“Amber can sit with him.” Nick shoved his hands into his pockets, shooting a look at Honor.
“No, she can’t.” Felicity shook her head.
“Yes, she can,” Nick argued. “He’s her kid. Her problem. Not yours.”
“Nick, he’s your brother,” Honor argued.
“No, he’s not,” Nick shot back.
“Nick.” Felicity faced her son. “He is your half brother.” She touched Nick’s cheek. “And he needs us right now. Amber died in the crash.” She pulled Honor close, trying to hug them both—but Nick stayed stiff. “That little boy has no one in the world except your dad. And us.”
Nick stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head.
“I could use some coffee,” Graham said. “Anyone else?”
“Yes, please, Graham. Thank you.” Felicity looked at the man who’d once been one of her closest friends. “And thank you for being here.”
“Jack’s around the corner.” Graham nodded. “Nick, walk with me?”
“Come on, Mom.” Honor held her hand out. On her daughter’s face she saw everything that was churning inside of her. Fear, determination, sadness, and the need to do something so the horror of the night wouldn’t bring her to her knees.
…
Graham glanced at his daughter, Diana, sitting in the corner of the hospital cafeteria. The thick black eye makeup she wore ran in tracks down her cheeks, her chin rested on her knees, and her earbuds were—as always—plugged in. She was mad at him—as always. This time, he’d been the asshole who was stopping her from having a life. Meaning he wasn’t letting her drive five hours away with a bunch of kids he didn’t know to listen to a band called Broken Souls.
She saw him, saw Nick, and wiped her cheeks. His first instinct was to go to her, to hug her, to comfort her. But she’d already told him what he could do with his instincts. Nothing like hearing your daughter tell you to screw off to warm the cockles of your heart.
“Coffee?” he asked Nick.
Nick shook his head, pacing back and forth while Graham fed coins into the coffee machine.
“Soda?” he asked.
Nick shook his head again, rolling his shoulders.
“Candy bar?”
Nick stopped, leveling him with a hard look. “I’m good.”
He doubted that. And while the boy had every right to be upset, something told Graham it went deeper. Before his wife had died, before Matt had deserted his family, before his and Matt’s practice had disintegrated, he’d known Nick well. Holidays, birthdays, summer cookouts, vacations—the Murphys and Buchanans had been close. And then life had taken a rapid nosedive, his world splintering into pieces so small there was nothing recognizable left. He glanced at Diana again, her too-skinny frame turned away from them as she held on to this latest grief with every fiber of her being.
She believed she was a ‘magnet for bad-luck’. From her grandparents to her pets to her mother, Diana’s life did appear to be one long strand of miserable pearls. And now, tonight.
She didn’t care about Matt Buchanan. In fact, she thought the “cheating sack of shit deserved what he got.” Di was very good at lashing out when she was angry—using words like a machine gun. But his daughter’s temper fit tonight had nothing to do with Matt and everything to do with Graham’s attempt at parenting. According to her, he was intentionally trying to sabotage her relationship with some boy who was also going to the concert. Until she’d thrown that in his face, he hadn’t even known the kid existed. But once he had, he’d dragged her to the hospital with him so she couldn’t sneak out and go anyway. He had enough to worry about without her pulling a disappearing act.
Nick paced in front of him, his sigh of frustration so heavy and sharp, Graham could almost feel it. He didn’t know what to say. Diana had taught him he wasn’t very good at talking. Or listening. But she was a teenage girl. And teenage boys were an altogether different sort of animal. “Ready?” he asked, holding Felicity’s coffee in one hand, his in the other.
Nick looked at him, rolling his shoulders again. Clearly, he was not ready.
“You’re going to be a junior next year?” Graham asked, sipping on his coffee.
Nick nodded.
“Still playing football?”
“Sucking at it, but yeah.”
Graham smiled, assessing the boy. He was tall, over six feet, and spare—more long-distance runner than linebacker. Imagining Nick buried beneath kids bigger and bulkier made Graham wince mentally. “I doubt that,” he said.