Fake, page 22
Shit.
With my anger doubling by the second, I call Fallon. She answers on the first ring.
“How dare you!” My jaw is so tight, my voice comes out thin and hissing and weak. It’s a terrible indicator of the rage boiling through my bloodstream. I stalk out of my bedroom and down the hall, unable to stay still.
“Mina…listen…”
“No, you listen.” I stab the air like I’m poking her in the chest, then huff a sigh. “Actually? No. I want you talking. What the hell were you thinking?”
“This is for your own good.”
“My own…?” I swipe a hand over my face as if that’ll help Fallon’s statement make more sense. “My own good? Who are you to decide what’s good for me and what’s not good for me?”
“I’m your best friend.” She sounds so sure. So final. So confident that I’ll hear her excuse and be completely okay that she might have blown up my relationship with Nathan right as it got off the ground.
It was already going to be hard telling him that Fallon is my friend. And I am a weak asshole for not doing it when I went over there for that express purpose.
But now? After this? He’ll never forgive me.
There’s only one way she could know so much about everything.
Because I told her.
Dear God. I know I asked for clarity, but did it have to come like this? Tearfully, Mina Blake.
I sink to the floor where I stand, my head in my hand, my heart in my throat. “You were my best friend.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Give me a reason not to.”
“I published that story for you, Mina. To help you. You’re falling in love with someone that doesn’t exist. This guy is playing a role for you. The real Nathan West will chew you up and spit you out.”
He will after I tell him the truth. If only I hadn’t been such a coward. If only I told him Fallon is my friend the first time he mentioned her name…
“If I want to get chewed up and spit out, that’s for me to decide. Not you. I feel physically sick, Fallon. You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Meens…”
“Don’t Meens me. Nathan canceled dinner. Your article goes live and seconds later, he’s dealing with ‘family stuff.’” I make air quotes even though no one’s around to see.
“Don’t you think that should tell you something?” Her voice is too soft. Like she’s trying to lead me to a realization she had weeks ago. Like she feels sad and sorry and knows I’ve been foolish.
It relights the fire of my rage.
“I’m not going to assume it means anything until I talk to him. See, that’s what you do when you care about someone. You take them at their word until they prove you wrong.” I’m up and pacing again, appalled that Fallon had the balls to publish that article. That she actually believed she was helping me by dropping a bomb on my life. She had no right to make this decision for me. None at all.
This is such an awful feeling, being exposed for the world to see. Not just exposed. Misrepresented. It’s more than a violation of trust. It’s a defilement of my sovereignty. It amazes me that Nathan didn’t go completely insane under this much scrutiny. He has every right to hate Fallon as much as he does.
“Mina…” Fallon starts to make more excuses for herself, but I’ve heard all I care to.
I end the call because I can’t stand the sound of her voice, then throw the damn phone onto the couch with a fist clenching, body shaking growl. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this betrayed. Fallon? I trusted her with my life.
And then there’s Nathan, who may or may not be dealing with a family emergency, who may or may not mean more to me than he should, who definitely trusted me more than he should and has every right to blame me for what just happened.
I growl again, my hands in fists, my eyes squeezed tight, my teeth bared.
These are murky waters and I don’t know how to navigate them. At the very least, Nathan deserves a response, so I find my phone, tell him all is well, then perch on the arm of my couch and hope that’s true.
THIRTY-THREE
Nathan
The parking lot at The Hut overflows with cars—all belonging to my family. I climb the steps to the wraparound porch of The Hutton Hotel, with the pristine white paint and the ferns drooping over their hanging pots. Sometimes it’s hard to believe my mother grew up here. That this was her home for most of her childhood. That the kitchen where my family waits is where she sat to do her homework. Where she ate dinner with her brothers, my grandmother, and the grandfather who died before I was born.
