62. Nate
SIXTY-TWO
NATE
The door slams shut, cutting Rosy off from us as she leaves. Silence cracks through the air, and it’s suffocating.
Bry spins around, his usually calm face furious as he strides up to me, a sharp finger stabbing into my chest. “This is your fault, Nate. We’re in this mess because of you.”
I say nothing. The guilt’s eating me alive. I pushed too hard. Let my anger and drive to protect her outweigh her feelings. A glance reveals Max with his head bent, eyes squeezed shut as his fists clench at his sides.
I did this to all of them. Not just Rosy.
Frustration builds inside of me.
“You couldn’t just leave it. You had to push. We were supposed to go there and talk reasonably with him. Now the woman we love just left here in tears, needing space from us all.”
His accusation adds fuel to the already roaring bonfire, and I snap, shoving him back. He stumbles, arms waving to catch his balance, and guilt clenches my chest.
This is what got us in this fucking mess.
Taking a breath, I try to push it down, but my gut churns and aches.
“Hey.” Noah steps in, arms stretched out placatingly.
“Fighting and throwing around blame isn’t going to get us anywhere.
We all could’ve done things better, and we all went over there.
We need to respect that she asked for a bit of space; so we need to give her that.
” He blows out a low breath, arms dropping back down to his sides. “Even if we don’t want to.”
The logical side of me agrees, but the possessive beast snarls in response, wanting to hold her until she’s no longer upset and crying.
Fuck, it’s exhausting battling the two sides.
“How long?”
Noah drops into his chair, head tilting back as he rubs a hand across his jaw.
“I don’t know. Can’t say I’ve ever been in this situation before.
Usually, I can approach things methodically, but Rosy tends to throw all reason out the window and make you lead with your heart instead of your head.
But at the least, a day, perhaps two, before one of us should try to check in. ”
Inhaling a giant breath, my eyes fall closed as I try to calm the angry maelstrom inside me. Two fucking days of not knowing if she’s okay. Of not seeing her. Speaking to her. What if something happens and she needs me?
A knot of dread builds in my throat. Feels hard to breathe.
Why can’t I fucking breathe?
Who the fuck took my air?
I can’t—
“Sit.” Bry’s hands push down on my shoulders, and my knees give out as I land on the sofa. “Breathe slowly. In for one, two, three. Out for one, two, three.”
I try to copy him, but my head is stuck on the fear. It feels like I’m fucking losing her.
“Come on. Focus and do it. I may be furious at you right now, but you need to be breathing for me to do that. In for one, two, three. Out for one, two, three.”
Feeling starts to come flooding back. The numbness prickling my face fades.
With that, though, my anger comes hurtling back.
There’s so much of it. I want to rage at them for not stopping me, at the world for giving me all these fucking feelings.
And at Rosy, for not understanding me. That’s wrong, fucking sick, to feel anger at her.
But I want her to see, for her to realise that I know what’s right for her.
I can’t protect her against the world if she won’t let me. And now, she might’ve left me.
I falter at that, swallowing through the thick lump in my throat.
No, she’ll forgive me. She has to.
There isn’t a world without her in it.