Something Like Thunder (3 page)

Rebecca’s cheeks were red, but she smiled. “Lucky!”

Nathaniel considered the pavement around his feet. “I guess. The next day wasn’t so great. I’m used to moving every few years, but that one hurt.”

“Oh. You liked him.”

“A little.” Nathaniel bit his bottom lip, then forced a smile. “Just a crush. No big deal. He never answered my emails, so I don’t think it was mutual.”

When he looked up again, he found Rebecca studying his face.

“That bruise still looks nasty,” she said.

“It’ll fade.”

“You need to tell someone.”

“Rebecca…”

“I know, but I’m sure your mom will—”

“Becky!”

That shut her up. If there was one thing they both hated, it was cutesy abbreviated names. Especially since their parents were so fond of them. He and Rebecca only used them when the other person was seriously misbehaving.

“Staying silent is your choice,
Nate
, but you can’t stop me from worrying.”

“Fine.”

“I want to kill the bastard.”

“I know.” He fixed her with a pleading expression, begging her to change the subject.

After a moment her features relaxed, but she continued to study his face. “How often do you shave?”

“Every other day.”

“So if you stopped, you would end up with a full beard. Right?”

He allowed himself to look offended. “I’m not aging myself prematurely just to buy you cigarettes.”

“Come on! Just think how rugged you’ll look!”

“No way.”

“Fine.” Rebecca slumped. Then she perked up again. “Shoplifting is a vice. Ever give that a try?”

He playfully pushed her away. When she came back and wrapped an arm around his waist, Nathaniel put one around her shoulders. Then he hugged her and tried not to think of how, eventually, he would have to return home again.

* * * * *

Meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Nathaniel worked methodically on consuming massive portions, his mother sitting across from him with watchful eyes. She needn’t have bothered. Cleaning his plate had never been an issue for him, but he knew she couldn’t rest until certain he wouldn’t starve.

“Want me to get your father?” she asked.

“I think I can manage on my own,” Nathaniel said.

“We’re having a family meal this week, even if it means tying each one of you to a chair.”

Nathaniel managed a smile. “What’s dad doing?”

“Watching one of his boring documentaries.”

He kept his attention on the plate, his tone neutral when he asked, “Where’s Dwight?”

Star exhaled. “You know your brother, always chasing after some girl.”

“He’s on a date?”

“If you can call it that. Did you know he broke up with Angela? I was shocked too. She was the sweetest girl. Pretty as can be. I thought for sure—”

Nathaniel tuned out the rest of her comments, his jaw feeling less stressed. Finally able to relax, he tackled his food with renewed gusto, finishing in record time.

“Want to watch TV with us?” Star asked, standing to take his plate.

Nathaniel hopped up and grabbed it before she could, taking it to the sink. “Watch TV? In your bedroom?”

“You’re not too old to cuddle up with your parents,” Star said, opening the dishwasher.

“When exactly will I be too old? Forty?”

“Nope. You’ll still be my baby.”

Nathaniel made a face. “I think I’ll pass. I need to burn off some of these carbs.”

After suffering a kiss on the cheek, he went to the back of the house. To the gym, as Dwight called it. Nathaniel wasn’t sure if a weightlifting bench, some yoga mats, and a treadmill qualified as a full-blown gym, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue the point. He stripped down to his boxers, stopping in front of the mirror. He had a darker shade of his mother’s blonde hair, the bangs just long enough to frame hazel eyes like those of his father.

The height he inherited from his mother’s side, his grandfather in particular, since Nathaniel was a few inches taller than both his father and brother. He only wished he shared their build. Six months of lifting weights had not yielded the desired results. He had enough muscle to make his pecs bounce, his shoulders had grown meaty, and flexing his arms revealed nice curves that hadn’t been there a year ago. But it wasn’t enough. Dwight had played baseball his freshman year, had been a wide receiver on the football team sophomore year and a quarterback the next. The trophies in the room attested to how athletic he was, and on any other guy, his body would have been drool-worthy. That all those muscles belonged to Dwight gave Nathaniel nightmares. Literally.

No need to despair. A good body and the strength that came with it were within anyone’s grasp. So claimed his favorite advertisement. He went to the side table and picked up a workout magazine. It flopped open in his hands, its bent spine leading to the page he so often stared at. The model wore nothing but simple red shorts, the bulge beneath a source of many fevered fantasies. Nathaniel rarely lingered on this detail since the body was sculpted perfection. The veiny arms were nice, as was the six-pack, which Nathaniel envied because he had yet to find his own. The chest intrigued him the most. It was wide and densely covered with muscle, reminding him of an ancient Roman breastplate. Surely that mighty chest could protect Nathaniel. Or be a pillow for him to rest his head against after he’d been rescued. He let his attention dart up to the face, the eyes watery and sensitive, as if understanding his pain. The guy looked like a hero.
His
hero.

Nathaniel let himself bask in the fantasy, his hormones kicking in. Deciding to channel them in the right direction, he bent back the spine of the magazine and propped it up on the table for extra motivation. Then Nathaniel headed to the weight bench and got to work. Every repetition brought him closer to his dream, the sting of sweat in his eyes and the salty taste on his tongue spurring him onward. He was on his back, hands clenching the barbell as he did a series of bench presses, when an upside-down face appeared above him.

And a handsome face it was. A strong jaw, a crooked smile, and deep blue eyes that gleamed beneath jet black hair. The expression was kind, but as usual, the intention was cruel.

“Working out, baby brother?” Dwight said. “Need someone to spot you?”

“No,” Nathaniel said, trying to stay calm. Glancing over to see that Dwight had closed the door did little to soothe his nerves. “Just finishing up.”

