“He died.” The words, even though years had passed now, hurt to speak.
“I know that. How?”
I continued to walk, my Chucks pattering across the straight, perfect sidewalk. I’d never told the whole story, never shared the details with anyone. Never intended to.
“My parents were fighting.” The words tumbled from my mouth, desperate to break free from the prison I’d shoved them into as soon as I realized Lev wasn’t going to wake up.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Aya said, her voice soft.
I felt her palm slip into place against mine, felt her fingers squeeze.
“I’ve never told anyone,” I said.
Her eyes held patience and understanding. “I kind of figured that.”
I turned and stared straight ahead, trying not to enjoy the feel of Aya’s hand in mine, the warmth of her body radiating against my arm. I tried to ignore the soft brush of her hair, the sweet scent that emanated from her body.
I failed.
I inhaled hard. Did I want to talk about this?
No way.
Was I going to?
Apparently.
“My brother caught my dad with a groupie—at our house. That was the beginning of the end of their relationship. When Lev’s anger started spiraling…he was a mess. Anyway, Mom put Lev in therapy. And I guess the therapist told her about Dad having sex with women in our house.”
Aya leaned in closer. Her luscious tit pressed against my biceps. That felt good. She felt good. Perfect, really. That’s what allowed me to continue.
“Your mother is a beautiful woman. What more could your father want?”
I shrugged, immediately regretting the action because it bumped Aya’s soft flesh away from me.
“I don’t know. Mom used to be so fun, so present, but even before Lev died, when he was so angry and acting out, everything just kind of fell apart. Now? She’s…empty. And a drunk—high most of the time. Maybe Dad wants a woman who can have an actual conversation, not just an ornament.”
Aya made a squeaky noise but managed to keep her mouth shut.
My father knew the Carolina of my youth was gone. Maybe he had known it for years and just didn’t care. Or—and this worried me more—Dad cared too much to sever the link, which was why they kept spiraling back into alcoholism and loud fights and the pain of losing Lev.
“We’d just come back from touring with my dad. Lev wanted to get out of the house, get away from their constant fighting. He said he’d heard them—it had something to do with us.” With me.
But I swallowed that back, unwilling to share that piece of information. I worried it was why my mom had become so emotionally distant and my dad refused to be near me. I hated where those thoughts led, to the place where it was my fault Lev was dead, that my family was broken.
“Lev...” I bit the inside of my cheek. No one knew this part of the story. Not my parents. Not the police. Definitely not the press.
She laid her hand on my chest, right over my pounding heart. “Whatever you tell me, Nash, will always be between us. Just us. I promise.”
I inhaled. Aya promised.
Just us.
Lev used to say that, but in a different context. “It’s just us, brother. Porters against the world.” And we’d fist bump.
I should have hugged Lev more. I should have told him how much he meant to me.
“He took a bunch of my mom’s pills,” I said, the words rushing out, tumbling over each other, like the waves at the beach. “Or maybe my dad’s. I don’t know. He was really out of it.” I huffed.
“He did it in front of them, but they didn’t notice—they just kept fighting. Mom knocked the phone from Dad’s hand. It ended up...”
Next to Lev.
That’s when shit really went south.
“Lev grabbed it and made a beeline for the dock. I thought he’d throw the phone in the lake.”
I didn’t have to tell Aya that I lived right on the water—that was the best address, the most expensive piece of real estate in an overpriced market. And the Syads and the Porters had the best of everything. Plus, she’d been there.
“My dad ran after him, telling Lev to give him back his phone.”
My father had been texting another woman. A woman he never met because of Lev’s death. In that, Lev got his wish.
“Lev yelled no, that he wouldn’t give back the phone and our dad should actually listen to our mom. That he should stop banging random chicks. Dad was too slow. I was too slow.”
I swallowed.
“Lev jumped out into the water. We weren’t supposed to do that, not at night, but he couldn’t have been thinking straight. He was so fucking high.” I gulped. “He must have tripped. He just…”
Aya wrapped her free arm around my biceps, tugging my whole arm against her pillowy chest. Reliving that night was the deepest hell, one I typically refused to acknowledge.
Maybe that’s why it took me a full minute to realize I was crying. Aya dropped my arm and pulled me into her embrace. I pressed my nose against the juncture of her shoulder and neck. I sobbed and blubbered and shook as the loss of Lev rolled over me, pulling me under, not unlike the lake that later spat my brother’s limp, broken body onto the shore.
“He was my best friend,” I gasped, my entire body shuddering.
And that was the real reason I’d kept Hugh at arm’s length. He wasn’t Lev. Neither was Aya. No one could replace my big brother.
Aya said nothing. She held me, rocking as my sobs grew in intensity. Once I calmed some, she said, “That’s why you were so worried about me—all those years ago. You’d been taught to be careful in the water.”
“Always.”
She nodded, and I liked the feel of her silk hair shifting against my skin.
“Are you ready to finish it?”
I licked my lips, tasting the wetness of my tears—or maybe remembering the water on my face.
“Our neighbor heard the yelling, I guess. He came out, he called the cops, he pulled me out of the water before…before…”
Before I drowned, too. Because I wouldn’t have stopped searching.
“He’s the guy you talk to?”
“Yeah. Cam. Camden Grace.”
She hummed deep in her chest. “Tell him thank you for me—thank you for saving your life.”
“He did, didn’t he?” I muttered. “I hadn’t realized. I should thank him myself.”
Aya nuzzled her nose against my cheek. “I bet he doesn’t want it,” she whispered into my ear. “I bet he’s glad you’re here, and that’s enough for him. I know that’s how I’d feel in his position.”
Eventually, I pulled back, my eyes downcast, embarrassment swirling through me.
Part of me wanted to dive into the fancy car idling at the curb. Part of me wanted to lash out at Aya for making me talk about Lev, for making me remember and feel.
But instead Aya cupped my cheek, lifted up on her tiptoes, and kissed me. It was a soft, simple brush of her lips across mine.
This touch of lips seemed to say: I see your grief, and I want to make it better. You mean something to me. You are special.
I let my mouth respond: You mean something to me, too. You see me, and you being here with me makes my life better.