Broken Compass

But it’s not my secret to tell. It’s Nate’s, and he sure didn’t seem keen on sharing earlier. Plus, I don’t even know what’s really going on with him. Is there some bully I don’t know about, or is it trouble at home?

I mean, God damn, his parents seem nice. I swear I’ve never gotten a hint that his dad hits him or anything, but right now it’s as if the picture of the perfect family living above me is crumbling, letting grim reality show.

And all I can think of is… not Nate, dammit. He’s a good guy. He deserves better—better than most, better than me.

As if anything’s ever fair in this life. Everything sucks—except for afternoon runs and sparring with Nate, and then moments like this.

Alone with Sydney, the fruity scen

t of her hair rising to flood my senses, caught between lust and the unbearable relief at having her in my arms.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” I whisper, dizzy with need and a sort of painful joy.

“Of what?”

“Holding you.”

She takes a step back. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not all my dreams are nightmares, woman.”

“Oh.” Her mouth relaxes, but the moment is broken. “Okay. I mean, good. West, I…” Her lashes lower. “I just…”

Yeah. Right. “Let’s go back.”

And right on cue, Nate appears in the doorway of the living room, wearing a frown. “You guys all right? What happened back there?”

“Nothing,” I say, and walk past Sydney, careful not to touch her. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”

“We were just talking,” Sydney mutters, following me.

Why did I tell her that? What the hell was I thinking—telling her stuff, holding her? Wanting her?

Guess I wasn’t thinking at all.

The quiet in the kitchen is vibrating with tension. Despite the bright sunlight kept at bay by thick curtains and the piles of food on the table, nobody’s really eating or seems to be having any fun.

Except for Kash. He’s got his plate heaped with food and is finishing his pancakes and bacon while we avoid each other’s gazes.

I can still smell Sydney’s shampoo, and it keeps derailing my thoughts.

“So you guys are like, best friends, huh?” Kash asks, totally out of the left field, and his question hangs in the air between us like an alien monster. He puts down his fork and pushes his fringe out of his eyes. They’re the palest blue, or maybe gray, like ice chips. “Always hanging out, sort of thing.”

Nobody speaks.

He shoves his plate away, darts a glance around the table, and sighs. “Guess I’m gonna head back. Thanks for the brunch, West—”

“We are,” Sydney says. “Best friends, that is.”

Nate nods. “And we’re—”

“—each other’s home,” I finish.

Kash’s pale eyes have widened. I don’t know what possessed me to say what I did even as I rewind my words and feel their weight.

But the silence that follows feels lighter. Nate steals a piece of bacon from Sydney’s plate, Sydney elbows him and laughs. Then she steals my plate, dragging it over to her side, and takes a bite from my pancake. She sticks her tongue out to me.

Jeez.