15. Julian
CHAPTER 15
JULIAN
T he rain comes down in relentless sheets, a persistent drumming against the aged windows of the Langford Building.
Inside, the place feels different—emptier, somehow, more echoic. The rest of the crew has already left for the night with only me lagging behind, the sole audience for the storm's precipitous symphony. I'm wrapping up some final checks, making sure that everything is secure for the night, when my phone vibrates sharply against the wooden table.
It's the babysitter, her voice tinged with a slight quiver as she speaks. "Julian, sorry, I don't want to worry you. Everything is fine, Aria's asleep, but the storm's getting pretty bad. I'm a bit scared to walk home in this weather."
The tightness that had instinctually gripped my chest releases. I glance out the window at the thick curtains of rain blurring the outside world, understanding her worries immediately. "Stay the night," I say without hesitation. "Use the spare room. I'll be back soon, and I’ll drive you home in the morning when the storm’s passed."
"Okay, thank you," she replies, relief palpable in her tone. "I'll call my roommate and let her know."
After hanging up, I collect my things, ready to brave the downpour myself. Just as I'm about to step out, a sharp crack splits the air, jarringly loud even against the backdrop of the storm. My heart jumps to my throat as I whirl towards the window, just in time to see a massive tree limb crash down, landing mere inches from my car. The tree itself groans, its ancient branches swaying menacingly in the wind, as if threatening further destruction.
For a moment, I'm frozen, watching as rain and wind pummel the tree, its proximity to my car nerve-racking. The realization of how close I came to walking out into that, to possibly getting caught under that falling mass, sends a shudder through me.
With the immediate danger passed, and assured that my car is miraculously unscathed, I step closer to the window, peering out into the chaos outside. The storm has transformed the familiar site into something wild and uncontrollable, a reminder of nature's indifference to human plans and structures. I hope Nat made it home okay.
I take a deep breath, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, replaced by a lingering unease. The building feels even more isolated now, enveloped by the storm’s wrath. The usual comfort I find in the solitude of the site is replaced by an eerie sense of vulnerability. The pounding rain, the howl of the wind against the old walls—it all seems to press in around me.
Turning away from the window, I decide against leaving just yet. The risk of more falling trees, combined with the treacherous driving conditions, convinces me to wait out the worst of the storm here, within the solid, if somewhat eerie, walls of the Langford.
Pulling my phone back out from my pocket, I call the babysitter. “It's a good thing you're staying the night, because I don't think it's safe for me to drive home in this weather. Do you mind keeping an eye on things until the storm calms down a bit? I'll pay you for the extra time, of course.”
With Aria already asleep and most of the work already done, the babysitter happily agrees, seeing as she's stuck there anyway. I thank her and end the call, trying not to linger on the disappointment of not getting to say goodnight to my daughter.
My one consolation is that Aria will sleep through it. She spent her earliest, formative years coming to work with me and napping at construction sites; she can sleep through literally anything as a result. Storms have never bothered her.
Settling into one of the empty offices of the Langford to wait out the storm, I find a blanket and toss it over my lap. The room is dimly lit, the only light emanating from a small desk lamp. The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the window creates a monotonous backdrop, lulling me into a state of watchful tranquility.
Suddenly, a noise—a shuffling, soft but distinct—shatters the quiet. My heart lurches into high gear, the recent break-ins flashing through my mind. Instinctively, I grab the nearest makeshift weapon, a heavy flashlight from the desk, and hold it tightly as I edge toward the door.
Peering cautiously into the dark hallway, my grip tightens on the flashlight, ready for confrontation. But the figure that emerges from the shadows is not an intruder bent on vandalism, but Natalie, her face partially obscured by the hood of her raincoat.
She jumps, startled by my sudden appearance, then lets out a small laugh of relief when she recognizes me. "Julian! You scared me," she squeaks, her hand pressed to her chest.
"Sorry, Nat, I thought you were the Langford Bandit," I joke, lowering the flashlight with a cheeky grin.
She nods, laughing nervously. "Sorry. I just didn’t want to drive home in this storm," she admits, shaking her head slightly as she glances back towards the fierceness of the weather outside. "Looks like I’m not the only one."
"Yeah, I decided to wait it out too," I say, feeling a strange relief that I’m not alone in the building.
We stand there for a moment, the tension between us palpable—not just from the scare but from everything we left unresolved this morning. Natalie breaks the silence, holding up her thermos. "I've got some coffee here. Jack got it for me," she offers, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Right, Jack. Where is Jack?" I ask, accepting the offered thermos and pouring myself a cup, grateful for the warmth, but nervous about the direction of this conversation.
"He went home this afternoon, before the storm got really bad," she replies, watching me over the rim of her own cup as she takes a sip.
The warmth of the coffee only adds to the growing heat between us, a different kind of storm brewing here in the quiet office. The closeness of the room, coupled with the howling wind outside, creates an intensely intimate atmosphere that has Nat shifting from foot to foot.
"So... looks like we’re alone together again," I say, stating the obvious, a hint of amusement in my tone to lighten the mood.
"Looks like it," Natalie agrees, her voice soft. She looks around the small office, then back at me. "We should probably talk about it."
My stomach churns, but there's no avoiding it now. As I nod, agreeing silently, the space between us feels charged with all the complex emotions that our previous encounters have stirred. Despite the discomfort of the impending conversation, there's still that undeniable pull—an attraction that, like the storm outside, refuses to be ignored.
Natalie glances around the office nervously, as if she's not sure whether or not she's intruding on my space. What she doesn't realize is how little space I actually want. I want her to stay, to talk this thing through, to sort out more than just the awkwardness with Jack.
