Home Ch. 07

Nate cursed savagely under his breath. His bleeding finger was covered in filth and it stung. He sat back and examined his work. The bright yellow daisies framed Adele Tennison's gravestone beautifully. Nate gave the dirt around the roots a few more good pats before standing up. He stared down at his mother's grave, and then looked to his left, to his fathers'. Being able to bury his parents next to one another was one of the only minuscule consolations Nate had. Six months had only slightly dulled the ache he had in his chest. But he didn't want the ache to go. It was a deep reminder of the ones he loved and lost. He didn't want to forget them. He bent down and gathered the gardening tools into a bag. He stared down at his bleeding finger as he walked towards his car. He opened it and chucked the bag into the passenger seat before closing the door. He then turned and walked back to St. Michael's.

It had taken months to rebuild after the fire. The police confirmed it was arson, but the investigation had no leads or witnesses. Nate knew they'd set it on the back burner. With no other positive outlet for his grief, Nate had thrown himself into work and rebuilding the church. He'd covered most of the costs and had personally taken charge in overseeing its reconstruction. Right after work he would head straight for St. Michael's and monitor the progress. His days off from his company were spent at St. Michael's, alongside Pastor Donovan, who suggested improvements that were to be made. Nate spent all his money on the project, gladly. He'd grown even closer with Pastor Donovan and Jane, who just loved having all the big strong men around. She'd blush haughtily at Nate's open flirtations and always rewarded the worker with homemade treats. Nate was glad to see her like this. The first couple of months had been particularly hard for Jane, with Peyton being gone.

Peyton.

Nate hadn't seen her since the night his mother had died. He hadn't gotten a single word from her. Pastor Donovan had related the events of that night at the church to him and had insisted that Nate go find her.

"No." Nate had said. "I was awful to her. She needs her space. She'll come back soon and we'll all talk this out."

But she didn't come back. Month after month had gone by and no one, not Nate, not Pastor Donovan, not even Jane had gotten any word from Peyton. And because of this, Nate had grieved virtually alone. Addison did make feeble attempts to contact him, but Nate was adamant about shutting her out; about shutting everyone out. His nights were spent alone and in the dark. It was a routine for him now and he accepted it. He accepted the nightmares about his mother and father. He accepted the loneliness that crept up on him and stayed for long periods of time. He accepted his own unhappiness and resided in the fact that he may never be happy again. Everything was cold. It was a constant chill in his body, in his mind, in his heart. It started deep in his gut about three months after his mother died and he'd decided that Peyton wasn't coming back. It filled his core and was apparent in his eyes and voice. A strong frost had settled around Nate's heart, and there it remained, numbing him.

Even the sting Nate felt in his finger now as he entered St. Michael's seemed to be coming from far away. He entered through the back door and into the kitchen. Jane was in there, as usual, and smiled at him. Her smiled faulted as she looked at him. Nate was a very attractive man, but his hollow face was unsettling. He'd grown a beard in the last few weeks and a thick scruff that would have normally made him more dashing just added to his shambled, uncaring appearance. He was constantly pale now. Nate had retained a glowing tan during the summer through St. Michael's rebuilding that didn't fit his cold eyes. But now, as the fall started to roll in, Nate avoided the sun and it showed. His hair was still relatively short, but very thick and very dark. But there was dullness to it now. However, Nate had been able to keep his body in shape with the hard labor of putting the church back together.

Jane's eyes scanned him and she noticed how his muscles were defined beneath his dark plaid shirt. Yes, Nate was an attractive man; but his eyes, those unsettling eyes. And the constant frown he kept on his face made him hard to even try and connect to; but she tried anyway.

"Hello, sweetheart!" Jane perked up in forced enthusiasm. "Done already?"

"Yeah," Nate grunted. He walked over to the sink without really looking at Jane. He turned on the tap and began washing the soil from his hand. Jane saw crimson droplets mixed in with the dirt.

"Oh, honey, you're hurt!" Jane observed.

"Just a cut," Nate said without lifting his head. "Don't worry about it."

His hands were almost clean.

"Well, you should let me clean it up anyway," Jane shut off the water and ushered Nate into a stool. "You never know. C'mon, hun." He followed, none too complacently. He sat on a stool by the kitchen island while Jane got the first aid kit. She came and sat in front of him and grabbed his hand. Nate stared off into space like she wasn't even there.

