Nick looked at his hand atop his father’s. He was paler than his dad. He’d never noticed that before.
“I’m—” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I’m proud of you. I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough. I am. I don’t … I don’t know why we don’t say that to each other more. I know I screw up sometimes. And that’s my fault. I don’t mean to be this way. Not always. I know it’s rough. Without her. I don’t even know how we got this far. But we did. And we’re going to go further. I need you. I don’t want to do this on my own. You’re my dad.” A tear trickled down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away. “I’m grounded, remember? So it’d be pretty great of you to wake up now so I don’t do anything I’m not supposed to.”
His dad’s chest rose and fell as the machines beeped and hissed.
Nick lay his head down on the side of the bed near their joined hands.
He stayed that way for a long time.
15
Nick lay in bed that night, fuller than he’d ever been in his life, though he hadn’t had much of an appetite when he’d sat down at the Caplan table. Mary hadn’t taken no for an answer, and Nick ate what was probably an entire cow’s worth of meatloaf.
The bed was soft, and the room warm, but the sheets were slightly scratchy, and the shadows crawled in weird shapes on the walls. He could never sleep well in unfamiliar places, and with the added stress of everything that had happened, he didn’t think he was going to nod off any time soon. Oh, he was exhausted, but it was to the point of being too tired to actually sleep. It didn’t help that his brain was in overdrive without any sign of slowing.
And to make matters worse, he’d tried to call Seth again, only to have it ring once before going to voicemail. His phone was turned off. Nick thought about calling his aunt or uncle to find out what the hell was going on, but in the end, decided against it. Martha had left a voicemail while he’d been sitting with his father, telling him she loved him, and to call her if he needed anything. They would be by in the next couple of days, she said. And then, weirdly, she ended the message by saying, “I know things may seem a certain way. But there’s a reason for everything, Nicky. I need you to remember that. We love you, and we’ll see you soon.”
He saved the voicemail.
There were texts from Gibby and Jazz while they were at his house, telling him his room smelled like boy, and that they were absolutely not impressed with how many pairs of tube socks he owned. Jazz also said his bed was comfortable, but when Gibby tried to kiss her while she was sitting on it, she pushed her away, because she wouldn’t do that to Nick. Also, Gibby had just eaten a cold piece of pizza from Nick’s fridge, and her breath smelled like onions and olives, and it was disgusting.
He smiled at the messages before locking the phone and setting it on the small nightstand.
He punched the pillow a few times, trying to find a comfortable position to lie in so he could attempt sleep. He pulled the comforter up to his shoulder, lying back down and facing the window, the light from the streetlamps soft through the second-story window.
And then—
There.
Someone stood on the roof of the house across the street.
He fell out of bed with a squawk, cursing as he pulled himself back up toward the window.
The figure was gone.
* * *
It was near eleven when he sat up in the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. His head was buzzing. He hadn’t taken a Concentra since the morning before. He’d have to ask Mary or Cap about it. Dad had them locked away at home, but there were the emergency doses at school they could get. He wasn’t going to school for the rest of the week, but maybe someone could get it for him.
He reached over and grabbed the remote to the small TV sitting on top of the bureau of drawers against the wall. It was probably older than Nick, but Mary assured him it worked fine. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he was grounded