Saint Nicholas (16 page)

I knew it was too good to be true, and I found myself clutching my coffee spoon a little too tight, bracing my heart for whatever it was she had to say.

“It’s about my father,” she said.

My mood hardened, and though I tried to hide it, there was no mistaking the hatred in my eyes that I had for that man.

“I was worried you’d react this way.”

“How did you expect me to react, Sarah? After everything you went through as a kid, just hearing you mention him makes me want to punch something.”

“Just, hear me out, okay?”

I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back. “Let’s hear it.”

She looked away, clenching her jaw so tight I could see the muscles flex in her cheeks. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them they were moist, and she shook her head. “You know what? I can’t do this right now.”

I recoiled as if she’d slapped me in the face. “You can’t do what? Don’t tell me you’re speaking to him again. After everything he did to you.”

“You don’t understand, Nicholas.”

“I understand well enough to know that he’s toxic, Sarah. You were worried about the reaction you’d have seeing me. I can’t imagine what your reaction to seeing him must be like.”

“We live together.”

I scoffed, my mouth hanging wide open. There were no words for me to find to say anything. I just stared at her in disbelief.

“He’s dying,” she said, her voice cold and unwavering.

“Good,” I replied, realizing half a second later that it was the worst thing I could have said.

She got up from her seat, snatched her purse, and turned to leave. I wanted to go after her, to tell her I was sorry, but my body wouldn’t budge. All it could think about was everything her father had done to her and it sickened me to imagine him back in her life. I was trembling all over. Feeling the rage bubbling to the surface.

“Sarah!” I yelled, but she didn’t look back. She left the diner and I slammed my fist down on the table, rattling our cups and spoons.

That could have gone so much better.

TWENTY-ONE

-
Sarah
-

I walked into my apartment in tears. How dare he judge me after everything I’d already been through and worked so hard to get past. It wasn’t fair of him to sit there and criticize, and
good
? What the fuck kind of response is that to someone telling you their father is dying?

I collapsed on the couch feeling short of breath and exhausted, yet my mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything over and over. The kiss, his tattoo, the moment it all fell apart.

Good.

I slammed my fist down against the cushions, feeling the need to blow off some steam. This right here is what I was afraid of. I hadn’t thought about heroin in years, and now it was the only thing I could think of that might take away some of the pain I felt.

Grabbing my cell phone out of my purse, I swiped over to my contacts and dialed Carter’s number. When there was no answer, I spoke frantically into his answering service.

“It’s me,” I said. “I need you to call me back, please. Something’s happened and I—I don’t trust myself right now. Please, Carter. I need you. Call me.”

I cradled my head between my knees, holding the corner of the phone up against my cheek. I took several long, deep breaths, trying to regain control of my emotions.

Good.

The stone cold look in Nicholas’ eyes flashed quickly in my mind. This was a bad idea. All of it. Seeing him again, and that kiss. Jesus, as good as it felt at the time, it couldn’t have been more wrong.

My father’s bedroom door opened and he poked his head out from down the hall. “Honey? Everything okay in there?”

I didn’t want to see him. “It’s fine,” I said, sucking back a sob. “Everything’s just fine.” I didn’t sound very convincing, drawing him further down the hall and into the living room, where he stood over me and sighed. He took a cushion on the love seat across from me and we sat in silence for a while, with me avoiding his concerned gaze.

“Daddy, please,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Is it a boy?”

I sighed. “Yes, it’s a boy.”

“Isn’t it always?” he joked, trying to lighten my mood.

I stared at him, lips pursed tightly together. It had only been a few months since we’d been living together, even though we’d made amends years earlier, and my mind flashed back to that day, if only for a brief moment.

My father sitting across the table from me while Carter held my hand. He said all the things I wanted to hear—that I needed to hear. He was sorry, he was ashamed, he was devastated.

