ ”
I decide to let the other things go for a moment and ask, “How old is Aaron?”
“Eight.”
I do the math. “So before your parents split …”
“Yeah. Hence Mom not being very supportive of all the time I spend with Nora.” He reaches up to rub his head again, stops midway, and lowers his hand. “I missed you too, you know?”
I’m not sure what to say to that. If anyone told me before the accident that I’d be having a heart-to-heart with Nate, I’d have laughed at the thought. He’s called a lot of things these days, but most of them are more along the lines of aloof, stoic, and mysterious. The person in front of me seems sweet and open. “You’ve been a jerk, ignoring me like I was chasing after you. I wasn’t. You can’t even look at me at parties or in the cafeteria or anything. It’s insulting, and … ridiculous. Really, it’s ridiculous.”
“I know. I just … I was screwed up. I could’ve handled things better that night at Piper’s and every other one after that when I saw you. I’m sorry, Eva.”
Nathaniel Bouchet is an idiot. I’m not surprised by this revelation. I am, however, a little lost on what to say. It’s hard to stay angry at him when he sounds like my Nate again.
“Eva?” he prompts when I don’t reply.
“I’m in room 406,” I say.
“I know.” He grins briefly. “The nurses didn’t tell me, but it was pretty easy to figure it out. Your door was the only one that stayed closed all the time.”
“I like my privacy,” I hedge. I’m not ready for total honesty.
“I still miss you.”
My anger rekindles at that. I cross my arms over my chest. “We go to the same school, Nate. I live at the same house. You even saw me the night before the accident.”
“What was I supposed to do? Walk up to you and the perfect people, and say ‘sorry I ignored you for years; I was stupid. Now, let’s go catch crawfish’?”
I remember Nate, super muddy on the bank of the creek, telling me that no one would even be able to tell we went into the water once we dried. I barely repress my smile before I say, “I don’t catch crawfish anymore.”
“You don’t read Andrew Lost or catch crawfish,” Nate says musingly. “Noted. What are we going to do when you get out of here then?”
I shrug, but I’m smiling at him as I do it. “Nothing, maybe.”
He frowns and stands up. “I get it if you don’t want people to know we’re talking again—or if you don’t want to talk to me. Piper and everyone would have fits, and Baucom probably wouldn’t like me being around anyhow.”
“It’s none of his business who I’m friends with. He doesn’t like Grace, either.”
Nate looks at me like he’s studying me, but I’m not sure what he’s hoping to see. It doesn’t matter though. I yawn suddenly.
“Past nap time?”
Without thinking I flip him off, and then promptly blush. “Sorry.”
“Maybe I’ve missed your temper, too.” He pauses and gestures at the wheelchair. “Do you need help back to 406 first?”
I shake my head. I hope I’m not blushing when I add, “But if my door’s open tomorrow, you can stop by my room.”
The smile Nate flashes my way reaffirms my earlier realization that he’s dangerous. All he says though is “See you tomorrow,” and then he’s gone, and I’m left staring after him, trying to remind myself that he doesn’t mean anything by it. But, somehow, even being friends with Nate is more than enough reason for me to smile so wide that the cuts on my face twinge worse than usual.