"The daisies still fairing ok?" she asked as she cleaned the cut.

Nate just nodded. "Good. I'm glad." An awkward silence fell upon the two, so Jane kept talking.

"The shelter is sure to be busy soon. With the cold settling in, we'll probably have a lot of runaways to deal with. But I'm excited. I can't thank you enough for helping us build it. It's such a contribution to the community."

"It was your idea Jane. And you're the one running the place. I just throw cash at you when you need it."

Jane shook her head. "No, Nate, you've done so much more. Building a runaway shelter in extension to the church was your doing. Though, I must say, I loved that you named it 'Jane's Place'."

"I'm not entirely sure what came over me," Nate just sighed. "I guess after everything with..." Nate trailed off.

"Peyton," Jane added softly.

"Yeah. Her. After everything with her, it kind of fit, ya know? And the people in this neighborhood liked the idea, so why not right? You're doing a great job as head honcho. You work well with the runaways and you're always good about finding them new homes."

Jane blushed. "Aw thank you honey. I love the job. It's giving me a new lease on life. I'm always busy now, between coming here and to Jane's Place. And Matt is always around to help too."

Jane had met Matthew Warden a few weeks into the building of Jane's Place and the two had hit it off right away. He was the supervisor during the construction and had worked closely with Jane. He was older and kind of a burly fellow, but he seemed to be perfect for Jane. He was tall and husky and smiled just as often as Jane did. Nate may not show it outwardly, but he liked that Jane had a man with her, to remind her how wonderful she was.

It was then that he looked at her and felt a tinge of guilt at the icy wall he had built between them. Jane had acted as surrogate mother to Nate, as she did with everyone, and he didn't even remember saying thank you. He placed his hand over hers and looked into her eyes. Jane was almost startled by the flicker of warmth she saw behind them.

"I mean it, Jane. Thank you. For everything."

She smiled wide and leaned over to hug Nate. He hugged her back, kind of awkwardly, but genuine.

She sat back and looked down. Nate noticed and prepared himself for what was coming.

"Have you heard from Peyton yet?" Jane asked quietly. She looked up and saw the chilly look was back in his eyes.

"Nope," Nate said curtly. He fiddled with the new band aid on his finger.

"Maybe... maybe you should cal-"

"Please don't start, Jane," Nate cut her off and got up. Jane grabbed his elbow before he could turn away. He stopped but still wouldn't look at her.

"Nate, honey, you need her. You're miserable without her."

Nate resisted the urge to yank his arm free. He hated talking about Peyton. "I'm fine."

"The hell you are," Jane scoffed. "You're a walking shell of a man. It's been months Nate."

"It's been over six months since I last spoke to her. If she wanted to talk to me, she would have. I don't blame her for not doing so."

"She probably thinks you hate her after the fight you two had."

"Yeah, she probably does. I made the woman I love feel like I hate her. I hurt her and blamed her for things out of our control. I chased her away and she took the hint. She's gone Jane. She's not coming back. For all we know she's probably living happily with... another man." The last two words of his sentence stuck in Nate's throat. Peyton, his Peyton, with another man. The thought sickened him. Her lips on another man, her eyes staring adoringly into another man's eyes. Another man's hands holding her and squeezing her and comforting her. Another man wiping her tears and loving her the way Nate had always wanted to, but failed to. It was enough to make Nate want to burrow away in his dark iceland and never return. He gently removed Jane's hand.

"Thanks for the first aid Jane. I'll be back tomorrow to-"

"No, you won't," Jane protested. "You're either here or at the shelter every day. Tomorrow is your day off and you're going to take it."

"But-"

Jane held up her hand. "No buts. Go out tomorrow, Nate. Hang out with friends. Get a beer. Get some sleep. But no work. You can't let all this consume you. It won't change anything if you keel over from exhaustion."

Nate considered this for a moment. It had been a damn long time since he spent a full day at home. He knew it was cause his place reminded him too much of Peyton, and couldn't stand being reminded of his failure with her. Even still, he was tired. Very tired.

"Ok," he said quietly. He gave Jane one more hug and made her promise to greet Pastor Donovan for him before he left.

