Page 22 of Sixty Days Of Summer

“He wasn’t thinking at all,” I reply with a smirk.

“It’s not funny, Scar. He’s a fucking idiot for losing his shit like that, especially with the media recording his every move.”

“Go easy on him. Theo's already been giving him a hard time.”

“Good,” Nate replies. “That dickhead deserves every bit of it. If it were Theo who’d fucked up, Ace would’ve ripped him a new one for that.”

“From what I saw yesterday, I think he’s already punishing himself enough over it.”

I reach into my bag and pull out a large bag of chips—Nate’s favorite swiped from the cafeteria. I make my way to the other side of the bed, where his functioning arm rests, and tuck them into his top drawer for easy access.

“Have Mom and Dad been in today?“ I ask, walking over to the window to admire the breathtaking view. Looking outfrom Nate’s room, the city sprawls out below, complete with the constant buzz of traffic on the highway and the silhouette of distant hills.

“Yeah, they left about an hour ago,” Nate replies. A heavy silence settles between us, filled with unspoken thoughts that hang in the air.

I settle back into the chair beside Nate’s bed.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice shattering the stillness. “I’ll rip that asshole apart when I lay eyes on him, Scar.”

As I lift my eyes to meet Nate’s gaze, I can sense his scrutiny directed towards the marks that are still visible on my face. The swelling’s gone, but the bruises are still visible, no matter how hard I tried to conceal them today.

“Just drop it, Nate,” I urge, trying to diffuse his growing anger.

“Fuck, Scarlet, you expect me to just forget that asshole laid a hand on you?”

“Nate, I just want to leave it in the past,” I say, hoping to calm him down.

"Yeah, but I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Did you get a restraining order or press charges against him?”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not, Scarlet?” I can see the frustration written all over his face, as he tries to make sense of why I haven’t acted yet.

“Because Nate. What happens when the media gets wind of that? You’ll be all over the front page, and it’s got nothing to do with you.”

“So what? This has everything to do with me, goddamn it. You’re my little sis, Scar. Some asshole hurt you. That’s way more important than any shit that the media pulls.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, his grip firm and protective.

“I don’t know,” I say, staring down at our joined hands. “I suppose I just didn’t want the media to grab hold of it and broadcast it all over the news. It’s already embarrassing as it is. I don’t need the whole world knowing about what happened.”

“It’s not about being embarrassed, Scar. You did nothing wrong, so you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. This is on that dickhead, not you.” The soft pressure of Nate’s thumb running over the back of my hand sends a wave of comfort through me, but his words make my chest tighten. When he falls silent, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I finally look up at him. “Last night, when the guys came in, Theo mentioned that you declined the opportunity to take my spot in the band.”

I shift my eyes away from him and fix my gaze on the expansive view outside the large window as I speak. “Did he explain my reasons for refusing?”

“Yeah, he did. You know Theo—he can’t help but blurt things out. But I want to hear it from you."

I shift my gaze back to Nate. Our sibling bond has always been strong and close-knit. He’s been my protector, always there to shield me from harm. I know Theo would’ve painted a vivid picture of my conversation at that table yesterday; that’s just how those two operate.

“Why didn’t you ever let me in on that shit, Scar?”

"Because it's my problem, Nate. You didn’t need to know, plain and simple."

He falls silent for a moment, and when I glance up, I can see the frustration in his eyes—he’s itching to dig deeper but holds back, wary of me shutting him down. I hesitate, unsure if I should dive into this conversation. It’s not his fault that his talent shines brighter than mine, but I feel this irresistible urge to explain myself. With Theo, you never really know what might have slipped out.

“I said nothing, Nate, because I didn’t want you to see how your fame screws with my career.”

"Tell me, Scar. I need to understand what’s been happening," he presses.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He deserves to know, but I can already imagine the heavy burden this will place on him. I know my brother well enough to anticipate his reaction—his face will contort with guilt, as he worries that his success might be hindering mine.

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