Page 110 of His To Unravel
Nathaniel’s posture is rigid, the tension in his frame coiled so tight, it looks like he might snap any minute. I don’t miss how the muscle in his jaw flexes before he finally speaks.
“Alexander was everything I wasn’t.” His voice is low, rough, as if the words grate against his throat. “He was bright, charming. He could walk into a room and command attention without even trying. People adored him. Our parents…” A mirthless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “They love us both, I suppose. But Alex was the one who was meant to lead the family. He had the presence for it. The charisma.”
I stay silent, giving him the space to say what has been buried inside him for years.
He exhales, tilting his head back for a brief second, before his gaze meets mine again.
“I’ve never resented him for it,” he admits, his voice softer now, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “It’s never been like that. It’s just…how things are. I’m fine being in the background. I prefer it. But then, suddenly, he was gone, and everyone started looking at me instead.”
His eyes flick back to the nightstand and his fingers twitch.
“We were eighteen,” he continues. “It was Alex’s idea, of course. He wanted to go skiing for the weekend, just the two of us. He was always chasing some thrill, some adventure, and I never really said no to him.”
A pause. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“The weather on the mountain was clear when we started. But Alex wanted to ski off-trail. Said it would be more fun. I hesitated, but he told me I was playing it safe, as usual. I let him talk me into it.”
I can picture it vividly—the two of them side by side, snow kicking up behind them as they move effortlessly down the mountain, Alexander leading the way, Nathaniel always a step behind.
“The snow was unstable,” Nathaniel continues, his tone void of emotion. “We didn’t realize it until it was too late. A shift, a loud crack somewhere above us—then this deep, thunderous roar. I’ll never forget that sound. The world collapsed around us.”
I gasp as my stomach twists. “You got caught in an avalanche.”
He nods. “It swallowed us. When I came to, I could barely move. I’d shielded myself, but Alex—” He breaks off, his breathing shallow.
I reach for his hand. He’s gripping the edge of the nightstand, knuckles white. At my touch, he relaxes, just enough for my fingers to slide between his.
“He was alive when I found him,” Nathaniel says, his voice justabove a whisper. “Barely. I tried… I tried to pull him out, to get us to safety, but his leg was pinned. There was so much blood.”
I squeeze his hand, unable to stop the sting in my own eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Nathaniel lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “Regardless, he’s dead and I’m not.”
I flinch. “Nathaniel?—”
“It should have been me.” His gaze locks onto mine. “If you asked my parents, if they had been given a choice, they would have chosen him.”
“That’s not true.” The words come out fiercer than I intended.
His expression is defeated, as if he wants to argue but doesn’t have the energy.
“The moment I came home without him, everything changed. My mother tried to hold it together. But my father… He didn’t have to say anything. I could feel it. The disappointment.” He shakes his head. “So I stepped into the role Alex was supposed to play. I tried to become what they wanted, but it still wasn’t enough.”
I think of the dinner conversation earlier, of his father’s thinly veiled comparisons. How the ghost of Alexander continues to haunt Nathaniel, no matter how much time has passed.
“I grew to resent spontaneity after that,” Nathaniel admits. “Alexander thrived on chaos, and it killed him. So, I chose control. I learned to predict. To plan. If I could eliminate risk, I’d never experience loss like that again.”
A lump forms in my throat. It makes sense now, his unrelenting pursuit of certainty in a world where he has lost the one thing that can never be replaced.
“You are not a substitute,” I whisper. “You areenough.”
Nathaniel inhales sharply, as if he’s been waiting for years to hear someone say those words.
“I didn’t tell you about Alex…because I was afraid.” He swallows thickly. “Afraid that you would start comparing too. That you’d see the cracks in me, the places where I fall short…and wonder if he would’ve been better for you.”
He looks away in shame. “It’s irrational. I know that. But I’ve spent my whole life—my entire fucking life—being second to him. Even now, he’s gone, and I still can’t escape his shadow. So tell me—” His voice drops with anguish. “Tell me how am I supposed to believe you wouldn’t have picked him over me too?”
His confession hits me like a physical blow. I feel pain everywhere. The depth of his insecurity, the way it has shaped him, how deeply it has festered into something that seeps into every facet of his life. My heart aches, not just for the boy he was, but for the man who stands before me now, so certain that he’ll always be second choice.
