Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
THEA
Nathan is clinging onto me for dear life, like at any moment I might vanish into thin air.
The look in his eyes when he approached me was haunted, and immediately any bit of resentment and bitterness I might have felt toward him disappeared.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so…vulnerable.
For several long minutes we just stand there, holding onto each other.
With each second that passes I relax more and more in his arms and it feels like home.
The thought is terrifying because every feeling I had for him those years ago, growing up, is coming barreling back at a pace I don’t want to come to terms with.
But I can’t bring myself to stop them. I told him it was easier to blame him for Miles’ death, however, it’s only more exhausting with the push and pull of feelings I do feel for Nathan.
His breath shudders in the crook of my neck and the warmth of it causes a shiver to make its way up my spine.
Where my head rests against his shoulder, I can smell his body wash—a mix of whiskey-soaked cinnamon with an undertone of cedarwood.
Fighting the urge to breathe him deeper, I pull back instead, resting a hand against his cheek when he looks down at me.
The emotion clogged in his blue depths only makes them that much lighter, so much so they seem almost translucent.
My fingers tremble slightly against his skin and I briefly wonder if he can feel it; see how much I’m fighting the way he undoes me by simply being in his presence.
He leans into the touch, taking a deep breath as we just stare at each other.
Even though his eyes are glossed over by unshed tears, I can also see the question in them as his arms move from my back and lower to my waist as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I’m not sure if he’s asking for permission to touch me there or if there’s something else working inside his head.
To avoid pulling away from him, to avoid deepening the hurt that’s already encasing him, I stay still and his posture relaxes a little.
It’s almost like he was expecting the rejection, and the guilt that washes over me at the way I’ve been treating him suffocates me.
“What happened?” I whisper, afraid of spooking him.
He doesn’t respond right away and I’m entirely convinced that he may not when he turns his head away from my palm, averting his gaze. His voice is quiet when he says, “The past.”
A few minutes later we’ve unraveled from our embrace in the hallway and he’s led me to the couch in the living room, an unreadable expression on his face. When he sits us down, he doesn’t let go of my hands as his thumbs stroke the skin of my own. “You’re worrying me, Nathan.”
His throat bobs as he swallows roughly. “Do you know why I became a surgeon, despite the fact I had originally planned to pledge psychiatry?” Confusion hits me, because I’m not sure where he’s going with this. I shake my head no. “Because I couldn’t do anything for him.”
“Couldn’t do anything for…” My words cease as understanding blossoms. “Miles?”
He nods, and I’m no longer sure I want to hear what he has to say, but the other part of me needs the answers I’ve desperately been seeking from him for years.
“When we crashed into that tree, the only thing I cared about was getting to him, and I couldn’t.
Somehow, I had managed to get myself out of the driver’s seat but when I attempted to open the passenger door, it wouldn’t budge.
I remember punching the window until my knuckles were bloody before rushing back to the driver’s side and climbing back inside, doing anything I could to get him out, to wake him up.
But he wouldn’t.” His voice cracks, and I can feel the way his hands tremble around my own as I hold my breath.
“My voice was raw by the time first responders pulled me out…from begging him to just—just live. The thing is, I knew the moment I woke up after we struck. But I couldn’t accept it.
I couldn’t accept the fact that this bright and fucking relentless force of nature was gone.
And I was the reason. I’ve gone through that night so many times in my head since it happened, and I’ve always blamed myself for it.
But tonight was one of the first nights the full details came rushing back to me. ”
Tears blur my vision at his confession and I open my mouth to say something but he shuts me down.
“Don’t,” he whispers. “Just let me say this. Please. For the longest time I have always wondered if I had been stronger or faster or maybe just did anything differently if it would’ve made a difference.
And I was determined to never feel that powerless again. ”
“Why did you leave?” The question is out before I have a chance to rein it back in. “Why did you just leave us there? Leave me there?”
He looks everywhere but me before he responds. “How was I supposed to face you or your parents knowing that not only was I the one driving that night, but I was also the one to walk away when he didn’t get to? If I blamed myself, surely all of you did, too.”
I shake my head. “We didn’t blame you. You were just as much a part of our family, though…”
“Yes, you did. There were never any words exchanged, but I could see it and feel it that night. And the reality is, you had every right to. I was the reminder of what they lost. What you lost. And that fucking gutted me. Knowing that it hurt you the most. Knowing that I took him from you.” A lone tear runs down his face then and I can no longer conceal my own.
Tears spill over my lashes as I clutch his shaking hands tighter. “Me?” It’s the only word I can get out.
He nods slowly. “You looked at me like you were waiting for me to fix it. There were questions in your eyes demanding answers that I could never give you. So I left. Because staying at the time felt fucking suffocating, and running felt like the only thing I could do.”
The grief that passes between us is so thick it could choke me.
There are years—years of things left unsaid.
The last thing I want to do is make this worse for him, but I need to be honest with him.
I take a shaky breath and muster up every bit of courage I have.
“You leaving hurt worse than anything else.”
There is so much regret in the look he levels in my direction as his demeanor crumbles. “I know, and I’ve had to live with that decision, too. And I’m so damn sorry. It might be a day late and a dollar short, but I mean it. You don’t have to believe me, but I am.”
“It was an accident…You didn’t kill him. But you didn’t have to leave. We could have carried our grief together.”