"You know,” I start, not wanting to lose her. “This office has the best heating in the building. The radiator's pretty efficient." I gesture towards the quietly humming radiator tucked beneath the window, its gentle warmth a stark contrast to the cold that’s seeping through the building due to the storm.
She hesitates, but after a moment, she nods slightly and moves towards the sofa in the corner of the office. "Okay, thank you," she says softly, ditching her raincoat before arranging herself on the cushion. At some point during the day, she swapped her overalls for a pair of sweats and matching hoodie, and I can't help but feel a little envious of how cozy she looks tucked into the couch like that.
I settle back at the desk, where various blueprints and project files are spread out—a testament to the long hours already spent in this makeshift command center. At least this desk chair is large and fairly comfortable.
The silence that envelops the room is heavy, each of us waiting for the other to begin. The sound of rain taps steadily against the windows and the occasional gust of wind rattles the panes. I pretend to be unbothered, feigning a casual glance at the documents in front of me, but my mind hasn't strayed from Natalie for one second.
Finally, Natalie breaks the silence. "Jack was asking about you," she starts, the words moving a little too quickly. "Maybe you should talk to him. You two used to be so close."
Her suggestion stirs a mixture of nostalgia and regret within me. I pause, my hands stopping their absent-minded shuffling of papers. "Yeah, we were," I admit, the past tense like acid on my tongue. "But I messed things up. Said some things I shouldn't have when I was in a bad place. We haven’t really spoken since."
Natalie’s gaze is fixed on me, her expression thoughtful. "He's forgiven you, you know. Jack doesn’t hold grudges. He understands that people can go through rough times. So, why won’t you forgive yourself?"
Isn't that just like Natalie, cutting through all the crap and right to the chase. Honestly, I should have come to expect it by now, but I'm not sure I'll ever get used to her directness. It’s a challenge, a call to confront my own lingering guilt and the walls I’ve built up since my return from the Marines and the subsequent collapse of my marriage.
"I don’t know," I finally respond, my voice low. "Maybe I'm afraid that if I try to fix things and fail, it'll just prove that I still am the person I was back then."
Natalie’s gaze softens, understanding flickering in her eyes. "We all change. You’re not the same person you were. Neither is Jack. Maybe it’s time to show him that. To show yourself that."
Her encouragement, simple yet profound, resonates deep within me. The idea of reconciling with Jack, of perhaps reclaiming a piece of my past that wasn’t marred by the shadows of what I’d been through, suddenly seems not just necessary, but healing.
"Maybe you’re right," I acknowledge, feeling a shift within me, a loosening of a knot I hadn’t realized was still so tight.
Natalie smiles gently, then turns her gaze back to the storm outside, giving me space to process her words.
As we sit in the quiet office, the storm outside intensifies, the rain beating down even harder against the windowpanes and creating a relentless drumming that seems to echo the turmoil inside me. Every so often, a particularly fierce gust of wind throws itself against the building, making the old structure creak and groan as if bearing the weight of our confessions and fears.
Natalie has been so patient with me for weeks now. She deserves to know why I've been putting her through this noncommittal hell. And if I want to be better than the man I was, than the man I worry I still might be, then I have to take a step forward. I have to be honest with Nat.
"I'm worried," I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper as the words nearly stick in my throat. "I'm worried I'm not good enough for you, Nat. That I’ll mess everything up."
I pause, struggling to articulate the deep-seated fears that have plagued me since my return from overseas. "The Marines... they forced me to rely on myself, to be tough, to handle things alone. It also made me see how messy and chaotic the world can be. I lived through some pretty brutal shit. And after that, and after everything with my ex... I don’t know. Maybe I'm not good enough for anyone. Maybe I'm doomed to be a major fuck-up for the rest of my life."
The words, never uttered out loud before, feel foreign despite their painful truthfulness. Natalie listens, her eyes cool and clear as she absorbs my fears. After a moment, she speaks, her voice tinged with her own vulnerabilities. "I think the same about myself sometimes," she confesses quietly. "My ex cheated on me with our neighbor. It was so humiliating. Makes you wonder if it's something about you, doesn’t it?"
Her admission, raw and honest, bridges the gap between us, her own insecurities mirroring mine in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. How could anyone think Nat wasn't enough?
She shifts slightly, turning to face me more directly. "Maybe we're both a bit broken," she says softly, a sad smile touching her lips. "Doesn’t that just mean we should try even harder to be better? For ourselves, and maybe for each other?"
Her words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in a gentle offer of companionship and mutual understanding. It’s a perspective I hadn’t fully allowed myself to consider—that perhaps our broken pieces don’t make us less, but rather uniquely equipped to understand and support each other in ways others might not.
I look at her, really look at her, seeing not just the woman I've been drawn to but a kindred spirit, someone who might not just share my struggles but also my hopes for something better. It’s a daunting prospect, opening up to the possibility of failure, but also a chance to finally step away from the solitude that has marked so much of my recent years.
"Maybe you’re right," I say slowly, the decision firming up within me as I speak. "I can't promise that I won't screw up, but I can promise that I will never hurt you the way that he did.”
There's a quiet rage that surges inside me as I think of the pain Natalie has suffered. The thought that another human could be dissatisfied with Natalie, to go and look for something more—it's incomprehensible to me. I'd beat that guy senseless if I ever saw him.
Natalie bites her lip, her eyes flitting back and forth between mine. Nervously, she tucks her hair behind her ear in that adorable, endearing way I've come to love; the motion that tells me her emotions are floating dangerously close to the surface.
“I believe you,” Nat finally whispers, and my heart flutters in a way I didn't think it was capable of anymore.
Outside, the storm continues to rage, but inside, something shifts between us—a mutual decision to face whatever comes, not alone, but together