Page 109 of His To Unravel
The door creaks as I push it open, revealing a space frozen in time. Everything is precisely as I left it, yet the room feels foreign, as if stepping inside will collapse the years between then and now.
The neatly made bed, the sleek, dark furniture my mother insisted suited me better than the warm tones of my brother’s room.
And there it is.
The door that leads to Alexander’s room.
Locked.
The key sits in the desk drawer. I know it without checking. I placed it there myself the last time I was in this room, when I decided I would never open it again.
I swallow hard, dragging my gaze away and focusing instead on Olivia as she steps inside, her eyes scanning the space with quiet curiosity.
Her fingers drift along the shelves, pausing at the incomplete set of books where half the volumes are missing.
Her attention shifts to the chessboard by the window, its pieces frozen mid-game—the last game we played. I haven’t touched it since.
Then, her gaze lands on the picture frame lying face-down on the nightstand.
I don’t move to stop her as she reaches for it, pausing before turning it over.
The image stares back at me. A memory suspended in time. Alexander and I stand side by side, identical in appearance but completely different in presence. He’s grinning, effortless and confident, while I… I’m simply there. Watching. Existing in his orbit.
I turn away before Olivia can see the expression on my face.
My fingers brush against my closet door, catching on fabric. An old jacket. His.
I clench my jaw, inhaling through my nose as the scent of aged leather and something distantly familiar lingers. I should have thrown it out. I’ve considered it so many times.
And yet…
My fingers curl around the material, gripping tightly before forcing myself to let go.
“Nathaniel.”
Olivia’s soft voice pulls me back.
I turn to her, exhaling slowly. She’s still holding the photo, but her eyes are on me now—searching, patient.
I can feel it building—the moment I’ve been avoiding, the truth pressing against my ribs, clawing its way up my throat.
I’ve spent years keeping Alexander locked behind a door in my mind, one I refused to open. But Olivia deserves to know.
I step closer, reaching out to take the photo from her hands. My fingers brush hers, and I hold onto that touch as if it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I murmur, my voice rough, low. My gaze meets hers, steady despite the storm raging inside me.
I set the photo back on the nightstand.
“About my brother.”
THIRTY
olivia
Nathaniel stands close now,the dim lighting of his childhood bedroom casting long shadows across his handsome face.
A heavy silence stretches between us, long enough that I hear the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. The photograph lies face-down on the nightstand, its presence looming despite being hidden from view.
