Trailer Trash(59)

“I wasn’t sure which one was yours. I tried that other one first, but—”

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Cody did his best to sound angry. “Well, now you have. Is that it?”

Nate didn’t even blink, as if he’d expected Cody’s hostility. “Can I come in?”

Cody hesitated, but only for a second. What was the point? He’d dreaded this moment since the day they’d met. He’d tossed a pack of cigarettes to Nate and climbed into his car, and ever since then, he’d done everything he could to keep Nate from seeing his real life, but he didn’t care anymore. It was time for all pretense to be tossed aside. Time for all his careful dissemination to be discarded like the stack of crumpled yellow butts in the ashtray. What the hell did it matter anyway, with Logan gone?

He turned away without opening the screen door, but Nate opened it anyway and followed him inside. Cody glanced around and the familiar space—sagging couch, threadbare armchair, dingy curtains, the whole place reeking of cigarettes and stale beer, a bit of smoke still lingering in the air. He wondered how it looked through Nate’s eyes, but when he turned to face him, to try to gauge his reaction, he realized Nate wasn’t seeing any of it. Nate, it seemed, only had eyes for him.

And Jesus, those eyes. Cody knew in that instant that Nate had come for him. Despite everything that had happened, despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken in weeks, Nate had seen what nobody else had. He’d recognized that Logan’s death would break Cody’s heart. And he’d come to the Hole, knocking on doors, until he found the right one.

Nate said only, “I was worried about you.”

Cody’s stillness cracked right down the middle like the earth in some Hollywood movie earthquake, everything he’d been steeling himself against welling up through that breach. He turned away, trying to stamp it all down, trying to locate that safe place he’d found earlier, but it was out of his reach. He wanted to run, but he only made it as far as the kitchen, where he came up short against the refrigerator, the stupid stained towel with the crocheted hook hanging from the handle, and Cody hung there as well, his shoulders and jaw tight, his teeth clenched, his knees threatening to give out.

“Cody, I’m sorry.”

Cody bit his lip, shaking his head, wishing he could send Nate away.

“I know you must be upset.”

“I’m fine,” Cody choked out, but he wasn’t fooling anybody. Not even himself.

“Look, I know you probably hate me. I know I’ve been an asshole. But I just—” He sighed. “I care about you—”

“Stop.”

“And I’m sorry about what happened between us. But most of all—”

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry about—”

Cody put his head in his hands, trying to cover his ears, trying to block out the words. “Don’t say it!”

“I’m sorry about Logan.”

Cody couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t face the wave of emotions rising over him, threatening to drown him. He put his head against the freezer handle, clenching his eyes shut. He wanted to quit fighting it. He wanted to scream at Nate, to tell him to go to hell, to go away, to leave him the fuck alone.

But most of all, he wanted to bury his face in Nate’s chest and cry. He wondered if that would feel as good as he’d always imagined, to have somebody hold him while he let go.

God, he couldn’t let that happen.

He took a deep breath, his lungs aching. “I need you to leave.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t be alone.”

Alone. Alone sounded good. Alone sounded safe. “I want—”

“I know you’re upset. I know you must be devastated, Cody.”

Devastated. One simple little word to describe the horrible turmoil in his heart, the awful emptiness in his life, the Logan-shaped void nobody else would ever be able to fill, just standing there next to him at work, talking about girls while he put away the dishes.

Talking to Cody like he wasn’t so bad after all.

“I know he was your friend.”

“My friend,” Cody managed to whisper. “Oh God, Nate. He was my friend. He was my only friend.”

“I know.”

And then it all hit him at once, that hot, horrible weight he’d worked so hard to avoid suddenly filling his chest, rising into his throat, and Cody bent forward, gasping, trying to hold it in, wanting to just maintain. Just keep himself together.

“Cody.” Nate’s hand on his shoulder was so soft. So gentle. “It’s okay to cry.”