by Jewel E. Ann
“And I’m sorry … I didn’t want to share this burden with you, even when Dr. Albright said I should. It just came out. Now you have to decide … what’s it going to be, Nate? Are we friends? If I forgive you for breaking up with me over your stubborn pride, will you listen to me? I need someone to listen to me. Someone who will believe me. Someone who will help me stop this sick bastard from killing another innocent person.”
This new, intimidating, really pissed off looking Nate steps closer. “You’re lying to me. So cancel whatever fucking plans you may have tonight because as soon as I get home, you’re telling me everything before I let you take one step out of this house.”
“Don’t swear in front of your daughter,” I grit through a tight smile. This is not my fault. I’m not a liar. He’s not going to make me feel like I’ve done something wrong.
The muscles in his jaw twitch a few times. Why have I been making the men in my life so angry lately?
It’s NOT my fault!
I pick up Morgan and move her arm like a puppet’s. “Bye, Daddy. You’re going to be late if you don’t stop scowling at my favorite nanny.”
“Swayze …” he says my name like he’s warning me to keep my tongue in my mouth.
“Professor …”
He leaves.
I hold every emotion inside. If I let him break me in the process of trying to protect himself, we all suffer and Doug remains a free man. I need Nate’s help, so I’ll take a few verbal punches and scowls of distrust to put an end to this nightmare.
*
Griffin’s working late. I tell him I’m going to an exercise class; he doesn’t question it since I have always been sporadic with my gym visits. And it’s not a lie. I do have my workout clothes in the truck, I just might not get there until later. Or at all.
Professor: I’m leaving now. My dad will be there soon to get Morgan. Pack her diaper bag and formula. And DON’T LEAVE.
Me: I’ve read this three times and I don’t see a ‘please.’ Surely I’m just missing it????
He doesn’t respond.
Within ten minutes his dad arrives.
“Hello?” He calls from the front door.
I fasten Morgan into her carrier. “Coming.” Slinging the diaper bag over my shoulder, I deliver Morgan to her grandpa.
“Hi, you must be Swayze.”
I nod at the familiar face. “I’d say you must be Mr. Hunt, but there’s no missing the resemblance.”
“The hair give it away?”
I hand him the diaper bag and smile. “The eyes.”
“Sure.” He gives me a playful grin.
“I just fed her and changed her diaper, but everything’s in the diaper bag, including extra outfits.”
He takes Morgan. “Well, I hope you get your contract renegotiated. Nathaniel speaks highly of you. I’d hate for him to lose such a good nanny.”
“My contract …” I nod slowly. “Yeah.”
He points over my shoulder. “I’m taking the other car since there’s a car seat base in the back.”
“Of course.” I step aside and follow him to the back garage door.
“It was nice to meet you, Swayze.”
“You too, Mr. Hunt.”
“Call me David.”
“Okay, David. Do you need help getting her seat in the base?”
“Nope. Nathaniel showed me a while back when he went out with some friends.”
The professor has friends. Of course he does. Everyone has friends. But since he hasn’t mentioned them to me, it’s as if they don’t exist.
When he pulls out, I give him one final wave and press the button to the garage door. It stops halfway down and goes back up.
The professor’s SUV pulls into its spot. He looks as intimidating as he did when he left this morning. Time didn’t soften his anger.
Poor me.
“Where’s dinner?”
He shuts the door and pins me with one look that makes my knees shake. “Get inside. No dinner.”
I hold my ground. He stops two steps below me, putting us at eye level.
“You need to say the word please. I’m not your employee at the moment.”
“Get. Inside.”
“Why are you so mad?”
He bulldozes his way past me. I drag my feet behind him into the kitchen.
Tossing his messenger bag on the sofa, he turns. “Who are you?”
I squint. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not her. Daisy would never do this. I don’t appreciate whatever sick and twisted game this is you’re playing. You can’t just come out of fucking nowhere with this murder accusation. What the hell is wrong with you?”
My jaw unhinges and I try to close it, but it keeps falling open, waiting for words to come out. But they don’t. Even my thoughts slow to a stop.
I have absolutely nothing.
“You said you looked up the owner of the house and that’s how you knew Doug Mann’s name.” Nate shakes his head. “And now you’re saying your friend was murdered by him. Nothing you say makes sense, which means you’re lying. Why the fuck are you lying about this?”
“I …” I swallow hard. “I lived in the same building. Doug Mann lives in an apartment one floor up from the one that was mine. Right across the hall from Erica.”
“Then why did you say you looked him up!”
I jump as my stomach roils from the hard punch of his anger. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you with the truth.”
“The truth? What are you calling the truth?”
Who is this angry person? I don’t know him. Or maybe part of me does. Nate had a temper, I saw it with other people, but rarely with me—or her. Hell … I don’t know anymore.
“Nate … I know what’s in my head. And it’s not a lie.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing!” He clenches his fists as heat plumes up the sides of his neck. He steps toward me. What is happening?
“You don’t get to say this kind of shit to me.” He takes another step.
I retreat a few paces.
