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“I know that, but just let me explain.” I’m witnessing Nolan react in a way I’ve never witnessed before, upset and defensive.
It’s not a scene I’m accustomed to viewing. Not when you’ve only dealt with the man who craves intimate control in the midst of collecting my attitude willingly, all while being calm, caring, and warm.
But he’s having an affair with panic right now, borderline jumping off the edge of anger and loss of control as he grips the steering wheel of his truck—still parked in the lot of the cemetery—until his knuckles turn white with fear.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea since you’ve just decided to confess to murder.” I cross my arms tight across my chest as I turn in the passenger seat to face him. I don’t know what to expect, but I need to make sure I’m prepared for the most outrageous thing I might ever hear come out of this man’s mouth.
Though, I’d say potentially admitting to having part in someone’s death is actually kind of outrageous in itself, but there seems to be more to the story. I can see the underlying truth hiding in his eyes. Like he’s forced to deal with it now after having buried it away for so long and it’s killing him. Which kills me.
“Your dad was the owner ofYoung North Construction,” he asks me without actually staging his words in the form of a question.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Well, I worked for your dad. I was his foreman for those last six months of his life.” I swallow down the questions forming in the back of my throat when I take in his words.
How had we gone all this time and never talked about it?
How did he not know who I was?
Did he know who I was?
I knew my assumption was right, there’s no such thing as coincidences.
But why is he acting so strange?
And why is he saying he killed my dad?
“Okay,” I reply, titling my head slightly as I watch him try to maintain a semblance of mental clarity as he obviously thinks over his words, blinking back what looks like anger swirling in his brown irises creating a dark fire that I can feel burning from here.
I unconsciously reach for the button on the inner handle to force the windows down, but the car isn’t on and the window stays closed. Suddenly my need for air comes quickly as I watch him from the corner of my eye struggling to get his words out which causes torrents of anxiety twisting in my gut.
“Well, basically. I’m the reason your father is dead.” I see the pain swirling in his eyes, but the words he’s saying aren’t computing.
“You keep saying that, Nolan, but I still don’t know what that means.” Even though I’m trying to stay calm, something scratches at my throat and tears at the backs of my eye lids. It seems to burn in both places as I try to force back whatever is threatening to betray me right now.
I watch Nolan’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down a giant gulp of air before he turns to me, removing his knuckles from the steering wheel and reaching for my thigh. I let him touch me there, needing the support of someone familiar as his confession makes its way slowly off his tongue.
Even though I’m scared of what he’s going to say, I still trust Nolan.
“Your dad had asked me to reorder a new scaffold, an inspector had deemed it not up to code due to erosion and flimsiness. I was supposed to have the guys take it down so that we can set the new one up when it was ready.” His caress on my thigh gets a little tighter, turning into a grip and though he’s trying to be serious and get something off his chest—a revelation that he’s realized may actually stir things up between us—having his skin on my own really sets sparks ablaze behind my irises. I feel the heat from his palm set fire over my flesh.
“I remember the day he asked me, just a few days before the accident. I was in the office and then Jessica called. She was drunk at a bar and needed me to come and get her. Said some guy was hitting on her. This was just a few months before she got pregnant, so she was out a lot during this time. Anyways, I left the office and went to go get her. That night, we fought a lot. And I’d forgotten to order the new scaffold.” He blows air between his tense lips.
I want so badly to let him know that I can calm him down, take his stress away. I can see he’s battling some demons here and I want him to know it’s going to be okay.
He’s saved me plenty of times in situations when I was too afraid to ask for help and I want to return the favor. But I need to hear the rest of the story, so I place my palm on top of his and give him a little squeeze, signaling him to continue.
“When we arrived at the jobsite the following week, I hadn’t thought much of it. The day went on and I had completely forgotten about what he’d asked me to do at all. The old structure was still up so your dad went to use the scaffold thinking it was the new one he’d asked me to order. Ultimately, it collapsed—he was about twenty feet in the air, and he didn’t survive the fall. I’m the reason he fell, Dakota. It was all my fault.” Nolan’s grip is now harsh and maddening as he presses his fingers into my skin. But I let him violate me in that way, knowing that the pain of his hand is masking the fact that he might be pissed at himself as he recalls the moment he believes he ruined someone’s life.
Freak accident.
That’s what everyone called my dad’s death.
My breathing starts to kick up in heavy, deconstructed gasps.
But I’m not mad, I’m just triggered thinking about it.
Nolan thinks it’s his fault because he was asked to replace it, and he didn’t.
