He rolls his eyes in the overdramatic way only someone inebriated can do. “I don’t know, like four. And why? Because they didn’t know how to make a Caesar. Had to settle.”
“You knew we were going to be interviewed today.”
“Yeah. And it’s a puff piece.” He waves his hand in the air, dismissing my concern. “They want light, cute, entertaining sound clips from The Greatest’s only offspring. You are constantly telling me I’m never light or entertaining so I thought this would loosen me up so I could be the charming, funny twin for once.”
“Fucking hell, Mom’s film crew is here too, Nash. The one for the documentary.” I dig in the pocket of my coat which I tossed over one of the armchairs when we got here. I think I have a pack of gum in one of the pockets. I pull out three sticks of Big Red, which is the worst gum ever and has probably been in there for years but whatever. I hand one to him.
He shoves my hand away way more aggressive than necessary. “Keep it so you can make out with your new girlfriend later.”
“Olivia isn’t here and seriously, stop being a shit. I am trying to save this situation for Mom and Dad. And so they don’t think of you as a fuck up, okay?” I shove the stick of gum at him again. “Trust me. You don’t want that feeling.”
“Fuck you, you don’t give a rat’s ass what feelings I have or don’t have.” He slaps the gum out of my hand.
Rage ripples and swells in my gut. Fury. I stare at the gum where it landed by one of the baseboards. I force my eyes back to him. He is glaring right back at me.
“Why didn’t you tell me? About Liv. Why not just fucking talk to me?”
"You want to know the truth, Nash?" I seethe. "Because I didn't want to see the look of relief on your fucking face when you found out I'm dating a woman and not a man."
The room is dead silent. You can't hear either of us breathing. There's nothing but the gentle rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan as it swirls above us. Nash looks like I just sucker-punched him. His eyes are wide with disbelief. His mouth twisted in confusion. His skin growing redder by the second. "What the fuck did you just say?"
“You are embarrassed by me. By what I did with Anne-Marie, by who I am. I’m bisexual and that disgusts you,” I tell him. “You’ve made it clear.”
“Fuck you. I’m done. I don’t want anything to do with you. Anywhere. Ever again. Fuck you!”
He pushes past me so fast and close that our shoulders clip. I swear as pain shoots up and down my arm and I reach out and grab him because he’s heading for the door. “This is for Dad. You better not let him down.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Nash.”
“Fuck off. You are such a stupid selfish prick,” Nash hisses and shoves me.
That fury in my belly swells like a tsunami and washes over me until I can't see straight. I shove him back and he hits the wall with a thump so hard his sunglasses tumble backward and the door rattles. And then he's in the air. I can barely register what's happening before he's hurtling through the air, inches in front of my face, fist cocked.
I’ve taken many punches before, mostly on the ice. Some I saw coming. Some I didn’t. But I’ve never taken one from Nash. The pain in my cheek is so intense that my eyes instantly blur and I fight to stay conscious.
"Holy shit!" I hear a voice, panicked and not Nash's, but I can't see who it is because I'm on the floor in the corner. I must have stumbled backward and tumbled over a chair. Nash is on top of me, so I guess I took him with me for the fall.
I swing. I make contact with something… his shoulder maybe? Nash grunts. “Fuck you!” And I resume my swinging again. This time I make contact with something softer. I feel a squish. And his groan gets much deeper and louder.
Then he’s gone and there is nothing but air in front of me. Until there’s nothing but Dad. Even through my watering eyes, I can see the ashen color of his face, the way his brown eyes have doubled in size and are bright with panic and confusion. "Oh my God. What the hell is going on?"
The door opens over his shoulder. He doesn’t even turn around. “Get out.”
Fisher disappears, closing the door behind him. Nash is in a heap in one of the chairs, blood sliding down his chin from where I split his lip. Dad grabs my shirt and shakes me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He lets go, grabs the front of Nash's shirt, and hauls him up. "I swear to God I have never been so disappointed by anything or anyone in my entire life. This day was important to me. And your mother. That producer from the documentary just saw you two brawling with each other like mortal enemies. Why would you do that to us?"
I suddenly don’t know how we came to blows. It feels so stupid. We hurt him and Mom and for what? I look over at Nash and he’s crying. There’s a steady stream of tears pouring out of his eyes. Now I’m fucking scared.
“More importantly,” Dad goes on, “what the hell would make you two do that to each other?”
There’s a hesitant knock on the door. Dad does an about-face and marches over, cracking it just enough for his words to carry to whoever is on the other side. "I need a bucket of ice, some paper towels, and fifteen uninterrupted minutes. Do you understand? Thank you.”
He closes the door, then walks over to Nash and pulls him into a hug. My vision is blurring again but this time it’s my own tears. They’re not out of pain but out of fear. I have never seen Nash break down like this. He sobs into Dad's shoulder. Dad looks as scared as I feel. I wipe my tears and turn away. When someone knocks on the door again I pull myself together and take the ice and paper towels from the Fisher dude.
I kick the door shut with my foot and walk to the only table in the room, making space for the stuff next to the coffee and pastries sitting there. Dad pulls back from Nash who I think is pulling it together. He examines his lip. “You won’t need stitches.”