Juliana Stone - Boys Like You

In that moment, I saw the love, the pain, the anguish, and the question…was I better?

Was I?

Were they?

For so long, he’d acted as if our small, battered family had already moved on. As if the tragedy that had happened to Malcolm had been dealt with—wrapped up in an ugly box and put into storage. It used to piss me off so much. How could he not wallow in the pain? Pain is what made us remember.

But I think I kind of got it now. It was how he’d been trying to deal with the fact that his son was gone, and even though his daughter was still around, she’d pretty much taken a vacation. I had been nothing after Malcolm died.

Just skin over a bunch of bones with no heart and no soul.

I’d been so wrapped up in my own pain that I hadn’t once considered my parents didn’t know how to deal with theirs.

I’d thought that Dad’s apathy and Mom’s need to overcompensate in everything was their way of dealing with me. But it wasn’t. God, it wasn’t at all. It was them falling away and trying to deal with their own pain.

The thing was?

We were still here. My mom. My dad. My gram.

Me.

I was still here.

I thought of the dream I’d had less than an hour ago, and I realized something. Even though Malcolm was dead, he wasn’t gone . Not really.

He existed inside each and every one of us, in that one place where he’d never left. That one piece of my soul that hadn’t faded to black like the rest of me.

Malcolm had never really left us; it was me who had gone away. Me who had crawled deep inside myself because I wasn’t strong enough to deal with everything. But Malcolm? He was still here with us.

I saw his hazel eyes reflected in my dad’s. I saw his gentle, curious smile appear on my mom’s face as she nodded at something Gram was saying.

Malcolm would always be here.

My feet started moving before I even knew what I was going to do and I didn’t stop until his arms encircled me. Until I was breathing in that scent that was all Dad—part soap and musky cologne and just…just Dad.

When was the last time I’d let him touch me? The last time I’d given him a hug or a kiss? I couldn’t remember, and I thought that, that alone was tragic. He used to be my king, back when I was little, and when had all of that fallen away?

Finally his hands slipped away and I took a step back, my gaze sliding from him to Mom.

“I missed you guys.”

Mom didn’t look like she knew what to say, and I could see tears sparkling around the corners of her eyes. She still sat at the table with Gram, who squeezed her hand and slowly rose.

“Monroe, why don’t you grab the iced tea off the counter and pour us each a glass?”

“Sure, Gram.”

I bent low and kissed my mom’s cheek, but then quickly crossed the kitchen before she said anything. Our relationship had always been more complicated, and things were still fragile.

But the road back to good, though fragile, wasn’t one I was scared of anymore.

I poured four iced teas and leaned against the counter sipping mine while Gram served peach cobbler. I hadn’t had breakfast yet, but the thought of food—any kind of food—made my stomach turn.

“Nathan hasn’t called, has he?” I finally asked when I couldn’t stand it anymore. My cell still showed no calls or text messages, and I thought maybe he’d called the house.

Gram shook her head. “No, dear. I haven’t heard anything.”

“Who’s Nathan?” Dad asked, sitting a little straighter in his chair as he fingered his glass.

The boy that I love.

Just then, a loud rap sounded on the back door that Nate always used and my heart nearly beat out of my chest as I watched it slowly open.

Nathan strode into the kitchen, his tall, lean form still in the wrinkled, dirty clothes he’d worn the day before. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his jaw was shadowed while his hair was a wild mess—a hot, sexy, wild mess that haloed his head in burnished waves.

Burnished waves that I wanted to touch.

He pulled up short and my heart turned over when I saw how tired he looked.

“Hey,” I said softly.

He held my gaze for several, long seconds and then attempted a smile. “Hey.” Shoving his hands into the front of his jeans, he slowly looked around the room.

“Nathan,” Gram interrupted, “you look exhausted. Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. “I’m not really hungry, thanks, Mrs. Blackwell.”

He glanced around the room and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you had company.” And then he turned. “I should go.”

I sprang forward. “Nathan, no. Wait.”

I was at his side in an instant, my hands reaching for him. Needing him. And when I slid my arms around his waist, I felt his muscles release and he sagged against me.

It was as if we were the only two people in the room. Heck, in the entire universe. He was all I was aware of and I glanced up at him, eyes searching, needing to know.

And like we were a part of each other, I didn’t have to ask.

“He made it through the night and they think…” Nathan blew out a long breath. “They think that he’s going to beat the infection.”

“Oh my God, Nate.”

“I know,” he murmured into my hair. “He’s still not out of the woods, but the doctor seems hopeful. I had to see you before I went home. Came straight here. I just had to…hold you.”

A throat cleared behind us and Nathan shifted a bit, smiling down at me as he raised his eyebrows.

“Those your folks?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I guess I don’t exactly look presentable.”

“You look perfect,” I answered and then nudged him with my hip. “Even though you look like crap.” I paused. “Would you like to meet them?”

He tucked a piece of my hair behind my ears and stood back, and I don’t think my heart could feel any more full. It was full of life. Full of love and family.

It was full of Nathan.

“Sure.”

“Okay,” I teased. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” My hand slid down to his and I tugged him forward.

“Warn me?”

I nodded. “Yep. Both of my parents are lawyers and they kind of, you know, like to ask a lot of questions.”

“Good to know,” he said softly. “Let’s do this.”

Nathan

Labor Day weekend. Where the hell did you come from?

Man, it didn’t seem that long ago when summer felt as if it was as long as a school year. Back then, my life had been divided into two things. School. And summer. And in my young little mind, each was like a season, as long as each other.

When I was in elementary school, I hated Labor Day weekend because it meant no more lazy summer days spent out at my grandparents’ place. No more afternoons in the pond at Baker’s Landing, fishing or frogging. It was back to the classroom, and who the heck wanted to spend every day inside?

Not me. I’d rather be exploring, pretending to be the meanest pirate this side of the Mississippi.

But as I got older, went through middle school and then into high school, things changed. Traditions formed, and Labor Day weekend became a three-day celebration of not only the end of summer, but the beginning of another school year.

There was the annual football game. Fathers against sons.

And then there was the annual blowout bush party, held at a different location each year. It was a music- and booze-fueled night of mayhem, good times, and making memories.

This year, my senior year, would have been epic. Would have being the choice words.

Trevor was still in the hospital, and though his body had responded to the drugs and he’d fought off the infection that had basically shut down his organs, he was still in a coma. Still existing somewhere other than here, and I had no idea if he was gonna make it.