Page 41 of Broken Hearts

“No.” His word is curt, his lips pressed in a firm line, and he shakes his head, driving home the single word that holds so much meaning.

“Nate,” I croon, resting my hand on his cheek, my head tilted to the side as I feel a lump form in my throat.

“Don’t do that, Sage,” he hisses, taking me by the hips, he lifts me off his lap, and I stand in front of him.

“Don’t do what?” I ask, confused, but understanding that this is something he doesn’t want to talk about. He’s touched on it before. I saw the old pictures in my dad’s house, saw the way he looked so lonely and hurt and broken.

“Don’t fucking act like you care!” he shouts, dragging a hand through his hair as he stands from the chair, chucking his empty beer bottle into the can from where he’s standing.

The sound of his words, the loud clang of the bottle hitting the aluminum trash can startles me and I flinch, pinching my eyes shut. Blinking them open, Nate is still standing there in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest, the sound of his labored and angered breathing passing between us.

“I do care!” I yell back. He’s not the only one who gets to stomp around here and throw around words without repercussions. “This wasn’t just a hook-up for me. I do care about you. Why the hell do you think I asked?”

“Way to ruin a perfectly good moment,” he spits back, and the exasperated sigh that leaves my mouth only spurs him on. “Maybe it was just a hook-up for me. Did you ever think of that? You’re going to sell The Pipe Dream and take all your fucking money back to New York. You don’t give a fuck about me or anyone else here.”

My mouth falls open, the insult of his words cutting so deep that I feel the threat of tears blooming hot in my eyes. He doesn’t get to see me cry. That’s what he wants. He wants me gone and out of his life so he can go back to living his miserable existence.

I don’t even have the control to respond to him, to tell him that none of that is true. My thoughts are a mess, hazy and black and clouded. Piecing together anything other than rage is all I can do right now.

“You don’t have any idea what I’m planning to do!” I scream, throwing my hands in the air. “But I can tell you this, my father would have never—” Before I can even finish my sentence, Nate is standing directly in front of me, the anger between us palpable.

“Don’t you dare say a fucking word about your father. You lost that right when you cut him out of your life,” Nate shouts, a pointed finger nearly touching my chest.

“Fuck you!” I scream, the tears now streaming down my cheeks, and without thinking about it, I take off running.

And as I do, all I hear is, “Fuck, Sage. I’m sorry.” But I don’t care if he’s sorry. It was a low blow and that’s why he said it.

If I go back to my dad’s, Nate’s going to be knocking on the door, and I can’t deal with him or his bullshit right now. I was serious when I said I wanted to know about him. There’s a reason my dad took him in, and there’s a reason Nate has stayed this long. There’s history there, a history that I want to be a part of, but a history I’m obviously not welcome to.

I slow to a jog and then to a walk, swiping the tears from my eyes. I stop in front of a little dive bar right on the water. It’s a place I never noticed before, but it’s open, and it’s not my dad’s house.

Pulling the door open, I find it pretty much empty with the exception of a man sitting at the far end of the bar and he doesn’t even look up when I come in.

I take a seat at the opposite end of the man, assuming he’s local and a regular, and the man behind the bar walks over to greet me.

“What will it be?” he asks, a deep rasp to his voice that can only be created from years of smoking. His skin is tanned and weathered, and he reminds me a little bit of my dad, from what I remember of him from my childhood.

I look around, but there’s no menu to be found and that’s unsurprising. This isn’t the kind of place that attracts tourists, and whatever they have, has been here since the place opened.

“Mai Tai?” the bartender suggests. “It’s the cocktail of Hawaii.” He’s unimpressed with his suggestion, but I run with it anyway, giving him a nod.

It only takes me a second to realize I don’t have any money on me, awkwardly patting my legs as if my wallet or purse is suddenly going to appear. But before I can say anything, the bartender is setting the drink down in front of me.

“It’s been a super shitty night,” I start, and the bartender leans back, resting his elbows on the bar diagonal from me, his lips pursed. “I don’t have any money on me, but I can run back and grab my purse. I’m so sorry. I’m staying just down the street so—” And for the second time tonight, I’m cut off.

“Listen, there isn’t any place to stay down the street, so if you’re here as a joke to say you ripped off a local, just?—”

“No, no, I swear I’m not trying to rip you off. I’m staying at Mitch Harris’ place above The Pipe Dream. I know there’s no hotels, and I look like a tourist, and I seriously am sorry, but I will run back…”

A smile appears on the man’s face, sending a smattering of wrinkles to the corners of his eyes.

“Holy shit, you’re Mitch’s daughter. I knew you were in town. Shit, your dad was amazing. Spent a ton of time in here. It’s really great to meet you, kid.”

The bartender has totally changed his demeanor, and it feels like Mitch’s name opens every closed door on this island.

“I’m Eddie. Been a friend of your dad’s since, hell, gotta be like thirty years. It really is great to meet you.”

He waves a hand in the direction of my drink, giving me a wink and a smile, signaling that we’re all good when it comes to me not having any money.

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