His breathing hitches and another look passes over his face as though he can’t believe what I’m saying. As if he truly believes that I thought it was his fault. A few moments later, he sags. “I’m so goddamn tired of carrying it,” he confesses with the rawest inflection.
“Then don’t,” I whisper. “You don’t have to anymore.”
His bitter laugh cuts through the air, startling me. “And that’s the fucking irony of this. Because I’ve lived with this guilt for years, and while a part of me likely would’ve anyway, it would’ve been nice to know that it wasn’t my fault.”
“That’s what I’m saying…” But I know better than anyone that it doesn’t matter what anyone else says when it’s your own voice poisoning your mind.
He shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
The tears have stopped, but I can still feel where they dried on my face. “I’m not following…”
He squeezes my hands once more before letting go and standing up. “We need to talk with Claire.” Anger surges at the change of topic but he must see it because he continues, “I promise you’ll get answers.”
A half hour later, Nathan was able to convince Claire to come and join us in the living room.
I’ve been sick with nerves over what his words meant, and I was about to go back there myself and haul her out by her hair if she didn’t cooperate.
It’s evident she doesn’t trust easily, and I guess a part of me does understand where she comes from in that notion.
Not that our reasons are remotely the same.
When we went shopping, any attempt at conversation went unanswered and I decided to leave her alone.
I also understand what it’s like to be forced to discuss something you don’t want to, courtesy of my parents after the way my life has blown up.
It was simply a trip of necessity for her and a way to clear my mind for myself.
I probably should have asked Nathan if I could use the card to buy myself the few things that I did, but he didn’t seem fazed by it when I returned.
Granted, he was lost in his own thoughts.
When she walks out of the hallway in front of Nathan, I notice that she’s changed into a pair of her new clothes, despite not washing them yet—but I’m not going to say anything.
She looks more comfortable and that’s all that matters.
Without looking at me, she plops down on the couch next to me, twiddling something between her fingers while Nathan gets his laptop hooked up to the television.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye; the tension in her shoulders is still there, but there’s something different, too.
Something akin to relief. The object in her fingers catches the light and I realize that it’s a USB.
She keeps flipping it open and closing it, her movements restless.
The television comes to life as Nathan’s laptop connects to it, his home screen alight on the larger screen.
“Claire, can you hand me the USB now, please?” The way he addresses her is patient, despite the way he scrubbed his hand down his face when he followed her from the hallway, almost like she put him through hell and back.
She tosses it at him without a word and he barely catches it before it hits him in the face.
He glares at her and I notice there is a hint of a smile that dashes across her lips, so I can’t help but smirk, too.
Nathan plugs the USB in and a group of files pops up on the screen.
“What are we looking at?” I ask.
“When Claire got away, she managed to take this USB with her. We left a copy with the FBI because there is a lot to comb over, so we decided to divide and conquer. Essentially…it’s a list of operations and enterprises tied to the human trafficking network, amongst other things.
But that’s not what I want to show you.” Claire glances at me then, looking just as confused as I feel.
She finally speaks up. “Why do you want to show her? What does she have to do with it?”
Instead of answering, Nathan clicks on a file and dozens of images flood the screen. My face blanches and I feel nauseated, because I know what I’m looking at. “Why?” My voice tremors.
“It may have been an accident, but I was never the cause. Do you ever remember hearing about a politician named Harrison Clark? He was on the town council when we lived there.” His voice takes on an edge.
Thinking, I rack my brain for any hint of familiarity when it comes to me. “Yeah, I think I do. He did a speech at our school for a fundraiser relating to childhood cancer. Mom talked about him, thinking he was charming. What does he have to do with this?”
Ripping off the Band-Aid he says, “He’s directly responsible for covering up the details of what caused the accident that night.”
Claire exchanges glances between the two of us, trying to decipher exactly how far back our relationship goes.
“Are you saying it’s his fault that my brother is dead?” The words are almost impossible to say, and I see understanding come across Claire’s face.
“Somewhat. The person in the other car that we collided with that night had been drinking. It just so happened to be that he had connections to Clark in the trafficking business, and as such, you could say he wanted to protect his…investments. So instead of the guy being held responsible at found at fault, they labeled it—”
“An accident,” I finish for him. “But how?”
This time it’s Claire who speaks. “It pays when you have local law enforcement and the DA’s office in your back pocket. They’re all corrupt.”
Nathan’s jaw tightens, and he nods. “Exactly. The guy who hit us that night got off scot-fucking-free. No charges. And they buried any evidence that could’ve tied him to it.”
My heart is racing as the room threatens to close in on me. “Do we know who the guy was?”
But the somber expression on Nathan’s face already gives me the answer, even before he says, “No. But we’re working on it, just as we’re working on how deep this goes and how we can hold them all responsible for not only this, but their other crimes.
What’s worse is that he’s looking at taking over the east coast network now that The Wraith has been neutralized. ”
I feel dizzy. Sick with the information. Unsure of how to process another world-altering detail. My throat feels dry and I don’t even know I’m speaking until the words are out of my mouth. “And this is where Claire comes in, I’m assuming?”
He nods again. “She has insider information. If we want to get close, she’s our best shot. Are you ready to share your story?” He directs his attention to where she’s tucked her legs underneath her, as if she’s already resigned to being here for a little bit.
The response he gets in return is a sigh before she starts to talk.