Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(30)

Nate’s vacant, red-rimmed eyes stare off into an unknown distance behind me as new tears escape them with each blink.

He didn’t break me. I broke him.

“Nate,” I whisper, reaching for his face.

He grabs my hand and holds it to his cheek as his face distorts into this torturous regret, and his body shakes beneath my hands.

His legs give out.

His shoulders slump.

His body drops to its knees.

I try to stop him, but I can’t, so I wrap my arms around his torso and fall with him. Nate hugs me to his body tighter than I’ve ever been held.

“I’m so … sorry,” his voice cracks.

My heart rips open, letting in all of his pain. He cups the back of my head and kisses the top of it over and over between sobs. My tears come slower. One at a time. A blanket of pain envelopes us.

I have memories of Daisy’s life, but I don’t have feelings from it. My emotions are those of an outsider watching a movie or reading a story. It’s empathy. Heartbreaking empathy.

Silence settles around us again, and his body stills with his cheek resting on my head. “I’m sorry,” he says in a defeated tone.

I peel myself from his hold, sitting back on my heels while wiping my cheeks. “Those were my words, not Daisy’s. It’s like I’m seeing what she saw, and when we touch…” I take one of his hands and sandwich it between mine “…I think I’m physically feeling what she felt. But I don’t feel her emotions. It’s not your fault that she died. And I didn’t want to tell you any of this because it doesn’t change the past, but I know these scattered flashes in my mind are from the moments leading up to her death. I see Doug. And this long cut on his face. I see murder in his eyes. He killed Daisy, and he killed my friend Erica. And he’s going to kill again if I don’t stop him.”

Nate shakes his head. “No. They ruled out foul play.”

“They were wrong. Just like they’re wrong about Erica. He knows what he’s doing. He knows how to murder people and make it look like an accident. We don’t know how many people he’s killed.”

He pulls his hand from mine and runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know.” Nate’s gaze roams along my body before settling on my face—my cheeks, my mouth, my eyes. “Daisy …”

“I can be your altar. You can confess. You can ask for forgiveness. Share your deepest, darkest secrets, but I can’t give you back anything tangible, not even a whisper of hope, because she’s only part of my memory. I can’t give life to her in a real way.”

More tears fill his eyes as his jaw clenches. “Fuck … what did he do? Did he hurt you? Did he …” He grimaces.

He’s thinking the worst. I’m thinking the worst.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Is this how he looked the day his dad told him Daisy died? Is this how he looked when the doctor told him Jenna didn’t make it? It has to be the same look because the only time I’ve seen this kind of anguish on the face of another human is when my mom found out my dad died.

He swallows hard. “If you know, you have to tell me. You have to tell me.”

“I’m not sure. It’s too fragmented.”

“But do you feel her pain?” His voice escalates, and he immediately winces with regret.

“No. I don’t feel her at all.”

He eases to standing, a vacant look in his reddened eyes. “Go home.”

The defeat in his voice strangles my heart.

“Nate …” I stand, reaching for his hand.

He pulls it out of my reach. “Just … please go home.”

I nod.

Nate turns, disappearing into his office, shutting the door behind him.

I slip on my shoes and coat, pausing for a few seconds when I open the front door. How can I break him like this and just leave?

After shutting the door, I slip back off my coat. As I hang it on the hook, the most guttural roar thunders from his office followed by a tornado of clanks, thunks, and things shattering.

I freeze with my heart lodged in my throat. After a few seconds of silence, I creep toward his office, treading warily on the fear of what is on the other side of the door.

Easing the door open, I find Nate on the floor, his body buckled over, hands covering his face as he silently sobs amongst the remains of everything that was on his desk.

I hunch down behind him and hug his back. He jumps at first, and then more emotions rip from his chest.

“It’s my fault …”

“No.”

“What if he …” His words catch as his body shakes more.

“Don’t do this.”

“What if he did things? Un … unthinkable things.”

Dropping to my knees, I crawl in front of him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at me. I don’t really know what to say. He’s not thinking anything that I haven’t thought. To rule out foul play, they had to do an autopsy. So nothing must have shown up. No signs of rape or anything like that. But … the mind still goes to a million things that he could have done to her that would not have been detectable with an autopsy.

I can’t go there and neither should he.

“Thinking these thoughts won’t change what happened.” That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.