NATHAN PUSHED THROUGH the undergrowth into the Fort of Solitude, wondering how someone could run away from their own thirteenth birthday party. He and Preston had found the small clearing created by a circle of trees while playing a warped version of cops and robbers his cousin Caleb cooked up one summer, where the robbers actually escaped into the woods and the cops had to hunt them down. It was their special place—where they could escape when life wasn’t particularly cooperative. Usually it was used for afternoon homework sessions and disappearing acts from pesky piano lessons.
Balancing a porcelain plate with a slice of the richest chocolate cake known to man in one hand—which should be considered a sin to eat, according to his mother—he used the other to shake out the leaves that hitched a ride on his hair and the cerulean cashmere sweater he’d bought specifically for the occasion. The color brought out his eyes. In fact, he’d gotten several compliments on it already.
Sitting against the trunk of the largest tree was the birthday boy. Beside him lay his discarded blazer. His sun-kissed blond hair tumbled over hooded eyes. With a stick he’d no doubt picked up along the way, he drew patterns on the ground. The other arm was neatly tucked into a sling as blue as Nathan’s sweater. Beneath the crisp white shirt was a tight bandage around his shoulder to make sure he didn’t further injure the rotator cuff he’d torn from overtraining a week ago.
On any normal day, the atmosphere at their hideout was light. Airy even. That day, a heavy black cloud hovered above Preston. It was as if the world had just ended, despite the celebration being held not a hundred yards away. Nathan picked up the heavy silver fork and swiped the tines through the inch-thick sugar icing that generously coated the slice he’d brought with him.
After a lick of sugary goodness, he grinned and said, “You know, it’s not a birthday party when the birthday boy is out here sulking.”
A snort was the response.
Okay, clearly Preston wasn’t ready to explain himself; although Nathan had an idea where the sudden need to be alone had come from.
“Have you ever seen such a grand birthday party?” He glanced over his shoulder. Preston continued doodling on the ground, creating a collage of disturbed soil, scattered leaves, and a smattering of pebbles. Sighing, Nathan returned his gaze toward the Grant Estate. “I’ve decided. I’m going to be a party planner.”
Another snort, then the words, “That’s not a party.”
Nathan turned around and faced the depressed mound. “What are you saying? It’s brilliant! The food is delicious. Drinks are flowing like a river. And the decorations. Don’t even get me started on the decorations. You have to give me the name of your mother’s florist.”
Finally Preston lifted his piercing green eyes and focused them on Nathan. The thin line of his lips quirked into a snarl as he said through his teeth, “It’s stupid.”
“Were you expecting a bouncy house, a magician, and a pony?” Nathan asked in a cooing tone.
“Go-karts,” Preston grumbled.
“Can you really see your mother at a racetrack, handing out lemonade in red plastic cups?”
This time when Preston snorted, there was clear humor behind it. He dropped his gaze back to the forest-floor art he had been creating, but the motion of the stick didn’t seem as deliberate as before.
Then he pointed the stick toward his house. “Anything is better than whatever the hell that is.”
“Aren’t you forgetting one important thing?” Nathan indicated his own shoulder with the fork he held.
Preston threw the stick away and ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, making the perfectly combed strands stand in different directions. “Screw the party. I didn’t want one anyway.”
A soft smile stretched across Nathan’s face. “Believe me, I’m on your side, but to be honest, I love all of it. Mark my words. I’m going to be planning parties even grander than this one. I’m even going to plan one for your mother.”
“You know the guy who planned today actually broke down? Last I heard, he checked himself into a facility.”
The warning only infused more determination into Nathan’s declaration when he said, “Every knight needs a dragon to slay. You’ll see.”
Chuckles replaced the earlier snorts, and Preston covered them with a closed fist. Mission accomplished. The dark cloud above him looked more gray than black, slowly dissipating. Gone was the knot between his eyebrows. But almost immediately a groan stifled the laughter.
Heart in his throat, Nathan rushed to his friend’s side. His hand hovered over Preston’s uninjured shoulder.
Afraid to touch him for fear of causing more pain, Nathan asked, “What can I do?”
Preston grabbed his bound shoulder and breathed, each inhalation coming in deep and fast. A light sweat coated his forehead—agony clear on every line of his pale face.
“Come on,” Nathan urged. Seeing usually tanned skin ashen was a cause for great alarm. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine.” Preston resettled his back against the tree, eyes closing.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Leave it alone, Nate. I said I’m fine.”
“What if you tore something again?”
A tired laugh escaped Preston’s lips, confusing Nathan enough to sit down, plate still in hand. In the distance, strains of Chopin from a string quartet hired for the event floated toward them, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed.
“There’s nothing left to tear,” Preston finally whispered, color returning to his cheeks. “There’s nothing left.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m quitting swimming.”
“No,” Nathan said.
“There’s no point—”
“No!” he cut Preston off. “You are not throwing away years of training just because of a rotator cuff injury.”
“Fuck that. People quit all the time.”
“Quitters don’t succeed. And what kind of friend would I be if I supported every stupid idea that came into your head?”
“But—”
Nathan put on his I-don’t-give-a-fuck face, interrupting Preston again. “Aren’t you being way too overdramatic about this?”
“You know! If I didn’t train, I wouldn’t have gotten into that swimming camp.”
“And are you in that swimming camp now?”
Preston swiped his free hand down his face. “Fu-uck! I hate this.”
“With proper physical therapy, you will swim again. In fact, your shoulder will be stronger than ever, which can only be a good thing, considering we’re aiming for Olympic gold here. I did the research.”
“We’re aiming?” Preston arched an eyebrow.
“I’ve taken it upon myself to see you fulfill your dreams, Preston Ulysses Grant.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t ‘oh?’ me like I’m joking! I will personally search for the best physical therapists in the country—”
“I think my parents have that covered.”
“And I will be at every session,” Nathan continued, as if his friend hadn’t spoken. “You are going to heal, and you are getting back into the pool. I promise you that, or my name is not Nathan Parker—”
“Future party planner extraordinaire.”
“You’re catching on.” Nathan picked up his fork again and helped himself to a bite from the slice lying on its side.
But before he could bring the piece to his mouth, Preston stole the fork.
“Hey! No fair. Get your own cake!” Nathan protested, but the bite was long gone.
Levering himself up onto his knees, Preston stabbed the slice and pushed almost half of it into his wide-open mouth, causing a rain of crumbs and icing down his front.
In order to keep from ruining his own clothes, Nathan fell back in disgust.
“Good thing you came,” Preston said, happily chewing. “I thought I was going to starve to death out here.”