Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(29)

Poor me.

“Where’s dinner?”

He shuts the door and pins me with one look that makes my knees shake. “Get inside. No dinner.”

I hold my ground. He stops two steps below me, putting us at eye level.

“You need to say the word please. I’m not your employee at the moment.”

“Get. Inside.”

“Why are you so mad?”

He bulldozes his way past me. I drag my feet behind him into the kitchen.

Tossing his messenger bag on the sofa, he turns. “Who are you?”

I squint. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not her. Daisy would never do this. I don’t appreciate whatever sick and twisted game this is you’re playing. You can’t just come out of fucking nowhere with this murder accusation. What the hell is wrong with you?”

My jaw unhinges and I try to close it, but it keeps falling open, waiting for words to come out. But they don’t. Even my thoughts slow to a stop.

I have absolutely nothing.

“You said you looked up the owner of the house and that’s how you knew Doug Mann’s name.” Nate shakes his head. “And now you’re saying your friend was murdered by him. Nothing you say makes sense, which means you’re lying. Why the fuck are you lying about this?”

“I …” I swallow hard. “I lived in the same building. Doug Mann lives in an apartment one floor up from the one that was mine. Right across the hall from Erica.”

“Then why did you say you looked him up!”

I jump as my stomach roils from the hard punch of his anger. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you with the truth.”

“The truth? What are you calling the truth?”

Who is this angry person? I don’t know him. Or maybe part of me does. Nate had a temper, I saw it with other people, but rarely with me—or her. Hell … I don’t know anymore.

“Nate … I know what’s in my head. And it’s not a lie.”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing!” He clenches his fists as heat plumes up the sides of his neck. He steps toward me. What is happening?

“You don’t get to say this kind of shit to me.” He takes another step.

I retreat a few paces.

“I’ve lived with this fucking guilt for over twenty-two years. An accident that I wasn’t there to prevent has eaten me up whole.” His voice shakes. His entire body shakes.

I don’t think he’ll actually hurt me, but I also don’t recognize this person.

No Morgan.

No David.

No distraction.

No one to save me.

“And now you want to dig up the past—my past—and make accusations that you can’t prove. You want to rip back open my fucking heart by telling me someone murdered her?”

He shakes his head, stalking toward me like he’s ready to rip my heart straight out of my chest. “No. You can get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see you again.”

I flinch as tears sting my eyes and anger rockets through my veins. My hand flies through the air, connecting with his face. “Fuck you for not understanding!”

Pure rage burns in his eyes as his nostrils flare.

I fight the urge to run. I fight the emotions knocking at my chest while stifling the raw scream burning in my throat. A light breeze could shatter me from the inside out. I’m nauseous and every muscle in my body feels weak and unsteady.

Humiliation. Pain. Resentment. Anger.

A lot of anger.

He grabs my arm. I rip it away so fast my feet stumble backwards until the wall catches me.

“Don’t you touch me.” I hug my arms to my chest.

He sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly. I catch a glimpse of something besides rage.

Pain. He’s in so much pain.

“Then make me understand.”

He doesn’t get to say that. Not now. Not after calling me a liar. Not after telling me to get the hell out of his house. I just … snap.

“Understand? UNDERSTAND?” I shove him.

He grabs my wrists with a loose grip and holds them next to his chest. I try to wriggle free. His hands tighten around my wrists.

“Let go of me! I don’t fucking understand it myself. But I’m not going to protect you any longer.”

His eyes narrow, jaw clamped shut.

My skin burns from my heart pounding out of control. “If she were here, she’d ask you why you didn’t save her. Why you let your stupid ego drive her away. Because she didn’t drown by accident.” I yank my hands free and pound my fists against his chest. “I was murdered!”

Pound. Pound. Pound.

He doesn’t stop me. While I breakdown, he stands here like a punching bag, taking everything I give him.

I was murdered.

Not she. I.

This is not a normal human experience. People don’t recall past lives for a reason. Death is supposed to be final. The memories should die. What kind of god would allow someone to relive their death, because that’s where I’m at. I’m on the precipice of reliving my death one horrific flashback at a time.

My fight loses momentum. Each jab to his chest softens more than the one before it.

Still, he doesn’t move.

I stare at my hands, now idle on his chest—my labored breaths the only sound between us. Something drips onto the sleeve of my shirt, and I blink, staring at the wet spot for several long seconds before trailing my gaze up his body.