Page 50 of Broken Hearts

“Yeah,” I reply, chuckling. “I was really shit when I first started.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Sage look over at me. “How old were you?”

I lick my lips, tasting the saltiness of the sea. “I was fifteen when I first met him.”

“How old are you now?”

Smiling, I turn to her, chuckling at her narrowed brow, as though she’s trying to figure it out for herself. “I’m twenty-four. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And you’re what, in school?” I ask.

Sage nods as she says, “Yeah, my final semester.”

“Whatcha studying?”

She tucks her hair behind her ears, before gathering it together and wringing the water from it. My gaze drops to her thigh, to where the water droplets fall, watching as they slowly slide over her skin.

Fuck.

“Education,” she says. “I want to be a teacher.”

My eyes snap back to hers as a slow smile pulls at my mouth. “Fuck, if I’d had you as my teacher, I might have stayed in school more.”

Sage smirks, even as a blush colors her cheeks. “You finished high school though, right?”

“Just,” I say with a laugh. “And really only because of Mitch.”

She tilts her head to the side, still watching me. I know this is her way of wanting me to elaborate, to tell her more about the things I blurted out this morning, about how Mitch saved my life and shit. And even though I don’t owe her, or really anyone, an explanation, I find myself wanting to tell her. Or at least wishing I could.

“I met Mitch when I was fifteen,” I say again, blowing out a breath as I turn back to the ocean. “First with my counselor after I skipped school, and then again when he found me sleeping on the beach.”

“Because…?”

“Because I’d run away,” I reply, still staring straight ahead.

“From your foster parents?” Sage asks.

I nod. “Yep.”

“Is that…is that when he took you in?” she now asks, a nervous edge to her question probably because we are veering back into territory that usually results in us fighting.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I didn’t end up with Mitch until I was sixteen. It um…it took a few more times before he stopped being okay with me running away to sleep on the beach.” Sage is silent, and eventually, I turn to find her watching me, an unreadable expression on her face. My gaze locks with hers as my heart pounds in my chest, my hands clenching into fists as I try to stop them from shaking. “That time when he found me, I had a black eye, a broken arm, and three broken ribs.”

Sage’s eyes widen as she lets out a shocked gasp, her hand moving to rest on my arm. “Nate, that’s awful. I’m so?—”

“Don’t,” I say, cutting her off. “You don’t need to apologize for shit that happened to me.”

“I’m not,” she breathes out. “Well, I mean, I am, but I’m also apologizing that you had to go through that.”

Smiling, I ask, “Isn’t that kinda the same thing?”

Sage pouts, gently shoving me a little. “Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “So what, did Mitch foster you then?”

I turn back to the ocean, scrubbing a hand down my face before pushing it back through my hair. “No, not exactly,” I say. “He petitioned to become my guardian. I hadn’t realized, but he’d been keeping a record of all the shit that had happened to me and of course, Mitch being Mitch, he knew the right people to talk to. So I moved into the house at the back of the shop, started working for him and now, here I am.” I hold my arms out, my hands up as though it’s as simple as that.

It's not of course.

---