Nate spent the rest of his evening on autopilot, a way he spent most of his time. He coasted through dinner and the last of his paperwork for the day. He showered and slowly got into bed. This was the worst part of any day. In the dark of his room, he had nothing but his thoughts to occupy him. They were filled with guilt and regrets and memories. He hated it. Tonight was no different, except that Peyton invaded his thoughts, instead of his dead parents. It happened sometimes. She would slip into his mind and replay the last awful conversation they had together. Nate found himself mumbling her name sometimes. On especially bad nights, Nate would whip out the Shirt.

It was a pale orange blouse that Peyton had left at Nate's apartment the last time she was there. Nate had found it beneath his bed a month after she'd left. He'd held it up and could immediately detect the smell of Peyton's perfume and body lotion on it. Without thinking, Nate had held it to his face and breathed in sharply through his nose. The scent overwhelmed him with memories so intense that he flung the shirt across the room and spent that night trying to forget it with the added assistance of Jack Daniels. Now he had it hidden it beneath his pillow, a secret he kept to himself. It was the only connection he had to Peyton, all he had of her to hold on to, besides the ring hidden in the back of his closet.

He took off his shirt and crawled into bed in only his boxers. He removed the blouse from its' secret spot beneath his pillow and placed over his face. Her scent was starting to fade, a thought that saddened Nate deeply. He took a deep breath and sighed sadly. It was a connection but not enough. It wasn't enough to bring her back. The sweet vanilla scent flooded Nate's mind with images of Peyton: her brown skin, her soft hair, her hips, her breasts and her soft moans. It was almost too much for Nate. His cock stirred in his shorts. He breathed in again and envisioned her pink tongue peeking out from between her full lips. He saw it slide up and down his cock. He saw her smile up at him as her hand stroked his thick member. Nate slid his hand downward and pushed down his shorts. He began stroking himself in time with the imaginary Peyton. She was giving him a wicked grin before descending her mouth onto his cock. She sucked his cock noisily. Nate groaned aloud and stroked a little faster. He took another deep breath and the imaginary Peyton was above him now, sliding her breasts against his chest and grinding her sweet cunt against his cock. She was giggling at his frustration. Nate's fist pumped faster. She slid down onto his dick. Nate could practically hear her moans. Nate brought his hand to his mouth spit into his palm before returning it to his cock. He squeezed and stroked and thought of Peyton the whole time. He thought of her swaying breasts and her bouncing hips. The seconds ticked by and the pleasure and agony mounted. Nate felt himself getting closer and closer to climax. Then, imaginary Peyton leaned down and whispered into his ear. "I love you."

Nate groaned loudly as he shot his thick cum onto his stomach. It was intense, more intense than when he usually touched himself while thinking of Peyton (which was an often occurrence as of late). He took a few minutes to relax and calm his twitching cock before going to the bathroom and cleaning off his spilled seed. He returned into his bed and held Peyton's blouse in his fist. Reality settled back into place. There was no imaginary Peyton. There was no real Peyton. He was alone. And with that, he bitterly fell asleep.

----

Miles and miles away, Peyton was taping up the last of her moving boxes. She looked at her small and apartment and smiled sadly. She'd only been living there some six odd months but it was this place that kept her from going crazy.

She had taken a Greyhound back to her hometown and wasted no time settling in. She'd gotten an apartment close to her dad's place with the money she'd had saved up during her time with Nate. She called Malcolm Phillips and was met with unhappy news. Apparently, Victoria had been trying to claim that Peyton's father wasn't in sound mind when he wrote his will.

"What the hell is she talking about?" Peyton had protested. "My dad was fine mentally. He had a heart attack for God's sake."

"Don't worry, kiddo," Malcolm had said reassuringly. "It's a very weak claim. She's grabbing for straws so she can get your money but we won't let her."

Malcolm had been right. Peyton easily swept away Victoria after a month and got her inheritance without any more delay.

For a small time, she was kind of happy. She had her father's house, a great chunk of money in the bank, and she was home. But these small moments of happiness were always overshadowed with what she'd lost: no more Jane, no more Pastor Donovan, no more Adele and no more Nate. Peyton cried hard and cried often. What good was a home when she had no one to share it with? She'd been too afraid to try and contact Nate. Every time she had her phone in her hands, ready to call, the image of him yelling for her to get out flashed before her and killed her nerve. But, oh, she missed him terribly. Nate had made her feel brave and strong, and now, miles away from her friends, she never felt more cowardice. It would take one call to Jane or Pastor Donovan and she wouldn't be so isolated. But she had left them. In a moment of crisis, she'd had hopped the Greyhound and turned her back on the ones she claimed to care for. The guilt was hard to swallow and it haunted her.