I pull open the front door and step inside. With tension lighting up my neck and shoulders, I enter the kitchen and pull up short. Aunt Kara sits at the table, shoulders shaking as she quietly cries. Uncle Wyatt stands behind her, a hand on her back, head bowed. His face is drawn and pinched. His eyes closed. Wyatt Hutton always has a smile ready for everyone but today, sadness hovers over him like ash blocking the sun.
Mom sees me and her face contorts with emotion. She rushes across the room, wrapping me in her arms, burying her face in my chest. I cup the back of her head as my gut twists with concern.
“Hey. Hey now,” I whisper, quiet. Afraid. Dad places a heavy hand on my shoulder and the weight of something terrible descends along with it.
My sister Maren arrives with her twin Joshua, and they hurry to join our little clump. Angela meets my gaze from across the room. She covers her heart with her hand, shaking her head and closing her eyes. Two fat tears trail down her cheeks and she swipes them away. Finally, after several more of us press into the kitchen, Uncle Lucas stands. As Grandma’s firstborn, he’s the spokesman of the family. The one we turn to for guidance. A former Marine who nearly lost his life, only to return home and find it again with his wife and family. He clears his throat and the soft murmurs of conversation die away. Not like people were talking much anyway.
“Thank you all for dropping everything to come here tonight.” Uncle Lucas casts a worried glance to his brother. Aunt Kara’s head drops even lower. Aunt Cat sits on one side while Grandma sits on the other, taking her son’s hand while she whispers in her daughter-in-law’s ear. Grandma’s second husband, Brendan, stands behind her, his hands on her shoulders.
“There's not a lot of information,” Lucas continues, “but Nick disappeared last night during a top-secret mission. As soon as they know more, we’ll know more.” His gaze travels over the occupants of the room, solemn but hopeful. “Remember though. Missing means he can be found. It’s easy to assume worse news is coming, but that won’t help Nick, and it certainly won’t be good for you. Avoid conjecture and stick with certainty.”
Tears prick my eyes as Maren sags against her twin, who wraps an arm around her shoulder and presses his head to hers.
Missing.
One of my worst fears realized.
Every time Nick deploys. Every time he’s silent for too long. Every time he misses a call, there’s a part of me that doesn’t rest until we hear from him again. His safety isn’t guaranteed. His luck won’t last forever.
And here we are. It’s happened.
Missing.
“He’ll be back.” Micah bobs his head as if he’s never been more certain of something in his life. His eyes crackle with an intensity that’s almost crazed as he drapes an arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulls his daughter close. “You can’t keep that guy down. Nick’s fine.”
Aunt Cat grips Kara’s hand while Grandma sighs deeply. Her heart is big enough to hold the whole world. Strong enough to bring her family together after my grandfather ripped them apart. If anyone knows what to say, it’ll be her.
“Kara. Kara, my love,” she croons. “My darling Wyatt, too. Listen to me. I know you’re hurting. We’re all hurting with you. But you can’t give in to your fears. The day I learned Lucas was injured was one of the worst days of my life. When they told me his heart stopped, mine did too. And for three infinite minutes I wasn’t sure it would start again. But there he is. Right here with us. He’s strong. He’s happier and healthier than I ever could have hoped for.”
Kara looks up, falling into Grandma’s eyes like she’s desperate for a lifeline. “Nick isn’t injured. He’s missing.” She chokes on the word and Uncle Wyatt lets loose a shuddering breath.
Injured is finite. It’s determined. It comes with answers and understanding, no matter how terrible.
But missing? It’s ephemeral. There’s no knowing. No certainty. Only hope and fear and the awareness that both are useless.
Grandma nods, accepting Kara’s feelings without hesitation. “You’ve been part of this family long enough to know Huttons are a tough breed. Even when it seems all is lost, we put up a hell of a fight. Everyone in this room has faced devastating odds, yourself included, but here we are. Nick is strong. He’s smart. He’s made of the kind of stuff you can’t keep down.”
