Page 50 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

And my friends? His general disdain for Gemma’s social media-centric lifestyle aside, the only person he’d hit it off with this weekend was Gemma’s football player brother.

And while I loved Michael like a sibling, he wasn’t one of my actual friends.

Come to think of it, Kieran hadn’t said much about any of my friends.

If I had to guess, I’d say he was generally unimpressed by them. Bored, even.

I was far ahead of Nate when I reached the walk-in and tugged the heavy door open. When I slid the vases into place on the shelf, I leaned my forehead against it, focusing on the cold metal against my skin.

The door opened again behind me, but I didn’t move. It shut with a thud as Nate reached my side, but he wasn’t done.

“And another thing,” he pressed, relentless in his grilling. He carefully slid his vases into place and faced me, propping an arm on the shelf over his head. “ Why are you drinking red wine? You hate red wine.”

I ground my teeth. I started drinking red wine more when Kieran and I got together because he insisted it was the only thing to drink with red meat. Then he started ordering it for me when we would go out, and I never asked him not to. I didn’t know why .

“Come on, Oli,” he pushed. “What are you doing with him? I mean, really? What are you doing with a guy like that?”

I pushed off the shelf and faced him, squaring my shoulders.

“Why the fuck do you care?” I felt the venom in my words, saw the look in his eyes as he blinked back his surprise, but I didn’t care.

It was my turn to ask the questions. “Why the fuck do you care about my relationship? Why do you care about who I’m with or what I’m doing? You’ve never cared before.”

I made to push past him, but he stepped in my way, brow furrowed. “You think I don’t care? Really? You honestly believe that?”

I met his eye. “Yeah, Nate. I do.”

I didn’t.

There was a piece of Nate that did care about me, just like how there was a piece of me that did and always would care about him. It was impossible to ignore, though life would’ve been easier if it went away.

My body shivered as I passed him, but before I could open the refrigerator door, he stopped me again. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you—” Blood boiling, I whipped around to face him again, hair arching with the force. “You had me, Nate! You had me. For a long fucking time. And you didn’t care enough to do something about it! You kept us quiet and in limbo when I deserved to be loved out loud.”

I stared at him, shaking my head. This man. He frustrated me, vexed me, consumed my thoughts. He was the one thing I could never shake, no matter how hard I tried. Suddenly, I understood his smoking habit more than I wanted to.

“And you know what the funny part is?” I should’ve shut up, but I pushed on.

“I would have done that for you. I would have loved you, and supported you, and been your biggest fan. I never would have taken too much or asked to be your everything—I know where your priorities are, and I respect that. I only wanted to believe that I had a fucking place in your life. And you couldn’t do that. ”

He focused on me, brows drawn together, jaw tense.

He was still my favorite thing to look at.

“You want to know what I think?” I asked, placing a hand on the door. “I think that when things started to get a little too real for you, you fucking ran.”

I gave the door a push, but it didn’t budge.

Huh?

I placed my other hand on the door, bracing against it, and pushed again. Nothing. Before, the door had been heavy, yes, but it still swung open with relative ease.

“What the hell?” I whispered, shoving it a third time.

Nate closed in behind me, his chest again pressing against my shoulders, as he reached over my head and gave the door a push.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

“Do you have your phone?”

“No, it’s out there on the table.”

Fuck.

“Mine, too.” I glanced over my shoulder at him, the column of his neck only inches from my face, as he reached up again to give the door a sharp push.

Wiggling away, I imagined all the words I said to him scattered on the refrigerator floor like a layer of sand. I’d said too much, and now there was no taking it back.

A small stack of empty milk crates sat in the corner. Grabbing one and flipping it upside down, I sat, burying my head in my hands.

I’m locked in a fridge with Nate Cassidy.

We don’t have our phones .

I left my sweater outside.

Amazing.

“At least it’s a balmy forty-two degrees in here,” he snarked, taking a step back. “Someone’s bound to open the door in a few minutes.”

I counted to ten in time with my breaths, then counted again. I heard Nate settle somewhere in front of me, against the opposite wall of the fridge.

“You okay?”

“Don’t.” I pushed the heels of my palms against my eyes. “Just… don’t talk for a minute. Please.”

He said nothing, but I sensed his nod.

