Page 60 of Nathan

“Wow,” I say, adding, “Poor Laurella.”

“He’s grown up a lot since then, although I think Laurella dragged him kicking and screaming into adulthood. Anyway, I was sore when he dumped me, but I soon got over it because the captain of the football team started paying me lots of attention. I wasn’t even a cheerleader, so you can imagine how that went down with the other girls. Tanner was the dream. Good-looking, fit, the envy of the school, and he was interested in little old me.” She stares off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts. “Stupidly, I married him. I was eighteen. For a while, things were good. He secured a tryout with the Chicago Bears, so we moved to Illinois. Then he damaged his knee, and bam!” She claps her hands. “Promising football career over. His way of coping with his terrible disappointment was to abuse me.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth. “He hit you?”

She shakes her head. “Believe me, it would have been easier to deal with if he had. No, Tanner had a special way of breaking down my confidence and self-esteem until I didn’t even know who I was anymore. He got inside my head, and he systematically destroyed me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, wondering why Millie is choosing to share all this with me.

“Oh, I’m not telling you for sympathy,” she says as if reading my thoughts. “My story ends well because Ciaran saved me. But I kept my secret for a long time. I thought people would blame me if they knew. ‘That stupid girl who let her husband walk all over her. I’d have gotten shot of him years ago. Why didn’t she? Maybe she liked him ruling over her.’ Yada yada. Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is I recognize the signs of someone carrying a terrible secret inside them—one they daren’t let loose because they’re terrified of what will happen if they do.”

“Nate,” I say, more to myself than Millie, but she nods anyway.

“Don’t give up on him. He’s such a sad person, yet with you, I see more than glimpses of… peace, I guess. Ciaran was my savior. I think you’re Nate’s.”

She yawns and gets to her feet. “Sorry, honey, but I need my bed. When he comes back—and he will—try not to be too hard on him. But at the same time, don’t let him hide from the truth. If he’s ever going to tell anyone what’s bugging him, I think you’re the one he’ll confide in.”

I stare at the ceiling long after Millie leaves, even though I’m exhausted. But eventually, my eyes fall shut, and I sleep.

Chapter 23

Dex

“Fuck!”

My eyes snap open in time to see Nate hitting the wall as he staggers through the bedroom door.

I sit upright, watching him lurch toward me, reeking of booze. His hair is sticking out at all angles, as though he’s been running his hands through it. He also has a bruise on his right cheek, and his shirt is missing a couple of buttons.

“What the hell happened to you?” I whisper, conscious of Ciaran, Millie, and their baby sleeping along the hall.

His unfocused gaze falls on me. With a stupid grin plastered over his face, he takes another unsteady step and collapses onto the bed.

“There you are,” he mumbles, clawing his way closer. He rests his head in my lap. “You smell so good.”

I can barely make out the words, they’re so jumbled together. Shoving him off me, I hiss, “You’re drunk.”

He giggles. Nate does not giggle. Ever. A chuckle perhaps, or a snort of laughter. But a giggle that wouldn’t be out of place on a sixteen-year-old girl. No. Not him at all.

“Drunk on you, Titch.” He tries to rise up but can’t manage it, collapsing back into his previous position. After rolling onto his back, he closes his eyes.

“How much have you had to drink?” I ask, wondering whether he’ll need his stomach pumped. When he doesn’t respond, I punch his arm. “Nate.”

“Ow.” He turns onto his side, curling his knees into his chest. “Make love not war, Titch.”

Once again, I have to strain to figure out what he said. He’s slurring all over the place. My heart clenches. Poor Nate. He must be hurting so bad to get this wasted. Sure, he likes a drink, but from what I’ve seen of him these past weeks, he’s always in control.

“Shall I call a doctor?”

He violently shakes his head. “No doctor.”

“Your brothers, then? Shall I get Declan or Ciaran?”

A deep frown scores between his eyebrows. “What brothers?”

Jesus. He’s hammered. “Your brothers, dickhead. Shall I wake Declan or Ciaran, or call Callum?”

“Not my brothers,” he mutters. “Not proper brothers.”

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