Falling into You (Falling #1)(44)

I don’t dare speak. She’s shaking so hard I’m worried it was almost a seizure. She’ll break soon.

“The other thing I see, every goddamn night, is his shoe. We’d gone to dinner at that fancy Italian place. He had on his dress shoes. Black leather. Stupid little tassels on the front. I hated those shoes. When the tree hit him, it hit so hard his shoe was knocked clean off. I see that shoe, in the mud. Smeared with brown mud, like shit. I see that one stupid fucking shoe, with the tassels.”

I have to say it. She’s gonna get mad, but I have to say it. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“DON’T SAY THAT! YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW!” She shrieked it in my ear, so loud my ears ring.

“Then tell me,” I whisper.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” She’s shaking her head, twisting it side to side, a refusal to break. “It was my fault. I killed him.” A sob, then a full, unchecked sob.

“Bullshit. He saved you. He loved you. You didn’t kill him.”

“You don’t understand. I did kill him. We were arguing. If I had just said yes, he’d be alive. You don’t understand. You don’t—don’t. Can’t know. No one knows. If I’d just said yes, he’d be alive. But I said no.”

“Said yes to what?”

Shuddering, heaving in ragged breaths, still denying the breakdown, she murmurs the words, and I know they break her, once and for all. “He asked me to marry him. I said no.”

“You were eighteen.”

“I know. I know! That’s why I said no. He wanted to go to Stanford, and I wanted to go Syracuse. I would have gone to Stanford with him, just to be with him, but…I couldn’t marry him. I wasn’t ready to be engaged. To get married.”

“Understandable.”

“You don’t get it, Colton. You don’t—you don’t get it.” Hiccups, now, words coming in stutters. “He asked me to marry him, in the car. I got out, angry that he didn’t understand why I said no. He followed me. Stood in the driveway arguing with me. I was on the porch. Minutes like that, him in the driveway, me on the porch. We should’ve gone inside, but we didn’t. The rain had stopped, but the wind was worse than ever. I heard the tree snap. It sounded like cannon going off.”

“You didn’t kill him, Nell. You didn’t. Saying no didn’t mean—”

“Shut up. Just…shut up. I said no. He thought it meant I didn’t love him, and we wasted so much time out there, in the way of the tree. If I had just said yes, gone inside with him, the tree would have missed us both. Missed me, missed him. He’d be alive. I hesitated, and he died. If I hadn’t frozen, if I had just moved out of the way…one jump to the left or the right. I could have. But I froze. And he saved me…and he—he died. He’s gone, and it’s my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“SHUT UP!” She screams it into my chest. “I killed him. He’s gone and it’s my fault…my fault. I want him back.” This last, a shattered whisper, and I feel—finally—warm wet tears on my chest.

It’s silent, at first. I think maybe she’s waiting to be condemned for weakness. I don’t, of course. I hold her. I don’t tell her it’s okay.

“Get mad,” I say. “Be hurt. Be broken. Cry.”

She shakes her head, tiny side to side twisting of her neck, a denial, a futile refusal. Futile, because she’s already crying. The high-pitched whining at first, high in her throat. Keening.

I once saw a baby kitten in an alley sitting next to it’s mother. The mama cat was dead, of age or something, I don’t know. The kitten was pawing at the mama’s shoulder and mewling, this nonstop sound that was absolutely heartbreaking, heartrending. It was a sound that said What do I do? How do I live? How can I go on?

This sound, from Nell, is that. But infinitely worse. It’s so fucking soul-searing I can’t breathe for the pain it causes me to hear. Because I can’t do a goddamn thing except hold her.

She starts rocking in my arm, clutching my bare shoulders so hard she’s gonna break the skin, but I don’t care, because it means she’s not hurting herself. Now it’s long jagged sobs, wracking her entire body, and god, she’s got two years worth of pent-up tears coming out all at once. It’s violent.

I don’t even know how long she sobs. Time ceases to pass, and she cries, cries, cries. Clutches me and makes these sounds of a soul being ripped in two, the grief so long denied taking its toll.

Fermented grief is far more potent.

My chest is slick with her tears. My shoulders are bruised. I’m stiff and sore from holding her, motionless. I’m exhausted. None of this matters. I’ll hold her until she passes out.

Finally the sobs subside and she’s just crying softly. Now it’s time to comfort.

I only know one way; I sing:

“Quiet your crying voice, lost child.

Let no plea for comfort pass your lips.

You’re okay, now.

You’re okay, now.

Don’t cry anymore, dry your eyes.

Roll the pain away, put it down on the ground and leave it for the birds.

Suffer no more, lost child.

Stand and take the road, move on and seal the hurt behind the miles.