Page 63 of Nathan

“One.”

“Certainly.” He codes the key and passes it over. “The elevators are right over there, sir. Do you need help with your luggage?”

“No.”

Nate leads me over to the elevators, pushes the button, and the doors close.

“Nate, I?—”

“Save it, Titch. Please. Until we get to the room.”

I clamp my mouth shut. A few minutes later, he opens the door to the room and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. Following me, he wanders over to the window, staring down at the busy street below. I come up behind him, resting my hand between his shoulder blades. His muscles are bunched beneath my palm.

I rub his back in circles. “Why are we here?”

Walking away without saying anything, he sags wearily onto a sofa positioned at the end of the bed, his legs sprawling in front of him. “I don’t want our conversation to be overheard, and don’t give me a hard time about extravagance. I refused the suite, didn’t I?”

I chuckle, taking the seat beside him. “I thought I might have had something to do with that.”

Nate hitches a shoulder. “I learned my lesson.” He knits our fingers together. “I really am sorry, Titch. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like I did last night. I feel like the shittiest human being. When I woke up this morning and you weren’t there, I thought you’d left. You have no idea of the effect that had on me. I was so fucking scared I’d pushed you away.”

He isn’t the only one scared. His demeanor is not like Nate at all. He looks… defeated. Fear turns my stomach. Millie was right. Something awful is eating him up inside, and if he doesn’t share what that is with someone soon, it will consume him. That someone might as well be me. I can cope with whatever it is… can’t I?

I squeeze his forearm. “I’m discreet, Nate. You can trust me. Whatever you tell me stays between us.” I cross my heart. “I will take it to my grave, on my mother’s life.”

He covers his face with his hands and rubs hard. “I’m tempted. It’d be good to say the words aloud instead of listening to them screaming inside my head for the last seven years, but I’m… I’m...I’m terrified, Titch.” He expels a sharp, bitter laugh. “I bet that’s a turn-off, right? I’m the man. I’m supposed to be the strong one.”

I shake my head. “Showing you’re vulnerable is actually a huge turn-on, Nate. At least for me. I don’t want a boyfriend who pretends to be something he’s not. I want the real you.”

He presses his forefinger to his bottom lip and stares at the wall opposite, lost in thought.

“If you tell a soul, I swear to God?—”

“I won’t. Trust me, please. I won’t let you down.”

He shifts to face me, reaching out for a lock of my hair that he lets run through his fingers. “What is it about you, Titch? We’ve only known each other a month, yet I feel like we’ve been together for years.”

My heart skips a beat because that’s exactly how I feel. “I guess with some people, time is irrelevant, and then there are others who spend their whole lives together and never really know the other person.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, then exhales slowly through pursed lips. “Let me finish before you speak, okay?”

When I nod, he begins to talk.

“Declan, Callum, and Ciaran aren’t my full brothers. Mom had an affair, and I was the by-product. When I see my brothers now, I’m reminded that I’m an outsider, an interloper, and the woman I adored more than life itself was a liar and a cheat. That’s why I hate coming to New York. Because it fucking hurts.”

Whatever I’d expected him to share, that is not it. The pain in his eyes cuts through me, and I automatically reach for his hand, squeezing for all I’m worth as he continues.

“Seven years ago, I came home from RADA for Thanksgiving. I was looking through bits and pieces of Mom’s stuff that Declan had kept lying around. He’d put most of it in storage, but there was a box of trinkets and cards we’d made her when we were little… that kind of thing. There was a letter inside an envelope containing a birthday card. I’ve no idea how it got there.” He grimaces. “Not that it matters.”

His gaze returns to the wall. Since he hasn’t given me a sign he’s finished, I keep quiet, but my grip on his hand remains steadfast. I hope he’ll take some comfort from it. What a horrible thing to find out and then keep to himself all these years. My heart aches for him. To have everything you believe to be true torn apart must be awful. Just awful. I might have lost my dad far too soon, and it won’t be long before Mom joins him, but one thing I do know is how much they idolized each other. How committed they were to their marriage, and to raising Elva and me in a loving, nurturing home.

More than a minute passes, and still he doesn’t carry on with the story. “What did the letter say?” I ask as gently as I can.

His head drops, chin curved into his chest. I yearn to hold him, to take his pain and make it my own. But I don’t. I sense that’s not what he needs, and I don’t want to force him into pushing me away, especially as he already feels guilty for last night.

“It was from him in response to her ending their affair. She’d sent him a letter which he’d sent back to her with one of his own agreeing to leave her alone. Apparently, my dad—and by that, I mean the man who raised me—had discovered Mom was cheating on him, and that I wasn’t his legitimate son. He’d given her an ultimatum: end the affair, and they’d never speak of it again, or he’d throw her, and me, out on the street, and make sure she never saw Declan or the twins again. My sperm donor didn’t mention me at all, like I didn’t even exist. From the date on the letter, I’d just turned six months old.”

“Jesus,” I mutter.

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