Page 146 of Between the Lines

claire

While Nathan isout of the room—by the sounds of it, making tea—I scroll through my phone, and piece together all of the holes in the story.

While I had thought putting my phone on Do Not Disturb was the responsible thing to do, it actually sent everyone into a panic.

I have twelve missed calls from Nathan. After I hear the absolute panic in his first voicemail, I can’t bring myself to listen to the rest.

Idoscan over the texts.

Penelope’s begin innocently enough—Okay! Be safe! Roads aren’t too bad now, but please drive slowly—to a stream of panic from every person in my current circle.

Penelope

Claire. Take your damn phone off DND.

Lucy

Hey, is everything okay? Harding just called me? He wanted to know where you are?

Juliet

Checking in. Nate just called Sam panicking about where you are. Is everything okay?

Aaron

Hey, so, Harding is freaking out. I want to say I called it, but also, he kinda sounded mad panicked.

I put everyone into a group chat for efficiency’s sake.

Claire

Hey everyone. I’m safe. I had my phone on DND driving home from the basketball game because of the snow, and Nathan couldn’t reach me. Sorry for the panic.

Aaron

Soooo, you and Harding???

He adds three eyes emojis to the thread, and I reply with a simple,Penelope can fill you in. Have at it. I’m going to go talk with Nathan now, and put my phone on silent. I amfullyexpecting over a hundred texts when I return to my phone later, but later can wait.

The look on Nathan’s face carves a crater in the pit of my stomach. He looks grave. Ashen, where I’m so used to rose-tinted cheeks when he’s around me. His eyes are wide, but his lips are a thin, sullen line. For a moment, I wonder if he’s about to throw up. He’s clutching the life out of the two tea mugs, so I extend my hands to take mine—the blue ceramic mug that Ialwaysuse. If he can be thoughtful enough to still use my mug, he can’t be that angry, can he?

“Thank you,” I say. The words feel chalky in my throat.

He nods, humming in acknowledgement, as he sits on the couch, and runs a hand through his hair.

He hasn’t even changed out of his work attire. His snow boots are rucked up around a pair of black slacks, and I can tell where the sweat stains are forming beneath the arms of his light blue oxford. The tie is still cinched around his neck, and with the red hue of his skin that has risen above the collar, I can’t help but lean forward and loosen it.

Why does he flinch?

My eyes pinch, taking in the way his close. It looks like he’s holding his breath, and suddenly, I’m panicking. After his tie is fully undone, I kneel on the couch, cup his face, and turn him toward me. The sound that comes out, like a wounded animal, makes everything worse.

“Nathan,” I plead. “Baby, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

He’s panicking. His breaths stutter, but he reaches for me, clutching my forearms to ground himself. My thumbs brush over his eyes as I beg him to open them. When he does, he exhales. A long, warm stream of his breath shifts between us.

“I thought I lost you.”

His words are a hammer to the nail in the center of my heart. Crackling lines spider in all directions as he grips me tighter.

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