Too preoccupy herself, Peyton decided to fix up her father's house. Peyton tried to tackle the task alone, but found out how inept she was when her leg fell through the rotted floorboards. She'd realized then that she needed help.

That's when she met Duncan Macmillan.

Peyton had gone to Lowe's to get supplies and hopefully find someone who could give her advice about home repairs. Duncan had been sorting the floor samples when Peyton came up to him. In almost one breath, she released all her frustrations about her dad's home.

"The floorboards in my place are way more dangerous than I had thought," Peyton had said wearily and pointed to a bandage around her leg. Duncan had smiled sympathetically. Peyton was struck first by Duncan's kindness. He helped her get a few reliable guys to help with the repairs, himself included. Day after day, Peyton and Duncan became fast friends.

"Careful on the floors, boys. Pey here almost lost a leg." Duncan had joked on the first day of repairs. Peyton had noted the nick name.

Duncan would often stay long after his friends would leave, insisting on doing one last job every night. At first, Peyton was apprehensive about it. He was 6'2 and not as widely built as Nate, but he had a strong presence. He would joke with Peyton openly and she would sometimes catch him looking at her. Duncan had caramel skin, smooth and taut. His eyes were a deep dark brown with light brown flecks. He had full lips and dimples. Peyton would blush hotly under his gaze and hated herself for it.

One night, about four and a half months after meeting him, Duncan had stayed late after finishing up with the piping. He was sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Peyton came in and laughed at him.

"Don't laugh," Duncan groaned. "I'm tired."

"Then go home, silly," Peyton smiled.

"I will. In a sec. For now, leave me here to die." He said dramatically.

Peyton kneeled next to him. Duncan had his eyes closed but he could sense her closeness. He opened his eyes and stared into Peyton's intensely. Peyton stared back, still as a statue. Duncan sat up, bringing himself closer to Peyton in the process. She held her breath and closed her eyes. Duncan placed a soft hand on her neck. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

"Peyton," He breathed softly. "Open your eyes."

Peyton did and saw all the caring this man had to offer. It made her ache. But not for him.

But for Nate.

She closed her eyes again and before she could do anything else, Duncan kissed her. It was tender and soft and deliriously sweet. She sighed and for a moment, a slight moment, let herself be embraced by this new man. Then, she pushed away.

"I can't, Duncan," she whispered softly. She looked up and saw Duncan's sadness.

"I figured. You always seem so distant." Duncan pulled away and stood. Peyton stayed on the floor and looked up at him.

"Is it another guy?" he asked down to her.

"Do you really want to know? It won't change anything and I don't want to hurt you any more than I have."

Duncan nodded.

"Yes," Peyton said gently. "It's a another man."

"Lucky bastard," Duncan muttered before saying goodnight to her and leaving the house.

Peyton now sat, reflecting on this moment and smiling to herself. Duncan had been hurt but he had remained her friend, a great friend. And she was going to miss him terribly.

The house was perfect but Peyton had made the hard decision to move on. Her father's love and memory would be in her always but she knew now that she needed to let go. She'd been picky about whom to sell it to and had settled on a man and woman expecting their first child. This comforted her; new memories and new love would be forged in this house. It's what her father would have wanted.

Peyton removed a framed picture that she'd found in her father's bedroom. It was a picture of them together when Peyton was six. She was a laughing child on top her father's shoulders. He was looking up at her with such love that it brought a tear to Peyton's eye just looking at it. She placed it into her suitcase before zipping it closed. She walked over to the window and took one more long look out at the place she once called home. Her time here was over.

She was ready to go back to where she left her heart.

----

Victoria felt like a vampire, sizzling in the sun. Her body was damp with sweat and her thick weave blocked her vision. This hangover was probably one of the worse she'd ever had. Her head felt like a million roided hummingbirds had taken up in there and decided to play bowling ball badminton. Everything felt blurry and unseasonably hot. She heard the door open and close. She remained sitting on her couch and glanced up to see the ever useless Eric Stiles looking down at her with a big disgusting grin on his face.