Page 32 of Broken Hearts

“Yeah, she is,” Nate says, not needing me to finish my thought. “Her roommates Daisy and Sloane are pushing for her to get back and I think they’re winning.”

Nate now leans forward, picking up the album, and without any hesitation this time, he opens it. Moving closer to him, our thighs brush, and I swear I hear him let out a small gasp.

I can feel the warmth of his body radiating between us, and now that we’re able to be in the same room together, he’s far more attractive than I care to admit to.

My mom’s words play out in my head, and I hold back the smile I feel building. It’s funny because I can only think about Nate as the guy who worked for my dad.

I lean in close, taking in the four pictures in the album, smiling now when I see my dad. His tanned skin, his sun-bleached hair and his ocean blue eyes. He looks so happy standing outside The Pipe Dream, his arm slung around the shoulders of a man that looks strikingly familiar.

“That’s Tanner,” Nate says, his finger tapping on the picture. “Could they look any more cliché?” Nate lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Those puka shell necklaces.”

“I can smell the surf wax through the picture,” I joke back, Nate laughing again.

“Blueberry and bubble gum,” Nate confirms, pointing at my dad and then Tanner.

“What’s your go-to?” I ask, turning to look at him, his eyes brimming with tears waiting to spill over, but he closes his eyes and wets his lips, the moment passing.

“I don’t really have one,” Nate answers, flipping the page to the next set of pictures. “I just took whatever was lying around the shop.”

The next set of pictures make Nate swallow hard, his throat moving with each hard gulp. It’s not going to be long before this becomes too much for us. Every picture tells a story, and this album is about to tell the story of my dad, a story that ended way too soon.

“Who’s that?” I now ask, pointing to a kid standing with a surfboard outside The Pipe Dream. He has his hand on top of the board, his shorts slung low on his hips, looking like if he was hit with a big wave, it would take the shorts with it.

“That’s me,” Nate says quietly, and I should have known it was him. A skinny kid with a surly look on his face, not pleased with having his picture taken.

“Oh my god, for real?”

“Yes, for real.”

“You look so cute with your surfboard and your shorts that are too big,” I croon, tossing an elbow into his side.

“I’m not sure anyone would have called me cute back then,” Nate mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I was more like a jellyfish sting. Everyone avoided me.”

“Except my dad,” I say, waiting for Nate to open up. He mentioned my dad was the only person who never gave up on him. He’s holding back, keeping his feelings inside, and that can’t be good.

“Except your dad.”

“I feellike there’s a story there,” Sage now says, her words quiet.

I turn the page of the album, smiling when I see the next collection of photos of me and Kai and Miles, the three of us goofing around on the beach. Those two were the first real friends I ever made, pretty much accepting me from the get-go, despite the fact I tried really hard to piss them off and push them away.

I don’t know if it was their connection to Mitch or their stubbornness that kept them coming back for more, even when I was a total dick to them. But I’m glad they persisted. Alana too.

“Yeah,” I murmur, turning the page again. This one has photos of me and Mitch, sometimes me, Mitch and Alana, hanging out in the back of the shop. I’m older in these photos, even smiling in some of them.

“Will you tell me?” she asks, and I feel the warmth of her hand as it briefly touches my arm.

I continue flicking through the pages, which is like taking a trip down memory lane of my life here with Mitch and all the people he surrounded himself with. The people who embraced me and took me in too. I can feel Sage watching me, her eyes flicking to the album every time I turn the page to the next group of photos.

“Your dad was basically the closest thing I had to a father,” I eventually say as I turn to a page that is a little out of place with an older photo of me and Mitch. We’re standing a foot apart, and I have a scowl on my face, and my arm is in a cast. You can practically see the anger radiating off me, despite the smile on Mitch’s face.

“Is this part of…” Sage starts, gently tapping the photo I’m looking at.

I don’t feel drunk in this moment, but I do feel weirdly comfortable sitting here with her and it’s the only explanation I have for the words that now fall from my mouth, even though she doesn’t finish her question.

“I never really knew either of my parents,” I say, turning the page again, that last photo a memory I’d rather forget. “I spent my childhood in and out of foster homes.”

Sage doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she’s looking at the photos still. This page is later again, my cast now gone, even though the scowl remains. I remember Mitch back then, the way he never gave up on me, even though I was a total asshole at times. A lot of the time, really.

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