Broken Compass

But West is already

leaving, and Nate’s face is a picture of despair, right before he turns it away from me and hides what he truly feels once more.

George answers my calls after hours of trying and he sounds harried. “Who is it? What d’you want?”

I explain the situation. I can’t even stand upright properly yet, but I hope to be back on my feet by tomorrow.

“That’s fine, kid,” he says. “Glad you called. I was worried something happened to you. The number you gave me isn’t right. I kept ringing a deep-voiced lady called Jeanne who seemed to think I was making advances.”

I snort. “Sorry.”

Yeah, I’d given him a made-up number. I thought I’d be moving on soon enough, and didn’t want to be tracked.

“Come back tomorrow,” George says. “This place’s a mess without you.”

I rub a hand over my mouth, a smile escaping me, before I disconnect the call.

West had been right.

Damn, what a fucking mess this is, him and Nate fighting, not giving an inch. I can hardly drag them to another party and have them make up, can I? What’s wrong with them? Why can’t they realize what they stand to lose? They’re so alike, the both of them, too proud to talk it out.

We’re all practically adults here, Weston had said. And he’s right. They need to fix this on their own this time, no matter how much I wanna grab their stupid heads and bang them together until they see reason.

My head throbs steadily, a hammer of pain banging inside my skull, and although I managed some of West’s pasta after he left, I feel too exhausted to sit, so I lie down again in my sweat-soaked sheets.

Let’s hope I’m well enough for work tomorrow. At least the two students I’ve been tutoring are now away on summer vacation with their families. I wonder if I’ll see Sydney more, and my heart jolts in my chest.

God, I hope she comes home before I fall asleep. I want to see her. Need to hear her voice, and touch her skin. I dunno what’s this thing that’s come over me today. Maybe it’s this lost time that’s made me more aware of what I have, these people I care about. Of missed opportunities and second chances.

But when a knock comes on my door some time later as I’m half-dozing on the bed, it’s not her.

It’s Nate.

“Brought you some coffee and water. Gotta keep hydrated, or so I heard.” He puts the mug and the glass on the nightstand and sits on the bed as I rub at my eyes, chasing away the cobwebs. “How you doing, buddy?”

“Been better,” I mutter.

He nods and just sits there, hands hanging between his knees, head bowed as I take the mug he brought me and sip at the sweet coffee, letting it clear my head.

“I’m a dick,” he says, not lifting his head. “You can go ahead and say it.”

“You’re not a dick.” Well, not most of the time. “Why are you fucking with West? He’s got enough on his plate as it is.”

“I know, all right? I’m not trying to upset him. I just…” He huffs out a breath.

“Just thought to cut him out of your life and expect him to remain your friend?”

He winces. “No, man, that’s not what I thought. But you’re right. Why should he?”

“Dammit, Nate.” Slamming the mug on the nightstand, I fall back against the pillows, close my eyes. “Don’t be dense.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t give a shit. There’s your proof, dude. He gives a shit. So call him. Meet him. Explain to him why you closed yourself off. Tell him about your dad, or whatever it is that broke you.”

“I’m not broken.”

I open my eyes. “Fine. Then talk to him. Opening up doesn’t make you look weak. It shows you trust your best friend to have your back.”