Aunt Kara’s gaze lands on Grandma’s, wide and searching. “But what if—”
“There’s no room for ‘what if.’ Don’t even think ‘what if.’ Think about how good Nick is. How much you love him. Think about how you’ll feel when they find him. And remember, you’re not alone. You are surrounded by people who love you. People who will hold you up when you’re too tired to do it yourself.”
Murmurs of agreement sound through the room. An army of Huttons standing behind my aunt and uncle on one of the hardest days of their lives. All of us sharing the pain of not knowing but determined not to give up on Nick because Grandma’s right. You can’t bring a Hutton down. And Nick? He might be the best of us.
I swallow hard, swiping at tears filling my eyes, then cross the room to stand with my aunt and uncle, my hands on their shoulders, a physical reminder that I’m here with them. One by one, the rest of the family crowds in, heads bowed with worry, hearts heavy with concern, but stronger because we’re together.
THIRTY-FOUR
Mina
Hours pass without word from Nathan. Dinnertime comes and goes, but I’m too nervous to eat. I try to read, but stare at the same page for ten minutes without digesting one word. I turn on the TV as a last resort. It’s never been good at holding my attention. Tonight, though? With my thoughts firmly glued on Nathan and whether or not he’s avoiding me because of Fallon’s stupid ass article? There’s no chance the TV will help.
Fallon calls and texts, over and over, desperate to apologize for something she knew was wrong. There’s no way she believes a betrayal like that was right. She did what she did to get more views, certain I love her enough to forgive her. Or that I’m stupid enough to think she truly sabotaged my relationship because it’s good for me.
If I’d known she was one of those ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ people, I would have valued her friendship differently. Life is hard enough without having to second-guess motives and protect yourself from selfish assholes who only care about themselves.
After living through the aftermath of Dad, I thought my screening process was airtight.
Looks like Fallon was right about one thing anyway. I see kindness where it doesn’t exist.
I ignore every buzz of my phone with her name attached.
I have nothing to say to Fallon fucking Mae. Not yet. Not until I’ve processed what she did. Not until I tell Nathan that she’s my friend. Not until I’ve seen what kind of damage that does to our relationship—assuming there still is one.
And with that bright and sunny thought, I’m up and pacing again. Picking up my phone to check on Nathan only to put it right back down for the hundredth time. He’ll reach out when he’s ready. So what if I've been a mess since he canceled tonight? That’s on me. On Fallon. Not him.
Or maybe it’s on the family stuff he said he was dealing with. Which is yet another reason to let him reach out when he’s ready.
Though, isn’t communication the cornerstone of any good relationship? If I’m worried, shouldn’t he know? Is there really a problem if I text him to say I’m thinking of him and hope everything’s okay?
I swipe my phone off the coffee table and draft a text, then read it three times to check for neediness, pushiness, clinginess…
…really any kind of ‘ness’ that might be construed as negative.
“For shit’s sake, Mina,” I mutter with a growl. “Less thinking. More doing.” With a shake of my head, I send the text, then watch for a sign of a response. My heart sinks when nothing happens.
Well, hell. There’s that, then. Whatever it means.
I lock the phone and put it down when a knock sounds at my door. My gaze whips up and I stare, confused. It’s too late for deliveries. Mom used to drop by unannounced, but she’s tucked into bed at Shady Cove. It could be the frat boys, drunk, lost and confused again, but this knock is too gentle to be them. Maybe it’s Fallon, desperate to have the discussion I’m not ready for, but that doesn’t ring true either. She knows me well enough to wait until I’ve cooled down before forcing me into a conversation. Of course, I thought she knew me well enough not to publish that article.
And then, this sense of knowing overcomes me.
It's him.
It’s Nathan.
He's here. Right there on my porch. No call. No text. Just here. That feels important somehow. It speaks of urgency. Of desperation. Of emotional decisions, not rational ones.
