Page 79 of Getting It Twisted

April and George share a look.

“What?” I ask.

April smiles knowingly. “I don’t know if you’ve met the guy, but he’s head over heels for you.”

I stare at her, jaw slack.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you talk about each other . . . There might be pain there, and frustration. But there’s love too.”

“Yeah,” George says with a cough. “The dude is down bad for you, tell you that much.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, he’s an open book, isn’t he?” April says.

“Is he?” George and I ask in unison. Nathan is a lot of things, but an open book is not one of them.

“His face is really expressive, isn’t it?” Her bracelets jingle as she gestures to her own face. “He’s so easy to read.”

“Enlighten us,” George mutters.

She leans forward, gesturing carefully with her hands. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s been hurt, and he’s put walls up to prevent being hurt again. He pretends nothing affects him, and he seems strong, but underneath all that, all he really wants is to love and be loved in return.”

In the corner of my vision, I see George sort of . . . deflate. His crossed arms fall, and he stares at April as if he’s never seen her before.

“He let you in,” April continues, pointing a finger at me. “Twice, if you think about it. I suspect it’s not something he’s used to, and it’s a gift not easily given. Right now, he probably feels like you didn’t acknowledge the courage it took for him to hand you that gift.”

I look down in my lap, frowning. “It took courage for me too.”

“Yes, you were both very brave. But if you truly love him, you must be even braver. Nathan needs someone to accept him for who he is, flaws and all. I think, deep down, he trusted you to do that, but . . .”

“But I didn’t,” I grit out, clenching against the tears that threaten to spill anew. “I let him down.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s too late to fix it.”

“What if he doesn’t want me to?”

She smiles softly. “I think you know the answer to that question.”

“Shit.” Panic shoots through my veins as I remember. “He might’ve already left town.”

“Well, in that case, what are you waiting for?” George asks. “Yeah, I said it,” he mutters at my perplexed stare. “Go on. Get him back. And since you won’t be finishing this . . .” He grabs my forgotten dinner plate and spins a fork into the spaghetti.

“Okay,” I say after a deep, determined sigh.

I’ll go to him. Even if I have to chase him down on the highway, I’ll beg for his forgiveness and tell him Idoaccept him, messed-up past, flaws, and all.

I can only hope he’ll accept me in return.

I drive like a madman, feeling both time and my newfound hope slip from my fingertips.

What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he turns me away? What if he’s already left?

I won’t be here waiting for you.

Oh god. He didn’t mean . . . did he?

Suddenly Theresa’s death doesn’t feel like an accident. Don’t tell me he’ll follow in her footsteps . . . No, please no . . .

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