29. Julian
CHAPTER 29
JULIAN
A s we near the town limits, the tension between Natalie and me continues to rise. Her concern for Jack and the Langford is palpable, her body rigid with stress and worry. I can appreciate her need to act, to be involved, but my own instincts scream to protect her, to keep her away from any potential danger.
"I’m dropping you off at home," I state firmly, trying to keep my voice even, though inside, my emotions are anything but calm.
She turns to me, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“I don't want you getting involved in any of this,” I urge. “I want you to stay where I know you'll be safe.”
Natalie's response is immediate, her voice frantic. “Are you crazy? My brother was just attacked, Julian, I need to see him! And I need to see the building, too—I need to know what happened!”
Her voice rises with each word, the pitch echoing the panic and guilt I know she feels. But I can’t let her do this. The thought of her walking into possibly another dangerous situation makes my blood run cold.
"You’re not going to the Langford, Natalie. It’s not safe. I won't put you in harm's way," I reply, trying to keep the edge from my voice. "You can go to the hospital to see Jack if you insist, but you’re not going anywhere near the building until I know exactly what we’re dealing with."
"I can handle myself. I need to be involved. This affects me too!" Her response is fierce, her spirit as fiery as ever, but it’s that very bravery that terrifies me. The more she insists, the more my resolve hardens. One of us has to think things through.
"This isn’t about whether you can handle yourself, Natalie," I say, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. "This is about ensuring your safety. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you. Jack was attacked, for fuck’s sake. We don’t know what else this guy is capable of."
Natalie looks away, her jaw clenched, her hands balled into fists in her lap. "And what if I can’t forgive myself for sitting on the sidelines while my brother was in danger? What if I need to do this, Julian?"
Her voice breaks a little, and it twists something deep inside me. I want to reach out, to pull her into my arms and reassure her, but I know that would only placate her in the moment, not solve the underlying issue.
"We’re not on the sidelines. We're making sure we’re not making the situation worse. Let the police handle the investigation at the building. You can see Jack and make sure he’s okay. That’s where you can help, Natalie," I argue, hoping she sees the sense in it, even as I understand her frustration and need to do more.
“Gee, thanks for the permission,” Natalie mutters. I clench my jaw shut tight, emotions roiling within me.
Natalie remains silent for the rest of the drive, a silence that feels directed at me. When I pull up to her place, she unbuckles her seatbelt without a word, her movements stiff and mechanical.
Before she can get out of the car, I reach for her hand, needing to bridge the gap between us. "Natalie, please understand why I’m doing this. I care about you—more than I’ve ever cared about anyone, besides Aria. I need to know you’re safe."
She looks at me, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I think she might soften. But then she pulls her hand away, snatches her bag and slams the car door with a force that echoes down the quiet street, her angry steps resounding as she storms away from me toward her front door. Underneath her anger, I sense her fear and helplessness—emotions I know all too well, but it doesn't change my decision.
I sit in the parked car, engine idling, watching her retreating figure until she fishes out her keys and disappears inside. My mind races with worry—for Jack and the situation at the Langford Building, and for Natalie. I want to respect her drive to face this head on, but I can't possibly allow the risk. She's not going to keep herself safe, so I have to be the one to do it.
I just hope one day she will understand that I'm doing this for her own good.
For a moment, I consider following Nat inside, to try and smooth things over, but the stubborn set of her shoulders as she walked away tells me she's not ready to listen.
Reluctantly, I pull away from the curb, the weight of our unresolved conflict heavy in my chest. I keep an eye on the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see her come running out, determined to follow me despite my objections.
She doesn’t appear, so I force my attention to the next task. As I drive towards the Langford Building, the scene that unfolds is chaotic—a flurry of activity with several police cars and a crowd of onlookers. My heart sinks further, the reality of the danger both closer and more serious than ever.
I park a little way off and make my way towards the building, my phone pressed to my ear as I call Jack. The rings seem to last an eternity before he picks up.
"Hey, Julian. I’m okay," Jack's voice comes through, sounding tired but steady.
"Thank God," I exhale, relief washing over me for a moment before the next wave of concern hits. "They told me you were attacked. What happened? Are you sure you’re alright?"
"Yeah, I got a good knock to the head, but I’ll be released tomorrow. It looks scarier than it is," he tries to reassure me, though the thought of him being physically assaulted is anything but reassuring.
"That’s good to hear," I reply, my eyes now scanning the crowd, taking in the police moving in and out of the building. "Do they have any leads on who did this?" My gut twists because I already know: Mason.
"They didn't say,” Jack answers, then his tone shifts to one more pleading. “Listen, make sure Natalie stays out of there, okay? I don't want her ending up like me."