With a smile on my face and worry in my heart, I stride to the door and throw it open. Nathan stands there, bowed under the weight of the world. His shoulders are slumped. His chin dropped. His eyes downcast. When he looks at me, I fall into an abyss of sadness. Like he’s holding my hands and plunging us into the depths of the ocean, bubbles rushing against our skin, hair drifting upwards in a languid dance as we sink farther and farther from the light.
“What’s wrong?” I reach for him, my hands gripping his biceps, sliding up and around his shoulders, until my palms rest on his chest.
The worst of me worries he's here to break things off. He read the article and now that the world knows how we started, he’s too embarrassed to keep going. The rest of me knows this is more than that. Something truly terrible has happened.
Nathan steps into my embrace, tucking his face into the crook of my neck, his arms limp at his sides. His shoulders shake as he inhales a stuttering breath, then lets it loose with a low sob. I run my hand in circles along his back, holding him while he cries.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m here.”
I whisper to him as we stand in the doorway, the wind rustling in the palms, the sky black on black on black. After minutes of stillness, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, so close. As if he can steal safety just by being near me. I do my best to give it to him.
“It's Nick,” he says hoarsely. “Nick’s missing.”
A long sigh escapes me. Dread weighs on my heart. This was the beginning of the end for my father. Missing. Then injured. Then discharged. Mom used to say he would have been better off if he’d died. That the man she knew and loved was killed that night and a stranger sent home in his place.
“Oh, Nathan…”
“My family called a meeting at The Hut so we could be with my aunt and uncle. We were all just sitting in that room, desperate for more information. Waiting to hear if Nick’s gone forever or coming home or hurt or lost or what?” Nathan holds out his hands, lifting his shoulders and closing his eyes. “All of us, hoping for something certain. Something solid. But there isn't anything real to grab onto. That's all we know. He's missing.”
“Come inside,” I say, oh so quietly. “Come in and be with me.” With gentle hands on his shoulders, I pull Nathan into my apartment, then close the door. He’s aimless. Standing in the foyer, waiting for direction. I lead him to the couch. He sits, elbows on knees, hands limp, gaze on the floor as he shakes his head.
I bring him a glass of water then sit beside him. He immediately drops his head into my lap, curling up like a little boy. I run a hand through those dark locks, hints of mahogany and gold shooting through them. He’s silent for a long time and I honor that. Holding him. Letting him know I'm here, but not pressuring him to say or be or do anything more than he can. And in this moment that doesn’t seem to be much. I imagine myself pulling the fear and worry out of him like sticky, black threads and sending it up to the universe to be cleansed. It’s a silly thing, but I feel called to do something.
“Would it feel good to talk about it?” I ask. “Or do you need quiet? Either way, I’m here.”
Nathan is still and silent for several long moments, and then, “Nick isn’t just a cousin. He’s one of my best friends.”
“The best big brother ever,” I say, remembering the conversation on the boat.
Nathan nods, pressing his lips together in a sad smile. “Nick listens. You know? And he doesn’t judge, and he won’t spread rumors. And he always has good advice. He’s a protector.”
“The kind of man who joins the Marines.”
Pride ripples off Nathan as he settles into silence for another couple minutes. “Uncle Lucas told us not to worry, not to focus on all the what ifs, but it’s hard. My brain won’t put it down.”
“Tell me about him. Focus on everything good about Nick Hutton. Maybe then your brain won’t have a chance to worry.”
Nathan shares several stories of Nick when they were younger. He’s nostalgic. Laughing. Shaking his head as he gets caught up in the memories. He tells me about a man who spent a lifetime protecting the people who matter to him. A friend. A confidant. Someone who always knows exactly what to say. Someone who goes out of his way to take care of everyone else. Someone who’s strong and kind and funny.
Nick sounds a lot like Nathan.
Maybe it’s a Hutton thing.
Eventually he sits up, gesturing and smiling as he shares a few more stories. They sound so close. Cousins, but also the kind of friends I always wished I had when I was younger. The kind who are there no matter what. Someone who knows the worst of you but sees the best and does everything they can to make sure you see it too.