“I’ve lived with this fucking guilt for over twenty-two years. An accident that I wasn’t there to prevent has eaten me up whole.” His voice shakes. His entire body shakes.
I don’t think he’ll actually hurt me, but I also don’t recognize this person.
No Morgan.
No David.
No distraction.
No one to save me.
“And now you want to dig up the past—my past—and make accusations that you can’t prove. You want to rip back open my fucking heart by telling me someone murdered her?”
He shakes his head, stalking toward me like he’s ready to rip my heart straight out of my chest. “No. You can get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see you again.”
I flinch as tears sting my eyes and anger rockets through my veins. My hand flies through the air, connecting with his face. “Fuck you for not understanding!”
Pure rage burns in his eyes as his nostrils flare.
I fight the urge to run. I fight the emotions knocking at my chest while stifling the raw scream burning in my throat. A light breeze could shatter me from the inside out. I’m nauseous and every muscle in my body feels weak and unsteady.
Humiliation. Pain. Resentment. Anger.
A lot of anger.
He grabs my arm. I rip it away so fast my feet stumble backwards until the wall catches me.
“Don’t you touch me.” I hug my arms to my chest.
He sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly. I catch a glimpse of something besides rage.
Pain. He’s in so much pain.
“Then make me understand.”
He doesn’t get to say that. Not now. Not after calling me a liar. Not after telling me to get the hell out of his house. I just … snap.
“Understand? UNDERSTAND?” I shove him.
He grabs my wrists with a loose grip and holds them next to his chest. I try to wriggle free. His hands tighten aroun
d my wrists.
“Let go of me! I don’t fucking understand it myself. But I’m not going to protect you any longer.”
His eyes narrow, jaw clamped shut.
My skin burns from my heart pounding out of control. “If she were here, she’d ask you why you didn’t save her. Why you let your stupid ego drive her away. Because she didn’t drown by accident.” I yank my hands free and pound my fists against his chest. “I was murdered!”
Pound. Pound. Pound.
He doesn’t stop me. While I breakdown, he stands here like a punching bag, taking everything I give him.
I was murdered.
Not she. I.
This is not a normal human experience. People don’t recall past lives for a reason. Death is supposed to be final. The memories should die. What kind of god would allow someone to relive their death, because that’s where I’m at. I’m on the precipice of reliving my death one horrific flashback at a time.
My fight loses momentum. Each jab to his chest softens more than the one before it.
Still, he doesn’t move.
I stare at my hands, now idle on his chest—my labored breaths the only sound between us. Something drips onto the sleeve of my shirt, and I blink, staring at the wet spot for several long seconds before trailing my gaze up his body.
Nate’s vacant, red-rimmed eyes stare off into an unknown distance behind me as new tears escape them with each blink.
He didn’t break me. I broke him.
“Nate,” I whisper, reaching for his face.
He grabs my hand and holds it to his cheek as his face distorts into this torturous regret, and his body shakes beneath my hands.
His legs give out.
His shoulders slump.
His body drops to its knees.
I try to stop him, but I can’t, so I wrap my arms around his torso and fall with him. Nate hugs me to his body tighter than I’ve ever been held.
“I’m so … sorry,” his voice cracks.
My heart rips open, letting in all of his pain. He cups the back of my head and kisses the top of it over and over between sobs. My tears come slower. One at a time. A blanket of pain envelopes us.
I have memories of Daisy’s life, but I don’t have feelings from it. My emotions are those of an outsider watching a movie or reading a story. It’s empathy. Heartbreaking empathy.
Silence settles around us again, and his body stills with his cheek resting on my head. “I’m sorry,” he says in a defeated tone.
I peel myself from his hold, sitting back on my heels while wiping my cheeks. “Those were my words, not Daisy’s. It’s like I’m seeing what she saw, and when we touch…” I take one of his hands and sandwich it between mine “…I think I’m physically feeling what she felt. But I don’t feel her emotions. It’s not your fault that she died. And I didn’t want to tell you any of this because it doesn’t change the past, but I know these scattered flashes in my mind are from the moments leading up to her death. I see Doug. And this long cut on his face. I see murder in his eyes. He killed Daisy, and he killed my friend Erica. And he’s going to kill again if I don’t stop him.”
Nate shakes his head. “No. They ruled out foul play.”
“They were wrong. Just like they’re wrong about Erica. He knows what he’s doing. He knows how to murder people and make it look like an accident. We don’t know how many people he’s killed.”
He pulls his hand from mine and runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know.” Nate’s gaze roams along my body before settling on my face—my cheeks, my mouth, my eyes. “Daisy …”
“I can be your altar. You can confess. You can ask for forgiveness. Share your deepest, darkest secrets, but I can’t give you back anything tangible, not even a whisper of hope, because she’s only part of my memory. I can’t give life to her in a real way.”
More tears fill his eyes as his jaw clenches. “Fuck … what did he do? Did he hurt you? Did he …” He grimaces.