"Already on it," I say, though the assurance feels hollow. I can't guarantee that Natalie is going to listen to me. "She’s not happy about it, but she’s safe at home for now. Though I expect she'll come visit you soon."
Jack sighs on the other end. "Thanks, Julian. Look after her, and yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow."
We hang up, and as I pocket my phone, I look back towards the chaos at the Langford. I steel myself for what’s to come, my resolve hardened not just to solve this mystery, but to reconcile with Natalie, and to make her understand.
As I’m about to step out of the car to join the police swarming the building, my phone rings. I glance at the screen, a twist of apprehension tightening in my stomach when I see Natalie’s name. I take a deep breath and answer, bracing for another wave of the argument, but hoping we can find some common ground this time.
“Julian, can we talk?” Natalie’s voice comes through the speaker, tense but trying to sound calm. It’s clear she’s still upset, the undercurrent of frustration evident despite her controlled tone.
“I’m listening,” I reply, my hand tightening around the phone.
“I’m sorry about earlier; I overreacted. It’s just…” she starts, her voice thick with emotion. “I just feel like you’re being unfair, keeping me away from everything. I need to be involved, Julian. I need to?—”
I cut her off, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “I'm trying to keep you safe, Natalie. Why can't you understand that? You’re not even trying to see this from my perspective!”
There’s a pause on the line, a heavy silence that stretches out uncomfortably, and I instantly regret raising my voice. I can almost picture her, flushed and angry, hurt and disappointed.
“I know you’re scared for me, Julian, and I appreciate that, really, I do.” She says each word slowly, deliberate. “But I can’t just sit back and do nothing. Jack’s my brother, and the Langford Building is my project too. If this all goes to shit, we’re both in trouble.”
Her words hit me with the force of a blow, reminding me of the strong, independent woman I fell in love with. She’s never been one to stand on the sidelines, and my attempts to protect her are clashing with her intrinsic nature to take action.
“I get it Nat,” I respond, more gently now. “I’m sorry for making you feel sidelined. It’s just that when I heard what happened to Jack, my first thought was to ensure you’re nowhere near that kind of danger. Maybe I overreacted, but it’s only because I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you. I'm going to keep you safe, even if it kills me.”
When Natalie speaks again, her tone is sharp, her words slicing through the tentative hope I’d been fostering. “You don't get to decide that for me. I’m not a child. I’m not Aria.”
The comparison stings, and a part of me recoils. “That’s not fair, Natalie. I don't treat you like Aria.”
“Really? Trying to keep me locked away at home, away from anyone else, away from the building? That's not how you’ve been treating Aria? You say this is about protecting me, but this has gone way too far. You're being controlling.”
I clench my jaw, doing everything I can not to raise my voice again. “It’s not about control. I trust you, Nat. It’s the situation I don’t trust.”
“I need to make my own decisions,” she insists, her voice firm. “I'm not going to live my life locked away in an ivory tower because the world outside is too scary.”
“I’m trying to be responsible here,” I reply, frustration mounting from her accusations. “I’m trying to ensure?—”
“Maybe we’re just too different,” Natalie cuts in, her words cold and final. “Maybe we’ll never see eye to eye on this. You want to wrap me in cotton, keep me safe from everything. I can’t live like that.”
Her words hang heavy between us, a chasm that feels too wide to cross with just a few well-meaning sentences. The ache in my chest grows as I realize that this argument isn’t just about this incident; it’s about fundamental differences in how we view the world, how we approach life and risk.
I swallow hard, the taste of fear bitter on my tongue. “Natalie, I…”
I don’t know how to finish that sentence. There’s too much to say, too much at stake, and suddenly I’m not sure any of it can be bridged with a compromise. She’s right—perhaps we are too different.
I’m too broken for her. Too fucked up from a war and a system that didn’t take care of me in the aftermath. A man who ruins every good relationship he touches because the need to shield people from the shit I’ve seen is too strong.
“Maybe we need some time to think about this,” I finally say, though every word feels like conceding to a larger defeat.
“Maybe we do,” she agrees quietly, and I can hear in her voice the same resignation that’s settling heavy in my own heart.
The call ends abruptly, the finality of the conversation gutting. I sit for a moment in the parked car, staring at the steering wheel, grappling with the painful realization that love might not be enough. Enough to keep someone safe, enough to make a relationship work.
Slowly, I climb out of the car, my limbs numb as I prepare to face the chaos at the building, now carrying a new weight—the uncertainty of where Natalie and I stand, and the haunting possibility that we might indeed be too different to make it together.