Page 50 of Living with Fire
Despite my previous thoughts, Hailey bringing up Nate keeping me to himself for the second time makes my hands tremble. Surely, he’s not that kind of guy. He had me meet his two best friends the first night I knew him, and almost two weeks in I’m meeting everyone else from the firehouse. That has to mean he’s not the type of guy that will prevent me from seeing people, right?
“Believe me, he warned me about what I was getting into,” I say, giving her as much of a reassuring chuckle as I can muster.
Vincent managed to isolate me from nearly everyone, though it didn’t happen until later. It’s why I only had my brothers and Maddie by the time I left Colorado. All my other friends slipped away after getting fed up when I declined invitation after invitation to hang out. But with my brothers and Maddie, Vincent knew not to screw with my relationship with them. Much good it did, since I ended up losing them in the end anyway.
My heart aches with sudden homesickness thinking about them. I haven’t spoken with my brothers since before I left. At our last call, Maddie begged me to call her when I got somewhere, but I whispered it was for her own good not to know. For the good of Devin and Connor and my dad. For my safety.
She’d gotten angry. Cursed me up and down, and swore my brothers wouldn’t care what my letters said, or that she was supposed to lie to them about me going east. They’d look for me all over the country, so I was better off calling. I’d considered it. I knew it was a risk, but it wasn’t one I was willing to take.
It was Maddie’s last desperate attempt to stop me from severing all contact. She knew I needed to leave and get out from under Vincent’s thumb. She didn’t know the extent of what was going on between us, but she knew enough.
Far more than either of my brothers, who would have killed him, I’m sure. I made Maddie promise that she wouldn’t let either of them hurt him, if only so Connor and Devin didn’t end up in jail. The same went for my dad, but I know if I start letting my thoughts meander to him, I’ll end up crying.
This isn’t the time or place to be losing myself to tears.
“Nate!” Quinn calls, pulling me back to the present. He’s back from the bar and setting a shot in front of Brody, along with a beer, and a glass of wine for Hailey. “Are you a chains and whips kind of guy?”
Hailey’s wine almost topples over as Nate fumbles from the question.
“Jesus! Are you shitting me right now?” he exclaims, righting the glass just before it ends up in her lap. His eyes are a little wild as they dart around the table, glaring at everyone before landing on me, apology overriding the annoyance.
“Oh fuck,” Liam mutters, leaning into Quinn. “Maybe he is. Just when you think you know a guy.”
Nate flips him the bird, taking his seat beside me, pulling his chair closer to mine before he leans in. “I am so sorry about them. I won’t leave you alone again, I swear.”
I can tell his imagination is running away with ideas of things that might have been said in his absence, so I cover his hand with mine and shake my head. “I’m fine. I told you, I got this.”
Lacing our fingers together, he brings my hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. It has my stomach swirling with heat, my heart taking off in a race. His lips are warm against my cool hands, probably a product of my memories. This—him—washes the rest of them away, and warmth embraces me.
But I can feel the anxiety rolling off him, so I try and ease his worries with a squeeze of his hand.
I know it doesn’t work when he mutters, “All the same, part of me wishes I’d kept you locked in the back office.”
The blood drains from my face, the cold slipping right back into my hands, though this time it’s for a different reason. A wave of nausea hits me at the thought of being locked up anywhere, especially in a small, enclosed space where I can’t escape.
It’s not the memory of the fire, or being stuck in the garbage room, that has my world spinning. It’s the memory of being locked in the basement.
The first time Vincent did it, I don’t think he realized how it would break me. After all was said and done that night, he knew it was the worst kind of punishment he could dole out. I remember that first night so vividly, it’s as if it’s happening to me now.
I’d made plans with friends to go out, but when I told him that afternoon, he’d become furious with me. How dare I make plans without speaking to him first. He’d already accepted an invitation to a friend’s party, and we were both expected to be there. The look in his eye told me I was treading in deep water, but I hadn’t seen one of my friends in over a year since she’d moved away.
I pushed. Even after he told me not to. The next thing I knew he was slamming me against the wall, my head hitting it so hard that the drywall caved. Then I was shoved through the doorway leading to the basement. Somehow I managed to catch myself before I fell down all the stairs, but the resulting bruises didn’t feel very good.
They were nothing compared to the psychological scars inflicted on me that night.
Vincent had gone to the garage where the electrical panel was, and flipped off the lights, so I had no way of seeing. I’d never been a fan of basements, this one in particular, something he was all too aware of. He kept me locked in until the early hours of the morning while he went to the party without me. The same party he’d said I had to be at.
I spent the first hour screaming at him to let me out, shouldering the door to try and get it open, clawing at the bottom to try and rip part of it away and make a hole big enough to fit through. I didn’t even make a dent, only ending up with bruises up and down my arm, my fingertips and nails shredded. It was the most degrading thing he’d ever done to me, making me feel like a dog trying to get out.
More than that, I was scared beyond comprehension. I spent the entire evening crying, though how tears kept coming, I’m not sure. To make things worse, by the time he let me out I was so out of my mind I dove into his waiting arms, begging him to make me feel better.
“Sav,” Nate’s gentle, calm voice breaks through my thoughts, and I feel his hand touch my cheek, making me flinch. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay.”
Focusing on him, I see the concern etched in his face. I try for a smile, but I’m positive it comes across as more of a grimace than anything. The remnants of my lunch from hours ago are churning in my stomach. It’s not often I allow myself to go to that place, never in public, and I can feel the shame creeping through me until my face is so colored I’m surprised Nate isn’t checking my temperature or blood pressure.
“Sorry,” I mutter, dropping my eyes between us. “Spaced out.”
Nate isn’t normally one to pry, something I’ve learned to appreciate about him, but I don’t think I’ve given him a choice this time. His voice is so quiet that I know I’m the only one that can hear him when he asks, “Where did you go?”