He’s thinking the worst. I’m thinking the worst.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Is this how he looked the day his dad told him Daisy died? Is this how he looked when the doctor told him Jenna didn’t make it? It has to be the same look because the only time I’ve seen this kind of anguish on the face of another human is when my mom found out my dad died.
He swallows hard. “If you know, you have to tell me. You have to tell me.”
“I’m not sure. It’s too fragmented.”
“But do you feel her pain?” His voice escalates, and he immediately winces with regret.
“No. I don’t feel her at all.”
He eases to standing, a vacant look in his reddened eyes. “Go home.”
The defeat in his voice strangles my heart.
“Nate …” I stand, reaching for his hand.
He pulls it out of my reach. “Just … please go home.”
I nod.
Nate turns, disappearing into his office, shutting the door behind him.
I slip on my shoes and coat, pausing for a few seconds when I open the front door. How can I break him like this and just leave?
After shutting the door, I slip back off my coat. As I hang it on the hook, the most guttural roar thunders from his office followed by a tornado of clanks, thunks, and things shattering.
I freeze with my heart lodged in my throat. After a few seconds of silence, I creep toward his office, treading warily on the fear of what is on the other side of the door.
Easing the door open, I find Nate on the floor, his body buckled over, hands covering his face as he silently sobs amongst the remains of everything that was on his desk.
I hunch down behind him and hug his back. He jumps at first, and then more emotions rip from his chest.
“It’s my fault …”
“No.”
“What if he …” His words catch as his body shakes more.
“Don’t do this.”
“What if he did things? Un … unthinkable things.”
Dropping to my knees, I crawl in front of him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at me. I don’t really know what to say. He’s not thinking anything that I haven’t thought. To rule out foul play, they had to do an autopsy. So nothing must have shown up. No signs of rape or anything like that. But … the mind still goes to a million things that he could have done to her that would not have been detectable with an autopsy.
I can’t go there and neither should he.
“Thinking these thoughts won’t change what happened.” That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.
I don’t have to feel what she felt. I feel him right now, and it’s the kind of pain that will never completely disappear. The ache in my chest will linger forever.
Nate snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap, the same way he held me on his bed the first time I tried to tell him about Doug.
We hold each other like we’re just trying to hold onto life, like we’re holding each other together.
After long minutes, he eases his hold on me. I sit back until our faces are just a few inches apart. His hands cup my face like I’m someone very precious to him. I hold my breath. He’s not going to kiss me. I’m pretty certain of it. And I wish I could define what this is between us, but I can’t. Nor can I resist his touch. It’s like my body craves the familiarity of it. Is it just morbid curiosity and obsession over the story of Daisy and Nate?
Epic.
Tragic.
All-consuming.
“Thank you for finding me,” he whispers.
Why does he keep saying that?
My hands move to his shoulders. I just need to steady myself. I need to feel in control. “Do you really believe that? That I found you?”
His thumbs caress my cheeks and he smiles. It’s sad. It’s beautiful. But mostly, it’s familiar. “Yes.”
How can the touch of two different men reach my soul? I’m engaged to Griffin. I love him unequivocally. But when Nat
e’s hands meet my flesh, it doesn’t feel wrong, and maybe it should. It feels like he’s reclaiming something that’s his. It’s like he’s whispering an eerie “thank you for taking good care of her, but I’ll take it from here.”
And right now I want to melt into him.
Closing my eyes, I lean into his hold on me, ghosting my fingers along his arms. “Why did you say you loved Daisy as much as your wife? You married Jenna. You made a child with her.” I open my eyes.
Nate’s mouth settles into this pleasant smile, like he’s looking at his daughter, not her nanny.
“It doesn’t make sense, Nate. You should have loved Jenna more—so much more.”
“I think we love many people for a lot of different reasons. I also think people pass in and out of our lives to give us an experience. You were—”
“Don’t.” I pull my head back, tripping over a few things as I get to my feet. “Don’t say you. Say she.”
His brows knit together as he lumbers to standing. “I don’t care that your eyes are a different color. I don’t care that you’re fifteen years younger than me. You are my friend.” His voice tightens with the last word. “Some things last forever. What if our friendship lasts forever? What if the connection we have transcends time?”
I’m certain no what ifs have ever been more beautiful, except this one … what if he’s right?
“You taught me how to be a friend. You taught me how to love. You were my first kiss and my first heartbreak. You fed my hunger. You comforted me when my family fell apart. You convinced me to dream big. You were my absolute everything.” He frowns. “You didn’t give me a child, but you sure as hell gave me life.”
I bat away the tears before they escape. “I had this flashback. I was above you … my hair tickling your face. You wore the biggest grin and you said, ‘So, what are—’”
“So what are you going to do with me,” Nate says with a grin almost as big as the memory in my head. And I know now … he’s going to be okay.
“You used to wrestle with me. I’d let you pin me to the ground, or my bed, or a patch of grass and weeds on the old abandoned property. You’d say ‘ha’ so triumphantly. And I’d grin because there’s nothing I loved more than your hair feathering my face. I always said the same thing … ‘So, what are you going to do with me?’”