I, in turn, told him all the things I needed to say. How much I hated him, how much I wished over the years that he was dead, how I thought it was best if he’d just stayed gone from my life. I said it all through a mess of tears and sobs that cleansed me, and when I was done, I looked him in the eyes and told my father that I forgave him for everything.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can tell you’re hurting. I’ll go back to bed.”

He got up and placed a solitary hand on my shoulder. I instinctively reached up and took it, patting his fingers. “Thanks.”

I felt bad for not wanting to open up to him, but I couldn’t. Not now, and maybe not ever. We were living together, but that’s as far as it went. Our relationship was still one of getting to know each other again, and there was a barrier there that for all the dinners we shared and nights we spent sitting on the couch watching TV, just wouldn’t come down; and even with knowing he’d be gone soon, it didn’t make the process any easier or quicker. I didn’t know if I wanted it to. I may have forgiven him, but I’d never forget.

I got up and grabbed a bottled water, uncapping it and guzzling it in long, slow swallows. My cell rang and I immediately picked it up.

“Carter!”

“Hey, Sarah,” he said groggily. “I got up to pee and saw you called. Everything okay?”

“No. Not even close.”

“Talk to me,” he said.

I sat back down on the couch and proceeded to tell him everything about what happened with Nicholas tonight. For half an hour I spoke, and by the end of it I had to get another drink because my throat fell raw.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s a lot to handle.”

“You’re telling me. What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Honestly? I want to stick a needle in my arm and make it all go away.”

“You know that’s not the answer.”

“I know that, but that doesn’t make it feel any less like a good idea.”

“C’mon, Sarah. You’re better than that.”

“Am I?”

“You’re one of the strongest women I know. Look at how far you’ve come. To throw that all away over some guy, it’s not worth it.”

But Nicholas wasn’t just some guy. He was
the
guy, and the more I thought about him and what we’d just gone through after being apart for seven years, it made my heart crack open.

I wiped my eyes, nodding even though Carter couldn’t see me. “Yeah,” I whispered. “You’re right.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

A laugh escaped me and I smiled, feeling less of a need to poke myself with a needle.

“That’s better. You need me to come over?” he asked.

“No, but thank you. I’m just going to lie down and get some sleep.”

“Good idea. I’ll call you tomorrow, or later today, or whatever. Love you, girl.”

“Love you, too.”

I put my phone on silent and laid down on the couch. I didn’t have the energy to make it to my bed, so I just stared up at the ceiling for a while, thinking about Nicholas, until my lids felt heavy and sleep won out over all the confusing thoughts that were running through my mind.

TWENTY-TWO

-
Nicholas
-

I felt like an asshole the entire week following our night in the diner. Knowing I’d upset her, upset me, and the reaction that I’d had toward everything made me want to throw up. I’d fucked things up this time, became someone I didn’t want to be, for no other reason than not being able to deal with the anger and hatred I felt toward her father. I’d tried to see it her way, but for the life of me I just couldn’t figure out how she could forgive him after all that he’d done.

God, if I lost her again, I don’t know what I’d do.

But I resolved myself not to become that person once more, so instead of spending my time wallowing in self-pity and heartache, I thought of ways I could make it up to her. By the end of the week I thought I had a pretty good plan put together to show her I was sorry and that I’d do anything to make it right, but a knock at my door on Friday evening sort of threw a wrench into things.

I got up from the computer, weary of who it could be. I didn’t get many visitors, and there was a sign outside that said No Solicitors. I looked through the peephole, but whoever it was had their thumb covering the lens so I couldn’t see anything.

I disengaged the lock and cautiously opened my door a crack. Standing in front of it was this short, blonde guy I’d never seen before wearing skinny jeans and a red, button-up dress shirt. He was as thin as a pipe cleaner and looked as equally harmless.

“You Nicholas?” he asked.

I opened my door, towering over him. “That’s right, who are you.”

“This is for Sarah.” He slapped me hard across the face, sending me surprisingly back into my apartment, which he entered without an invitation.

