Page 106 of The Light We Lost

Bethany Turner could kiss my grounded ass.

Not only had Mom taken my DVD ofDirty Dancing—the limited keepsake edition—she’d taken the Patrick Swayze poster off my wall. For two weeks, I wasn’t allowed to leave the house except for school or to waste away scrubbing crusty food off the diner tables.

And apparently to help search for the town’smissinggolden boy.

Flashlight in hand, I stomped deeper into the woods behind my house. Mom and Dad had gone to join the rest of the search party, searching through the forest surrounding the Graham house. I’d been content to stay home and sulk, but Mom had asked me to do a quick sweep through our backyard.

She’d told me not to leave the yard, but after confirming there wasn’t a boy hiding in the chicken coop, I opened the back gate and stepped past the tree line. I might as well enjoy my freedom while I could, even if it was for something as pointless as this.

Nolan Graham wasn’t missing.

This hick town had a knack for taking the tiniest bit of information and blowing it out of proportion. Sheriff Turner had done the same thing to me, fining my parents because I’d “broken” two stop signs by throwing watermelonsat them while driving down the highway. They weren’t broken. Dented, yes, but they stood just fine. And Nolan was fine too.

He was probably with his friends, shitting himself silly for turning the whole town into a frenzy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d snuck off to make out with some girl, one of the many who drooled over his superstar baseball skills. Gross. If I found Nolan pressed against some tree with his tongue down Bethany’s throat, I’d throw a watermelon at my own head.

A mist of rain filtered through the treetops, light enough I could still see but heavy enough I regretted not listening to Dad and grabbing my coat. My boot slipped, and I hit the ground with a smack, water seeping through my jeans. I gritted my teeth, wiping the leaves and pine needles off my hands and knees as I stood.

Why was I out here? Sure, I’d known Nolan since before kindergarten. He was constantly pulling my hair and stealing all the marshmallows from the baggy of Lucky Charms I brought to school every day. We were both freshmen, even ran in the same crowd occasionally, but we weren’t friends. We didn’t talk. He was too busy schmoozing everyone with his baby blue eyes, pretty smile, and how fast he could throw a baseball.

Fine, he wasokayat baseball. It was his freshman year, and he’d led the baseball team to the state playoffs. They’d lost, but it was the school’s first time there in twenty years, and he was all anyone could talk about. I would’ve told someone to buzz off the moment they tried telling me what college I should sign with, but Nolan didn’t seem to mind.

Mom had told me I stirred up trouble because I was bored, claiming if I had some sort of hobby, I wouldn’t feel the need to vandalize stop signs or break curfew on Friday nights. I’d told her I wasn’t bored, I was havingfun. To which she’d said, “Look at the Graham boy. You don’t see him getting in trouble, do you? It’s because he’s focused. He has an end goal.”

I hadn’t bothered to point out that Nolan had bought the watermelons.

Frustrated, I scooped the flashlight off the ground and started home. It was overcast and dark, and I couldn’t see the porch light from here, but I knew thesewoods like the back of my hand. Nolan was on his own. If he wanted to run away from Wallowpine, that was his right. Lord knew I was behind him.

I was halfway home, wondering where Mom had hidden my favorite movie, when something moved in the corner of my vision.Please don’t be a bear or a skunk. Oh hell, I think I’d prefer a bear.But when I flicked the light to the right and realized who was there, I would’ve been happy with either.

“Nolan?” I squinted, making no move to approach the figure crouched in the grove of trees not twenty feet from me. Golden strands peeked out beneath a baseball cap. It was him, all right. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t respond. Asshole.

Teeth chattering and pissed off, I strode toward him. “Okay, you had your fun—it’s time to go home.” I stopped a few steps short of where he sat on the forest floor, seeing red when he didn’t so much as look up at me. “Seriously, joke’s over. You scared the whole town. You should’ve seen your dad, your little brother—”

I fell silent, realizing Nolan wasn’t reacting. Not to my shouting, nor the branches creaking above us. He sat on his bottom with his legs curled to his chest, his back rising with heavy breaths. I knelt, fingers dipping into the soil as I dropped to his level.

His back was to an aspen tree, the white bark stark even in the night. His shoulders were tight, hands clenched. His breaths were shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. His gaze was distant, unfocused. It wasn’t the same, but it reminded me of the look I’d see Dad sometimes get after his time in the military.

For the first time in his life, the golden boy didn’t look so . . . golden.

“Nolan.” My voice was cautious, easy. A mirror to how I’d heard Mom talk to Dad sometimes. “It’s Indy Tyler. I’m going to grab your hand, okay?” Pretending I wasn’t about to hold a boy’s hand for the first time, I carefully lifted one of his hands and wrapped it with mine. “Well, lookie there—we’re like two peas in a pod.” His breaths were shaky, but I assumed by the way he held my fingers, my touch hadn’t distressed him more. “Are you hurt?”

His grip tightened, his voice so throaty and low I almost didn’t hear him say, “I think I’m havinga heart attack.”

My stomach dropped, not because I thought he was having a heart attack, but because I smelled a waft of liquor on his breath. “You’re not having a heart attack,” I whispered as his breaths quickened. “But you’re going to pass out if you don’t slow your breathing.”

He let out a low groan and rubbed at his chest with his free hand, as though trying to let something out. He was panicking. His breaths sped up, and the more I smelled the sure sign of alcohol, the more I thought I should get help. But Mom and Dad had taken away my phone, and I couldn’t just leave him here alone.

I grabbed his hand from his chest, squeezing his fingers. “Nolan, I don’t know where your mind is, but you’re with me. And I need you to slow your breaths.” I squirmed my way between his knees and knelt between his legs. “I know it’s hard, but you can do it—try and tell me three things you see. I’ll do it with you, okay?”

I scanned our surroundings, not knowing what the heckin’ bob I was doing. I’d seen Mom do this exercise with Dad to help ground him when his mind felt far, but I was butchering it. After telling him I saw a flashlight, pine needles, and a tree—it was dark, my options were limited, okay—I expected Nolan not to respond, but on a quiet pull of air, he gasped, “Stick, rock, freckles.”

I nodded. “Good—now three sounds you hear.”

He clamped his eyes shut, his shoulders shuddering. “Branches creaking. Rain falling. Peaches.”

I furrowed my brows—peaches? Where had that come from? Deciding it wasn’t worth pointing out there were no peaches to be seen or heard, I said, “I’m going to let your hands go . . . and I want you to move three body parts.”

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