We stayed frozen long enough for the motion sensor in the fridge to shut the lights off, and even then, we didn’t move.

My thoughts swam and stilled all at once, still hung up on Nate’s questions.

What do Kieran and I have in common?

What is one thing? Just one thing?

What did Kieran think about my job, my friends?

I knew the answer to those, but I’d spent so long overlooking them that I convinced myself the answer didn’t matter. Now faced with saying it out loud, it felt like they did.

As angry as I wanted to be at Nate, I was angrier at his questions because they forced me to take a closer look at something I hadn’t realized I’d been sweeping under the rug.

The lights flickered back on as Nate moved, and a moment later, I felt the warmth of his hoodie being draped over my bare shoulders.

I blinked up at him. “Thanks. ”

He reached up and laid a palm over his backward hat as if miming the movement of running his fingers through his hair, despite it being tucked away.

“Remember earlier when I said I never thanked you for the article?” He didn’t meet my eyes as he leaned against the shelves behind him and shoved his hands into his front pockets. “There was something else I never did.”

I eyed him, fishing my arms through the sleeves of his hoodie, bracing myself for whatever he was about to say. His tongue darted out and rolled over his bottom lip like he wasn’t sure what exactly would come out of his mouth, either.

“I never gave you the apology you deserved.”

My stomach bottomed out, and I closed my eyes in a singular, slow blink. “Nate—”

“Let me get this off my chest. Please.”

He rolled his tongue over his lip a second time and bit down on it. I met his helpless stare and tried to place what was behind it. Nervousness? Apprehension?

“That night,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “The last night we…”

“I’ve never been your fucking friend.”

He looked down at his shoes, swallowing, weighing his next words. “I said some shit that night that I’m not proud of. Horrible things that should have never even come out of my mouth because they weren’t true, and they weren’t fair.”

When I didn’t move a muscle, he took a step forward, crouching in front of me.

“I hate that those were the last words I said to you. I thought about it for a long time, but I didn’t know how to make it right, so…

I didn’t. The way you left… I figured I was the last person you’d wa nt to hear from, so I gave you space.

I stood there while you walked out my door—watched you walk away without making it right because I was hurt.

And I was a coward. And you didn’t deserve that—you don’t deserve that.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fix it, but I am so sorry, Oli. ”

He pressed his lips together, eyes meeting mine and lingering there, reading my face. Studying. Waiting for my response.

What was there to say?

A million things.

Nothing at all.

I took a steadying breath and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“We both did and said things we probably shouldn’t have that night. I wasn’t in a good place, and it wasn’t okay for me to call you like that. I’m sorry I put you in a position to do something you regret. If I could go back and do it differently, I would.”

That small crease between his eyebrows returned.

“I don’t regret anything we did that night.

” He shook his head, running a hand over his hat again like his fingers were begging to get to his hair.

“Never that. I just regret the things I said before you left.” He didn’t regret the phone call.

The drinks. The sex. Never the sex. “I regret causing the look on your face before you slammed my apartment door. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for almost two years. ”

A new mix of emotions washed over me with every heartbeat as I stared into his eyes.

Consolation from hearing what I didn’t realize I needed to hear.

Relief that some of the tension between us could finally untie itself.

Heartache that any of it happened in the first place. Trepidation of what to do or say next.

My chin trembled .

A tear spilled over my lashes and slid onto my cheek.

He tracked the movement, dropping from his crouch to lean on one knee, his eyes softening. As if he couldn’t help himself, he gingerly grazed my jaw with his calloused fingertips and wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb.

His voice was strained as he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His hand didn’t leave my cheek as he leaned closer. Instead, he slid it to the back of my neck and ran his thumb over my jaw, back and forth, soothing. I leaned into his touch, our noses only an inch from touching.

“…Nate.”

“Oli.”

He was so close. I should’ve pulled away, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. His lips, only a breath away, were so near my eyes fluttered to a close, welcoming their touch.

A featherlight graze of his top lip on mine, then—

Whoosh. The seal on the walk-in door released and the door swung wide.

“You two have about three seconds to get your shit together,” Gemma hissed as I jerked back from Nate and met her wide-eyed gaze.

“Is she in there?” a voice behind her asked.

Kieran.

Shit.