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It was a warm September day when Morgan Close got in her Chevrolet Silverado to go to the grocery store and never came back. Nicolas, who sat staring out the backseat window, only had a split second to warn his mother of the on coming semi-truck before he collided with the glass and blacked out. He will always remember the last words Morgan had ever told him; "You're so cute, Nicky."
Nick hates being called cute for this one reason. It reminds him of the countless hours him and moments while Glenn was on tour, the way she tucked him in at night and kissed his forehead, or the gentleness and precision she had when dying her and Nick's hair. He could no longer eat toast with honey or look at daisies. It all reminded him of her, of the shooting pain coming from his thigh, and stinging in his chest as he called for his mother in the wreckage. Both drivers died on impact. Nick spent eleven days in ICU for two split ribs, a concussion and a crushed femur. He'll never admit it, but he cried the whole time. He craved the soft hold of his mother. He had three months of physical therapy before he went back to school.
The same scene replayed over and over in his head that night. Nick had often had nightmares, but this one was different. He was sitting in a car. Morgans car. She looked back at him, with the same tender smile she had when they were together, and placed her fingertips on his knee.
"You're so cute, Nicky."
And then it happened, over and over and over again. Nick cried out before he was crushed to the side of the car in a sickening crunch. His body ached as he sat up, rubbing the side of his head before shooting a glance at his mother.
Again. It was happening again. Morgan laid limply over the console. Nick tried to unbuckle his seat belt, but found it stuck. She slowly turned her head to face him.
"It's all your fault, Nicky. You distracted me." Her voice wasn't the sweet tone she used when talking to him. It was rough, almost calloused as if she had been screaming for hours. She coughed, blood dripping off her chin. Nick swallowed, his whole body shaking. Tears streamed down his face. His throat was closing in panic. This happened everytime. Was it really his fault? Of course it was. He knew it was, no matter what Glenn said.
Nick sat up, gasping for breath, his skin slick with sweat. His eyes welled with tears.
"Fuck," He gasped, reaching for his phone. 2:47AM. Nick shined his dim light around the room, straining to see if he had woken anyone up. It had been movie night with the boys at the Wilson's. They had all slept on three mattresses on the floor, as Grant's bed held all his laundry and empty mugs. Nick knew it was comfortable anyways. He knew how numb he still felt. Nick rubbed his face and sighed. A tear splashed onto his phone, then another one until he was weeping, his hand muffling his cries. He still missed her.
"Nick?" A small voice came from beside him. A hand rested on his shoulder, long and scared. It was Sparrow. "Are you... crying?" Nick swallowed hard and wiped his nose with his hand.
"No- no, I'm good," His voice strained and trembled.
"No you're not. What's wrong? Was it brother?"
"No," Nick smiled weakly, "Just a nightmare," He scratched his cheek. Rustling came from beside him, and an identical face sat up from behind Sparrow. "Hi Lark,"
"I heard you crying. Was it," He widened his eyes and looked at Nick. "You know?" Nick nodded, pushing back more tears. They all knew what he was talking about. They had things they didn't ever mention, like vampires or collapsing towers, or Nicks mom. Nick exhaled deeply and chewed his tongue, a habit he got from his dad.
"Go to bed guys, it's almost three in the morning," Grants soft voice echoed from across the room. He was standing in the doorway, looking at Nick. His face was blotched red. "Wait, are you good?" Lark shot a look at Grant, who nodded and sat down next to Nick, the soft glow of the moonlight casting little shadows on the cold hardwood floor.
"Guys, I'm fine, just a little nightmare. It's chill," He picked at the sides of his thumb.
"I heard you muttering about your Mom, Nick. It's okay to not be okay," Terry Jr. spoke up, shuffling over to his side. Nick pursed his lips and closed his eyes, warm tears falling down.
"Hey, it's okay Nick." Grant pulled him into a tight hug, and the other boys piled on. It felt awkward, having four other bodies on top of him, but there was a sense of calm and understanding that came with it. Nick wept for what felt like hours until he couldn't anymore. He slowly went quiet and Grant squeezed him tightly before letting his arms fall to his sides. Terry Jr. smiled at him.
"Feel any better?" He asked, brushing a strand of hair out of Nick's face.
"Lots. That was super embarrassing, though, I'm sorry," Nick rubbed his eyes and laid down.
"We're your friends! We have all cried in front of each other before. Don't worry about it." Sparrow laughed softly and shifted into the crook of Nick's arm. "You mind?"
Nick smiled and ruffled Sparrows hair. "Not at all." Eventually, all the boys coddled into Nick, holding him and falling asleep, knowing that they had helped him even just a little bit.