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Chapter Thirteen


I have to admit that I was a little tempted - at least once before the night was through - to "take advantage of Nick in his drunken state", though.

He fell asleep on the drive back to my house, face pressed to the window and face slack. I glanced over a couple times and couldn't help but think he looked like a little kid on a long road trip the way his cheek was flattened against the glass. When we got to the house, I roused him a little gentler than I had at the gate in front of his community, shaking his shoulder. "Nick... we're here. Wake up."

He blinked and lifted his face from the glass. "Oww... God, what happened?" he muttered. He touched his face tenderly where a welt was already building up. He looked into the mirror on the back of the visor. "Oh God."

"You autographed some guy's girlfriend's breasts from what I could gather by the fight," I said. "C'mon inside, I'll get you some ice for it."

Nick struggled to get out of the seatbelt again, still not fully sober, and I reached over and detached it for him. He rolled himself out of the car and onto his feet, and I led the way up the steps and into the house. I waved at the living room, "The couch is in there, go make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back."

"Make myself comfortable?" Nick chuckled as he walked into the living room.

I rolled my eyes and went into the kitchen and pulled my freezer door open and started rooting around. My ice trays were both empty. I shoved them into the sink to remind me to make new ice and searched for something that could be used as a compact. I came up a bag of frozen broccoli.

When I went out to the living room, Nick was laying on his back on the sofa. He'd taken his shirt off and was posing like he was trying out for a spread in the next issue of Play Girl magazine. "Put this on your stupid face," I said, dropping the broccoli onto his chest.

Nick doubled up around the ice-cold bag of veggies. "Christ," he hooted, "You could kill a guy doing that!"

"Next time I'll try harder," I replied smartly, and I dropped myself into a chair across the room from him.

Nick pouted as he put the broccoli onto the side of his face and stared over at me. "You're mad," he said.

"A little bit," I replied.

"Aw babe, c'mon," he whimpered.

"Nick, look at your face. You could've gotten yourself - and me - killed. What the hell were you thinking? All because you had to act like a colossal douche bag."

"I was drunk, I wasn't really thinking at all," he said.

"Well maybe you shouldn't drink if it makes all the stupid come out," I commented.

Nick moved the broccoli a little so I couldn't see his eyes. His lower lip slackened. "I drank 'cos I'm sad," he said quietly, almost ashamed. "And frustrated, too. But mostly sad."

I wasn't sure if this was a ploy or not, so I sat still for a moment, letting the words stew. I licked my lips. I didn't wanna just let him off the hook, but I also kinda wanted to hear what he had to say. But not if it was just bait to get him out of trouble. I studied him a moment. He stared down at his lap from under the broccoli.

I sighed, "What's wrong?" I asked, a distinct feeling that I was gonna regret asking consuming me even as the words came out of my mouth.

"I was thinkin' about what you said earlier," he said, "About Cora not seeing me and how do I know she's the one if she hasn't seen me yet and what if she doesn't ever see me..." he shrugged. "I just -- I want her to see me so bad, and I feel like I can make anyone see me -- anyone in the world. Except her." He looked up at me, the broccoli bending around his temple. "She's the only one I want. I want her to love me so bad it hurts." His voice was low, scratchy, pained. "You ever felt like that before?"

I hesitated. "In fact, I have felt like that before," I confessed.

Nick lowered the broccoli. "What'd you do?"

I chewed my lip, "I tried everything to get his attention, but nothing ever worked."

"Ever?"

I shook my head.

"Who was it?" he asked.

"My dad," I answered, "All I wanted in the world was to do right by him. He died without saying he was proud of me. But then again, what is there to be proud of?"

Nick stared at me. "There's lots to be proud of, Sam," he said. "I don't know you well enough yet to tell you the exact things in a list or anything, but I can tell that there's lots and lots he could've been proud of."

"Thanks," I said quietly.

He put the broccoli down on the coffee table and struggled to his feet. He walked across the room to the mantle over the stone fireplace and stared down at the photographs my mother had always kept lining the shelf, which I hadn't had the heart to move yet. He pointed at a family portrait taken three Christmases before they'd died. "Brother?" he asked.

"Yeah. Jake," I said.

Nick's eyes moved away from that picture, on to another where my mom had put both our first grade pictures together, and the next where Jake was in his graduation cap and gown, followed by me in mine. Nick bent closer to read the diploma I was holding up in the picture. "Samantha Catherine Roades," he mumbled, "English major." He nodded, then turned to look at me. "College graduate. You must be very smart."

"Not really," I answered.

"Probably Valedictorian," he said.

"....fourth in my class," I muttered.

Nick grinned. "Out of thousands, I'm sure." He kept looking at the photos, then came to the very end, a picture of me and Jake on our little league team, both covered in dirt. "You said your dad died."

"My mom, too."

"How?" he asked.

"Car wreck," I answered. "Rainy night on a drive upstate, a deer ran out and they swerved and ran head-on into a tractor trailer. Both of them died instantly."

"And your brother?"

"Turned radical Christian nutcase, ala Kirk Cameron. Right off the deep end. He lives somewhere in the Bible belt kissing some preacher's ass and sending prayers heavenward for my eternal soul which he's certain is bound to damnation." I forced a smile, even as the words broke my heart.

Nick chortled, "Sounds like Brian's wife and me..." He returned to the couch and sat back down, grabbed the broccoli, and leaned back into the cushions, pressing the broccoli bag to his head. "Was I really being a douche tonight?" he asked.

"I believe I heard you shout the phrase do you know who I am," I replied.

Nick winced.

"And I think you were trying to make a pass at me," I said, smirking.

"Did I?" he asked.

"You asked if I wanted to take advantage of you in your drunken state."

He lowered the broccoli. "Do you?"

My mouth went dry. But I managed to shake my head.

Nick laughed, "You're a fucking liar. Everyone wants to take advantage of me..." he smiled sadly as he replaced the broccoli once more, covering his eyes from my view, "And most people do."