I raised my finger and rubbed the side of my cheek. “Carter, right?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am,” he said, spinning around while his eyes flirted back and forth over my apartment. “Sarah told me everything, and you have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Forgive me, Carter,” I smirked, “but whatever’s between Sarah and me is none of your business.”

“None of my business? Oh Saint Nicholas, you have no idea just how much my business she is.” He took a seat on my couch, and when it was obvious he wasn’t going to go anywhere, I sat next to him, grinning.

“What’s so funny?” he asked defiantly.

“Nothing’s funny. It’s just—it’s just nice to know Sarah has someone looking out for her.”

His features softened and he nodded. “I’d do anything for her, which is why I’m here.”

“What do you mean? How did you even find out where I live? All she knew was Brooklyn.”

“It wasn’t hard. Mediocre writer with a Facebook page, you can find anything on the Internet once you put your mind to it, as I’m sure you know.” He cocked an eyebrow in my direction, referring to the way I’d found Sarah.

“Yeah, I know. What’s going on, is she okay?”

“Okay? She’s a mess. She called me that night after the diner when you so expertly botched things up, crying and scared that she was going to stick a needle in her arm.”

“Jesus Christ. Did she?”

He slapped me upside the head and I winced. “No she did not. Shame on you for not having faith in her.”

“Okay, you’re going to have to keep your hands to yourself from now on, deal?”

He eyeballed me from head to toe, taking me in, which made me feel just a
little
uncomfortable. “I’ll try,” he said, “but it’s not going to be easy. Sarah was right, you are a specimen.”

“She said that? What else did she say?”

“Hold on. First of all, I want to know why you said what you said to her.”

“What do you mean? Because I was angry.”

“At her or her father?”

I thought about it for a moment, and answered, “Both.”

“Understandable, but have you tried to look at things from her perspective?”

“Carter, bro, I’ve been trying all week. It’s hard. You weren’t around when we were kids. The stuff he did to her, the way he made her feel so worthless about herself, it was gut-wrenching to go through. Just thinking about it makes me want to…well, come and see.”

I got up and led him into my bedroom, pointing to a hole I’d punched in the wall.

“Oh my,” he proclaimed.

“Yeah, now you see what I mean.”

I offered him a drink, still feeling strange that I was having a conversation with some guy I didn’t know from Adam about the girl I was still totally in love with, but if it meant doing the right thing and making amends, I would’ve talked to him, and a thousand others just like him. Not gay, I mean, just people that knew the Sarah today. Who understood her better than I could ever hope to at this point.

We sat at the kitchen table with a couple of beers, eyeballing one another for a moment.

“I’m going to lay it all out for you, Saint Nick,” he said. “Sarah misses your face. Unlike you, she’s managed to come around and see things from your POV, but it wasn’t easy, and if you have any hope of ever seeing her again you need to try and do the same, only harder.”

“How?”

“Tell me about your father,” he said.

“Not much to tell, really. He was a loser and a drunk who left when my sister and I were kids. We were better off without him.”

“Did he ever hit you?”

“No, just verbal stuff, but even then it wasn’t very often. It was more directed at Ma than us.”

“Okay, so let’s say your father came back into your life right now. What would you do?”

“I’d tell him to fuck off, and what does this have to do with anything? I thought we were talking about Sarah?”

“Look, cowboy. Slow your roll. I’m trying to get you to see things from another vantage point. What Sarah’s father did was awful, no denying it. No one’s trying to make excuses for it, not even him. But what I want you to realize is all of that hate, and anger, and guilt, is what made Sarah become the way she did. It’s what drove her to becoming a drug addict in the first place. She couldn’t deal with it.”

“I’m sure I had a part in that, too,” I said, glancing at the floor.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You leaving Sarah was just the fallout from it all, but you weren’t the source of her addiction. Yeah, okay, it didn’t help that you left, but when you were gone, all those feelings she had toward her father and what happened were magnified tenfold in your absence because she didn’t have that outlet anymore, but make no mistake about it,
he
was the main source of all her heartbreak.”