“You’re looking a little shaky. Here.” Dwight took hold of the barbell and suddenly the weight felt light as air, his brother not showing any sign of strain. “Slow and steady is the key. A lot of guys thrust, like they want the weights to hit the ceiling. That’s not how it’s done. First you go down…”

Dwight relinquished control, the barbell growing heavy again, but his hands remained, keeping it steady.

“…and back up again. And down. That’s it. Nice and smooth. You train as much muscle on the way back down, but only if you work to maintain control. You feel that burn?”

Nathaniel nodded, eyes locked on Dwight’s, searching for any warning sign.

“Elbows at a ninety degree angle. Good. Back up… and down. Up. And down. Up and…
down!
”

Dwight’s arms flexed as he pressed. Hard! Had Nathaniel not been braced for something like his, the barbell would have smashed into his chest, crushing his lungs. Instead, Nathaniel pushed back, arms shaking, tissue tearing.

“Mom asked me about that bruise on your face,” Dwight said, his smile a grimace now. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel grunted. “I didn’t say anything, I swear.”

“You’d have to be pretty fucking stupid to, which is exactly why I’m worried.” Dwight pushed down harder, the metal bar pressing against Nathaniel’s neck, making it hard to breathe. “You sure you didn’t say anything? How stupid are you, Nate? Huh? Tell me how stupid you are!”

“Not… stupid,” Nathaniel managed to grunt. Gritting his teeth, he summoned his last reserves and shoved. The barbell moved. Just a few inches, but it took the pressure off his windpipe. Dwight’s expression registered surprise. Then his face twisted up in rage, and Nathaniel felt like whimpering. He tried to remain strong—tried not to lose this small advantage—but Dwight leaned over, adding the weight of his body to the strength in his arms. The barbell came back down, cutting off Nathaniel’s oxygen supply.

Almost. He was still able to wheeze air in, but already he was getting lightheaded. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold out. As soon as his arms buckled, the full force of the weight would crush him. Nathaniel saw stars and realized this might be the day he died.

Then the barbell rose and was ripped from his hands. As his vision cleared, he saw Dwight placing it back on the rack before he looked down at him again, those blue eyes calm and collected, as if nothing had happened. “If that leaves a mark, ask yourself again how stupid you are. Understand?”

He tried to respond, but the sound that came out was pathetic and unrecognizable. Dwight smiled, then turned and left the room.

Nathaniel sat up, panting to catch his breath, blood pounding in his ears. He stared at the image in the propped-up magazine, at the look of pure sympathy. Or maybe the expression was apologetic, because his hero had failed him. Nathaniel stood, picked up the magazine and tossed it aside. After forcing himself to calm down, he returned to the weight bench and lay his back flat against it. The guy in the magazine advertisement was no hero, nor would he ever come to his rescue. That left only one option.

Steeling himself, Nathaniel picked up the barbell and continued working out.

* * * * *

“Rise and shine, honey.”

Nathaniel blinked against the light and smacked his mouth a few times, tasting stale drool. His mother sat on the edge of the bed, a hand on his back. He scowled at her encouraging smile. “It’s not a school day.”

“No, but breakfast is almost ready. I want you in the dining room.”

Breakfast? Since when did his customary bowl of cereal require waking him up? Then again, he did detect the faint aroma of bacon in the air. Or wafting from the apron his mother wore. This almost made him laugh. Normally she always dressed so stylishly, more than once being mistaken for his older sister. Recently she had watched some old black and white television show and fallen in love with how wholesome families appeared back then. Now she struggled to recreate what she had seen, if only for one meal.

“I tried having a family dinner and failed,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “If I can’t get everyone at the table during the evening, it’ll have to be in the morning.”

“Do I have time for a shower?”

“Nope. I need you at the table. Now.”

He grunted his agreement, remaining stationary a few minutes after she had left. Then he sighed and dragged himself from bed. He pulled on the jeans he’d worn the day before and reached for the T-shirt before remembering that he’d used it to wipe up a sticky mess just before falling asleep.

“Nate!”

He rolled his eyes at his mother’s voice and stumbled out of the room. He felt more annoyed when he reached the table, because no one else was there. Dwight showed up a few minutes later looking bleary-eyed, dark hair sticking up. Their father came next, having long since awakened and dressed. His work was demanding enough that he was usually out of the house before Nathaniel rose. When he was home…

His father set a laptop on the corner of the table before he sat down. He gave both his sons a crinkle-eyed smile before he opened it and started clicking. Nathaniel considered him a moment longer, his attention briefly darting over to Dwight to compare them, since his father and brother looked like younger and older versions of each other. He could understand how his mother had found Heath so attractive when they met. The muscular build was slowly losing its firmness, but he was still handsome. Heath’s hair was brown rather than black, his eyes the same striking shade of blue, although they never appeared cruel. He didn’t possess the same demons that Dwight did. His only flaw was being a hopeless workaholic. Ironic, since providing treatment for addiction was his line of business. Maybe Heath needed to check into one of his own clinics.

Nathaniel smirked at the idea, but his smile faded when he saw Dwight staring at him with open irritation. Feeling rebellious, Nathaniel glared and looked away. He felt a lot happier when his mother set a plate in front of him. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon. He reached for the bottle of ketchup and doused the food until his plate was mostly red. He glanced up to see his mother looking around the table with a bright smile, her dream coming true. Of course people on those old shows would never sit at the table while looking rumpled from bed, but she seemed happy enough.

“Dig in,” Star said. Then she raised her eyebrows. “Heath!”

His father blinked, then clicked a few more times before closing the laptop. “Looks delicious,” he said. He made a big show of inhaling through his nostrils directly over the plate. “Smells delicious!”

“Judging from the human vacuum over there,” Star nodded toward Nathaniel, who already had his mouth stuffed, “it tastes good too.”