Page 33 of Broken Hearts

“Mitch eventually took me in,” I whisper, my thumb brushing over the photo.

Beside me, Sage takes a breath, letting it out slowly before she says, “Your broken arm, did…”

She trails off when I nod in response to her unfinished question. The broken arm that was just another thing in a long list of injuries I put up with. But it was the last straw for Mitch, particularly when it was coupled with three cracked ribs, a black eye and him finding me asleep on the beach with nothing but the clothes on my back.

“I’m glad he took you in,” she says, her hand on my arm again, her touch warm against my skin.

I flick to another page, more photos of me and Mitch, Alana too and this time I am smiling as I stand beside the guy who saved my life and the girl who drove me crazy when I first met her, even if now she’s practically my best friend.

“He did more than that,” I whisper, flicking again. This page is the last one in the album.

I have to swallow hard when I see the photo because it’s so recent. Maybe a couple of months before he died. It’s of me and him, standing together in front of the shop with the first board I ever designed a graphic for propped between us. I thought we’d sold it in the shop ages ago, but unbeknownst to me, Mitch had actually taken it. He kept it for me, giving it to me on my twenty-fourth birthday because he said I needed to own the first board I’d designed. I’d been fucking speechless at the time, unbelievably grateful that he would even think to do that for me.

“Fuck,” I whisper, closing the album as the tears now threaten to fall.

I lean over and drop it on the table, risking a quick glance at Sage. Her eyes are also shiny with unshed tears as she gives me a sad smile. Picking up the other album, I sit back, taking a deep breath before I open it, unsure what I’m going to find inside. When I turn to the first page, though, I hear a gasp fall from Sage’s lips, because while the first album might as well have been my history with Mitch, this one is clearly hers.

“Oh my god,” she says, her hand hovering over a picture of Mitch holding a tiny baby in his arms. Her hand is shaking, and she snatches it back quickly as we both stare at the photo.

It looks like it was taken shortly after she was born, but the smile on Mitch’s face is huge, as is the look of love and pride. When I turn the pages, I see they are filled with photos of Sage at increasing ages— crawling, walking for the first time, dressed in a Halloween costume, a school logo T-shirt, a soccer uniform, even just on the couch smiling at the camera. Every page I turn reveals another milestone in her life, and when I glance at her, I can see she’s now openly crying.

“Looks like he never gave up on you either,” I say, handing her the photo album.

Sage nods, her eyes glued to the page that contains photos of her from recent years, from long after she stopped coming here to see her dad.

“He clearly loved you,” I add.

Sage lets out a sob, shaking her head as she says, “I gave up on him.” Her words are garbled by her cries, her cheeks wet with tears as she stares at the pages. “Fuck, Nate, I messed up,” she cries. “I messed up so badly.”

I have no idea what to say to her, what I can possibly say that will make her feel better. But before I can even try, Sage is falling against me, her head landing on my shoulder as she turns her face into my neck and cries.

I sit frozen on the couch, having no idea what to do, what to say, until eventually, I just wrap my arms around her, holding her close.

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, smoothing a hand up her back, my fingers brushing over the warm skin at the base of her neck.

“It is,” she cries, nodding against my shoulder. “I pushed him away, didn’t let him be a part of my life.”

“Someone did,” I murmur, taking the photo album from her lap.

Sage lifts her head, sniffing as she wipes at her cheeks. “It must have been my mom,” she whispers, finally looking up at me. “She must have sent them to him.”

I nod, not really knowing what to say. Sage stares up at me, her ocean blue eyes somehow even bluer with the shine of tears. I watch as another one falls down her cheek, watch as my hand lifts automatically, my thumb brushing it away.

I hear Sage’s breath catch, see the way her eyes widen as she leans a little closer to me, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. My gaze drops to her mouth now, to the way my thumb brushes across that lip, pulling it free.

She draws another quick breath and, in that moment, it’s impossible to say which one of us closes the distance between us, but the next thing I know, my mouth is on hers or her mouth is on mine, and we are kissing. Sort of anyway. I mean our lips are definitely touching, but we are barely moving, just resting them against each other.

But just as I feel her start to pull away, I do it, I actually kiss her. The tip of my tongue traces that bottom lip of hers, teasing a groan from her mouth. Sage leans closer again, so our chests are pressed together, my arm still around her as she or me now deepen the kiss.

I know I should stop this, that this isn’t the time or the place or even the girl, but I don’t. Can’t. Because the longer I kiss her, the more I want it to continue. The more I want, period.

Eventually though, I force myself to pull back, my breathing heavy as I rest my forehead against hers. My eyes are closed as I try to steady my breathing and my heart, which is pounding inside my chest.

“I should go,” I breathe out, not opening my eyes.

I feel Sage nod against me and when I finally open my eyes, she’s watching me, an unreadable expression on her face. Pulling back, I wipe my hands on my jeans before standing, hoping to fuck she can’t see the evidence of what that kiss did to me. Sage also stands and in silence we walk toward the front door.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say, barely turning around.

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