Page 147 of Between the Lines

“I didn’t know where you were. You weren’t answering any of my calls. The snow was coming downso hard, Claire, I…”

The last time he was this vulnerable, he’d been in my arms, telling me all about his brother’s cancer diagnosis, afraid to losehim. About how his mom had been their biggest cheerleader, his biggest support. And then it hits me.

His parents died in a car accident in the middle of a snow storm.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” It comes out like I’m speaking through a straw. “I put my phone on silent because you always said you didn’t like driving distracted, and I thought I would make you so proud, because the snow was coming down and…”

I sob. My body folds, crumples against him, and the moment heclutches me to hold me against him, I believe that everything will be okay.

“Nathan, I’m okay—I’m right here, I’m fine, Ipromise.”

My hands frantically roam, doing my best to bring life back into his cold unresponsiveness. I don’t expect his next words.

His, “My fault.My fault,” is mechanically distraught.

He grips onto me, but his head falls, his gaze landing between his spread legs.

“My parents…” He clears his throat, and continues looking toward the floor where his hands are clasped. “My parents died in a car accident. It was the beginning of a nor’easter. The roads were slick and dangerous. But they were out on that road becauseIasked them to be.”

The foundation beneath his words crumbles as I clutch the already fractured pieces of my swollen heart.

“My mom had always encouraged me tobe a normal kidandlive a normal lifein spite of the years I spent saving my brother. So my senior year, I joined the chess team. We made it to the state tournament. I wanted them to be there. Wanted them to see me succeed. Wanted them to put me before Cal, foronce in my life. I was soselfish, Claire. I begged them, even though the school hosting was even considering postponing the event. Ibeggedthem to go. They saw me win. And then, I never saw them again.”

“Nathan…” I reach to him, my eyes and my words laced with watery emotion, but he doesn’t take my hand. Instead, he tilts his head to me, and I see the most grim, sad, tortured look I’ve ever seen a human wear before.

I wonder if I’ve ever truly known Nathan Harding this whole time.

“It was my fault, Claire.Myfault that my parents died that night.Myfault that my Cal had to be raised by me—an unfit, older brother. He beat cancer, and then I took his mom and dad from him. I told my parents I wanted them to be proud of me for something.That they hadencouragedme to ‘be normal,’ and I wanted them to see me doing it. Do you know what my dad said?”

His shoulders hitch up. He laughs humorlessly, tears streaming down his face in a steady free-fall.

“He said, ‘You’ve already made us proud, Nathan. You gave us your brother back. You’ve always done rightby him.’”

His eyes close, and he exhales, preparing the rest of the story that he’s kept hidden.

“The moment the cancer was gone, they had to start walking this tightrope—it was strung between Cal and me, and they didn’t want it to tip too far one way or the other. They were entirely overbearing when it came to his medical status, and kissed Cal’s feet at every turn. He could do no wrong. But they walked on eggshells around me, like they didn’t know what to do after I’d sacrificed parts of myself for Cal. When Cal had the gift of life in remission, it was as if they looked at me and said, ‘You saved your brother, and now we don’t know what comes next for you.’ I saved his life, and thought I had lost my parents in the process. In the end, my selfishness reallydidcost them.”

His feelings air out in thick clouds around the room, and I don’t even know where to start. His body is curved in a defeated hunch. He looks so vulnerable right now. Spilling the rest of what’s been stacked on his heart, on the tail of thinking he’d replayed what happened with his parents all over again tonight when I didn’t picked up my phone?

I know I didn’t do anything intentionally, but I am racked with guilt. He looks like a wounded animal, so I don’t reach out to touch him, at fear of driving him away, even though my soul is splitting from my body to comfort his.

“Nathan, I’m so sorry.” It’s a good start. I’m sorry for a lot of things: Not anticipating that him not being able to contact me would worry him as much as it did. The weight of secrets he’s beenholding onto about his parents and his brother. The fact that he’s been carrying it alone all this time.

“You couldn’t have known,” he whispers.

“I could have texted,” I insist. “I wanted to surprise you.”

The pinch in my voice sounds desperate, and I do my best to reign in my tears.

“I wanted to come over tonight and talk about things. We’ve been so off since Christmas, and I thought…”

That conversation, theWhat are we?talk I’d wanted to have tonight, seems so minuscule compared to all of this. It explainseverything—why he’s been so protective. Why he hasn’t defined what we are, because the last time he hadanythingto call his own, it had all been torn from his grasp.

“If you had been hurt tonight…” A predatory growl wraps around the vulnerability of his words in the most eerie tone I’ve ever heard. “…I wouldn’t have been able tolivewith myself, Claire.”

A chill races up my spine, freezing me to the spot as he slowly lifts his head, adrenaline coursing through him.

“That would have beenmyfault.My faultthat something had happened to you. I can’t have your peril on my hands, Claire. Ican’t.”

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