Page 65 of Coming Home

Collapsing against his firm chest, she croaked. “Evan’s dead because of me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.”~Louisa May Alcott,Little Women

The words fell out and they couldn’t be put back in.

“It’s my fault. Evan is dead because of me.” Like a record on repeat, it just kept coming out of Nat, along with her tears.

For ten years, she’d held onto this secret. For ten years, guilt had been her constant companion, a noxious swirl in her stomach threatening to choke her.

Noah drew her into the house and closed the door. Keeping her tucked into his chest, he guided her to the couch and then down onto the cushions. He squeezed in right next to her, never withdrawing his arm, or his hand, or his concern.

With quiet patience, he held her, not asking…not demanding more.

Nat twisted her gaze away from his watchful eyes. It was too much to look at him as she confessed. “The night Evan died, we were supposed to go on a run together. We had planned it earlier in the day but…”

He linked their hands and squeezed gently coaxing her to continue.

“Before we went, we got in a fight. Duncan was pressuring me to go to NYU with him, instead of Boston College. I told Evan I was thinking about it. He said I was making a huge mistake… He was right.” The words were a quiet croak.

She focused on a watercolor painting of an elderly couple in a rowboat hung on the wall. The man’s blue eyes, rimmed in happy crinkles, looked at a silver-haired woman. Their joined hands clasped around the oar, working in tandem to row the boat. The picture could be of her mom and dad, or even a glimpse into a future that she worried was too soon to wish for.

You’re not that rainbow-sprinkled single scoop any more.

She swallowed hard. “I told him I didn’t want to run with him. I called him a jerk. That was the last thing I said to him. Then he died, and it was my fault.”

“Nat, it was an accident.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if I had been with him.”

Noah cupped her chin, turning her to face him, his eyes the color of a stormy sea. “If you had been with him, the truck would have hit both of you.”

“Heneverran on the country roads when I was with him. If I had gone, we would have been at the park. Evan would be alive. He’d be here. We’d have the complete Owens family instead of the one I broke. I broke them…I broke us.” Hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

“It was an accident, baby…a terrible fucking accident.” His strong arms held her as if they’d never let her go.

As if her confession changed nothing in his eyes. As if she was still special. Still perfect.

Burying herself in his embrace, the tears raged. Each tick of the last precious moments with Evan salted every tear. The regret in his eyes. His usually carefree smile just a firmdisappointed line. The frustrated tug of his strawberry-blond hair. The exasperated rasped mutter for her to be reasonable. The knock on her door that she’d ignored, knowing it was him.

“I’ve got you,” Noah soothed, running his hands along her spine.

Raising her head, her eyes met his. His stare crawled into her. Seeming to not lookather butintoher.

Closing her eyes, she buried her face against his chest once more, finding shelter in his strength. It felt like days later, but it was only moments when the storm of tears tapered to a mere drizzle. She remained pressed tight to him. The front of his soft T-shirt was damp from her emotional torrent.

“I’m sorry I used your T-shirt as a tissue…again,” she sniffled, her voice muffled in his embrace.

His hand swept soothing strokes up and down her back. “That’s why I buy such soft T-shirts. They make the best tissues.”

She met his gaze. “What do you see when you look at me now?”

Over the last few weeks, she’d seen glimpses of how she looked in his eyes.You’re perfect.His words whispered to her fearful heart. How would she look to him now that he knew the truth about her? About what she’d done. About who she was. She wasn’t who he thought…who anyone thought…she was. She wasn’t a good daughter. She was the destroyer, not the caregiver. She was an imposter.

“You’re still my Nat… My perfect Nat.” Sincerity glimmered in his gaze.

“But—”

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