Deep breath. “Josh was my high school boyfriend. I guess you could call him my high school sweetheart or whatever. He was the only boy I ever…you know,” I can feel my face grow warm, but when I look at Nate he just smiles, urging me on. “Anyway, Josh played for my dad. He started on varsity as a freshman. He was tall and pretty strong. He was a pitcher.”
“Typical pitcher,” Nate says, rolling his eyes and laughing lightly. He lets go of my hand and leans back on his hands; I miss his touch instantly. “Sorry, I was just kidding.” He pushes his foot into mine, letting me know he’s sorry for the joke, and then he leaves it there.
“We dated for a year and a half. I mean, that first year, it wasn’t really much. When you’re fifteen, you pretty much kiss all the time, and that’s about it.”
“Yeah, you can skip the kissing part,” Nate says, pushing his fingers in his ears. “La la la la.” His little act makes me smile—I love that he’s jealous, even if it’s only pretend jealous.
“It was the last day of school our sophomore year, and we were all in the cafeteria, signing yearbooks. All of a sudden, there was shooting. There was a man in all black, wearing a ski mask. He was in his twenties, and he didn’t even go to our school—never did. People were screaming and climbing over one another to get to the exits, but we were right in the middle. We always sat in the middle—it was our table.”
I’m crying now, and my body is shaking a little. I haven’t told this story out loud to anyone other than the investigators, my parents and Ross, and at this very moment, I would give anything to rewind time and take it all back. I want to share it with Nate though. I need to, so he’ll understand why I am the way I am, and why I’m not the kind of girl you think is beautiful and that you flirt with on a baseball field in the middle of the night.
“You can tell me,” he says, reaching for my hands again, holding them tightly within his, his grip on my wrists unwavering.
I close my eyes, and when I squeeze them shut, the last of my tears slide down my cheeks, coming to rest on my collarbone under the warmth of Nate’s shirt.
“The man, his name was Thomas. He was suffering from a psychotic break—thought there was a plot against him, and somehow it involved our high school. Josh…he…he put himself over me. The man shot Josh in the head, and he ended up with severe brain damage. My best friend died right in front of me. Her name was Betsy. She was the first one Thomas shot, and she was one of two people who didn’t survive. The other was a teacher, Mrs. Sharring. She was going to retire.”
Nate doesn’t speak any more. He doesn’t ask any more questions, even though I know he must have dozens. He just reaches up to touch my face, and slowly slides the remainder of my tears away, then he tucks the few strands of my hair that are blowing across my face behind my ear.
“That’s why I never know how to answer that question,” I say, looking away from him, because I know if I look in his eyes I’m going to fall in love.
“What question is that?” he says, his voice soft and gentle.
“Is Josh still my boyfriend?” I say, my eyes letting the lights in the distance blur together out of focus. “He stopped being Josh the second the bullet cut through part of his brain. He’s on feeding tubes, and he can’t talk or do anything for himself. Even his parents are ready for him to die. I know that sounds awful, but he’s come close so many times that they’re just there now. You know, mentally?”
“I’m so sorry, Rowe,” Nate says, and I turn to look at him, his face so honest and forgiving. I can tell with this one look that he would give anything to take what I’m feeling away from me.
“Thanks,” I say, allowing myself to stare long into his eyes, the next round of tears lining up, but my will holding them in. And it happens all at once—just looking at him, I fall in love. But it doesn’t matter—because I can belong to no one.
Chapter 11
Rowe
I told him.
Miss you,
~ Rowe
Chapter 12
Nate
For an hour, we sat there in the dugout—completely quiet. I wasn’t going to go home until she said she was ready. And I wasn’t going to ask her anything else until she was ready to tell it.
When the groundskeepers started showing up, we left, not wanting to have to deal with breaking in. We were quiet all the way back to the dorm, but somewhere during the walk, her fingers found mine again, and I held them tightly until the elevator opened to our floor.