Chapter Six

Morning came with the smell of bacon sizzling in a pan and the low murmur of the television from the living room. Nate had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he either saw Eric's face or heard Max's words.

"Says the guy who's been drunk every night because his boyfriend dumped him."

The kid had hit exactly where it hurt.

Nate groaned as he rolled onto his back.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself. "I'm getting bullied by a sixteen-year-old."

----------------------

Downstairs, Sarah stood at the stove while Micah poured orange juice into three glasses.

"Where's Max?" Micah asked.

Sarah sighed. "Still in his room."

"I'll get him."

"You'll probably survive longer if you don't."

Micah smiled. "I've dealt with him before." He disappeared upstairs.

Seconds later—

"Get out!... I said I'm not hungry!"

"You'll eat!"

"I'm not five!"

A door slammed.

Micah returned to the kitchen rubbing the back of his neck.

"I see your point."

Sarah simply slid another strip of bacon onto a plate.

"He's been like this for weeks."

Nate quietly took a seat at the table. He looked tired. Not just sleepy. Worn down.

Sarah placed a full plate in front of him.

"No arguments."

"I'm really not—"

"Nathaniel."

He sighed. "...Thanks."

She smiled gently.

"I know."

----------------------

Five minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs. Max appeared wearing headphones around his neck and an oversized hoodie despite the warm weather. He stopped the moment he saw Nate. Nate looked up.

Their eyes met. Neither spoke. The air immediately became heavy.

Max deliberately walked past the empty chair beside Nate and sat at the opposite end of the table. Sarah noticed. So did Micah. Nobody commented.

Not yet.

Breakfast began in uncomfortable silence.

Until—

"So."

Max stabbed at his eggs.

"How long are you staying?"

Nate swallowed his coffee.

"Haven't decided."

Max shrugged.

"Hopefully not long."

Sarah looked up sharply.

"Max."

"What?"

"That's rude."

"I was just asking."

"No," Nate answered calmly.

"You were hoping I'd leave."

Max smirked.

"Looks like somebody's observant."

Micah set his fork down.

"Enough."

Max ignored him.

"So what do doctors do when they're not getting drunk in bars?"

Sarah's face fell.

"Max."

Nate inhaled slowly.

"I'm still a medical student."

"Oh."

Max pretended to think.

"So you've ruined your life before even graduating."

The room went completely still.

Micah's chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"That's enough."

"I'm just making conversation."

"No," Micah said firmly.

"You're trying to start a fight."

Max smiled.

"Looks like it's working."

Nate stood. His appetite had vanished. He carried his plate toward the sink. As he passed behind Max's chair, Max spoke just loudly enough to be heard.

"I guess med school doesn't teach emotional stability."

Nate stopped walking.

Micah immediately noticed.

"Nate."

Too late.

Nate slowly turned around.

"I've been trying very hard to ignore you."

Max leaned back in his chair.

"Want a medal?"

"I don't know what your problem is."

"My problem?"

Max laughed.

"You're the one who came into my house acting like my parent."

"I corrected disrespect."

"You judged someone you don't even know."

"I judged your behavior."

"You judged me."

Sarah stepped forward.

"Boys—"

"No, Mom."

Max never looked away from Nate.

"He thinks because he's in med school, he's smarter than everybody."

Nate folded his arms.

"No."

"I think you're wasting every opportunity you've been given."

The words landed hard.

Something flashed across Max's face.

Pain.

It disappeared so quickly Nate almost missed it.

"You don't know anything about my opportunities."

"I know your mother is trying."

"You don't get to talk about my mom."

"I'll talk about whoever I want if you're treating her like this."

Max shot to his feet.

"You think you're some kind of hero?"

"No."

"You don't belong here."

The words echoed through the kitchen.

For a split second—

Silence.

Then Nate answered quietly.

"I know."

Max looked like he wanted to apologise... For a split second, guilt spread across his face and then it was gone, just as quickly as it appeared.

Sarah looked stricken.

"Nathaniel..."

He forced a smile.

"It's okay."

No.

It wasn't.

That sentence had reopened wounds he thought had healed years ago.

Because for a long time after his parents died...

He'd believed exactly that.

That he didn't belong anywhere.

----------------------

Micah stepped between them.

"Both of you."

Neither listened.

Max pointed toward the front door.

"You should've stayed in the city."

"And you," Nate replied, "should stop acting like everyone who cares about you is your enemy."

"They are."

"No."

"They always leave."

Nate frowned.

"What?"

Max immediately realized he'd said too much.

His expression hardened again.

"Forget it."

He shoved past Micah.

As he reached the hallway, Sarah called after him.

"Max!"

He didn't stop.

A second later, his bedroom door slammed upstairs.

The whole house seemed to shake.

----------------------

Sarah slowly sat down at the table.

"I'm sorry."

Nate looked at her.

"You don't owe me an apology."

"I do."

"No."

He offered a tired smile.

"He's sixteen."

"He wasn't raised to treat people like that."

Micah sighed. "He wasn't."

Nate picked up his coffee mug. "He hates me."

Micah gave a dry laugh. "He hates everybody right now."

"That's reassuring."

"It's true."

Sarah rubbed her temples. "I don't recognize him anymore."

The words hung heavily in the room.

----------------------

Later that afternoon, Micah found Nate sitting alone on the back porch.

The old porch swing creaked gently beneath his weight.

Beyond the backyard stretched the woods where they had spent countless summers as children.

"You remember building that treehouse?" Micah asked.

Nate smiled faintly.

"It collapsed."

"Because you insisted one nail was enough."

"It looked sturdy."

"It absolutely did not."

For the first time that day, Nate laughed.

A real laugh.

Short.

Quiet.

But genuine.

Micah sat beside him.

"You know..."

"What?"

"You and Max are exactly alike."

Nate stared at him.

"What?"

"You both think pushing people away hurts less than admitting you're hurting."

Nate shook his head.

"We're nothing alike."

"You lost the people you loved."

Micah's voice remained calm.

"So did he."

Nate frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Micah looked toward the house.

"He hasn't been the same since Dad died."

Nate blinked.

"You never told me."

"You never asked."

The words settled between them.

Nate remembered Mr. Elsher.... Simon.

The man who had taught him how to ride a bike.

Who had helped with homework.

Who had cheered at football matches.

Nate looked back toward the house.

Toward the upstairs window where Max had locked himself away.

For the first time...

Something shifted.

Not forgiveness.

Not understanding.

Just...

Perspective.

Inside that house were two people drowning in completely different oceans.

One was a young man whose future had been shattered by the person he loved most.

The other was a teenage boy desperately pretending he didn't care that his father was never coming back.

Neither knew how to ask for help.

Neither knew how to stop hurting.

And every time they looked at each other...

All they could see was someone impossible to understand.

Oil and water.

No matter how close they were forced together...

They refused to mix.