Page 94 of Shift Change

“Really?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. “Because the way you’ve been acting, I was starting to wonder.”

His head jerked up. “What the hell? I screwed up, Chuck, and lost us the game. I think I’m allowed to feel bad.”

“If I thought this was only about the game, I wouldn’t be so worried.” I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. “You’ve been acting more like I was your roommate than your boyfriend. A roommate you don’t especially like.”

He flinched, but his walls snapped up, higher than ever. “You’re worried? Screw that. And as for the other…” He waved a hand between us, a sharp, dismissive gesture. “I’ve never fucked a roommate in my life, but we’ve been doing plenty of that.”

“Not nearly as much as…” I slammed my beer down, glass thunking hard against the wooden table. “Goddammit, this isn’t about fucking or losing a game or being goddamn roommates. This is about how you’re shutting me out.”

“I. Am. Not.”

“Bullshit.” I shot to my feet and paced a few steps before turning back. “Remember how happy we were in California? I thought things were settled between us, but I guess the joke was on me because you started pulling away before we even got home.”

Nate’s expression changed. I thought he might talk to me, but when he spoke, his voice was harsh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“On the plane, you sat with Gabe and Abby all the way from LA to Buffalo.”

His scoff was so loud it made me jump. “Are we ten? I’m not allowed to sit with someone else on one goddamn flight?”

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I was so addled I didn’t realize I’d curled my hands into fists until my nails were biting into my palms. The world was closing in, and I didn’t know if I should yell, cry, or beat a hole into the fucking wall so I could feel something different than this.

The silence wasn’t merely awkward; it was stunning.

“We don’t talk anymore,” I said. “And I don’t know how to reach you.” Out of strength, I sat on the couch again.

Nate said nothing, and I watched him while he looked at the floor. Something was coming undone inside him.

I finished my beer and was about to get up for another when he lifted his head. “I’m sorry, Chuck. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.” It was true. My anger had burned itself out, leaving behind a hollow ache I didn’t know how to handle. “I’m scared, though. Please tell me what’s wrong.” I struggled to get words out. My voice cracked, and I winced at the raw, broken sound of it. Then I hated myself for wincing because if I couldn’t fall apart in front of Nate, what the hell were we even doing?

Tears welled in his eyes, and when they spilled over, he batted at them like they were a mortal enemy. “I’m sorry I’ve scared you,” he said. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I love you, Chuck. You’re the one thing in my life that’s ever made sense, but it’s not that simple.”

Had I dropped into an alternate universe? This was Nate—my Nate—but his words were too cryptic to understand.

“What isn’t simple?” I asked. My voice rose despite my effort to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we love each other. Whatever this is, we can fix it.”

He stared past me, his jaw tight, slowly shaking his head. “We can’t fix shit, Chuck. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, and it’s up to me to stop it.”

My stomach contorted into a hard knot. Whatever had him this twisted up was momentous. I couldn’t fix it because he wouldn’t tell me what it was, and that was killing me. I was barely able to keep my voice steady. “How can I understand when you won’t tell me? Please let me in, sweets.”

He sat for a long time with his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. When he spoke, his voice was empty, a hollow echo of the jokes and laughter we’d shared for months.

“I’ve been trying to make this work,” he said. “You’ll never know how much Iwantedit to work, but I’m not built for this. For us.”

The words hit like a fist to the gut. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I could only stare at him, willing myself to have heard wrong, yet deep down, I knew I hadn’t. My heart raced, pounding out a frantic rhythm. “Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say that, Nate. It’s not true.” The next words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. “Youarebuilt for this. You’re built for me.”

“No.” His tone was final. “I’m not.”

I jumped off the couch and dropped to my knees in front of him, desperate to get through. “I know you’ve got scars. You have deep hurts and you’re trying?—”

His sharp, bitter laugh cut me off. “Hurts? You don’t even fuckingknowwhat hurts are.”

“You’re doing fine. We’re okay.” I grabbed his hands and held on tightly, like I could give him some determination. “You have to trust it. Trustme.Please, Nate.”

All I saw in his eyes was regret, and in an excruciating moment, I understood I was fighting to hold on when everything inside him was already letting go.

His voice was flat. “Ican’ttrust it because I keep waiting for everything to fall apart. Every time I almost let myself believe in it, something inside me snaps back and knocks the breath out of me. You don’t understand my life, how I’ve fucked up the people I loved.”

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