Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(171)

"Okay," I breathed, my thoughts reeling. Something he said left me unsettled. I paused a moment to reflect, and then it occurred to me, "Wait. How did they have your print on file to match it?"

Jonathan's face dropped. When I peered into his dark eyes, I saw a vulnerability that made my heart ache.

"Jonathan, what did you do?" I asked fretfully, not taking my eyes off him.

"Emma, I've wanted to tell you," he began, running his hands through his hair, "but I was waiting until I knew you could handle it. Since I can barely live with myself, I was afraid you would..."

"What?" I begged. "Please, just tell me."

The distress in his eyes made my pulse thrum.

He stood up and began pacing in front of me, rubbing his hands together. I watched him anxiously. For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to speak, but then he stopped in front of the window. "They took my prints after the fire."

My eyes flinched in confusion. Then my mouth dropped. "No," I gasped, forcing him to face me.

"You have to understand. They weren't supposed be home. They were at a basketball tournament, but Ryan got sick. I thought my father was home alone." He absorbed the shocked look on my face. I couldn't utter a sound, horrified. Jonathan quickly looked away and began pacing again.

"When I moved away to college, my father took everything out on Ryan. I couldn't let that happen. He wasn't as strong as me. I needed to protect him."

"They were your family," I breathed in abhorrence. Jonathan stopped mid-step. "How could―" I shook my head, with the words stuck in my throat. Tears filled my eyes as the black skeletal remains of the house invaded my thoughts. My stomach turned to ice, imagining their screams as they desperately tried to get out.



       
         
       
        

"You can't hate me anymore than I hate myself." I looked up at his glassy eyes. Their tortured depths made my lip quiver. "They weren't supposed to be there," he repeated, consumed in grief. "I'll never forgive myself. But I want you to know everything, to know the truth." Jonathan bowed his head and pushed his palms into his eyes.

I closed my eyes, trying to understand what could've driven him to want to murder his own father. Then I recalled the twinge of envy I'd felt when he'd revealed that his father was dead, and how I'd wished that upon Carol. But I could never bring myself to do it. To kill her. Could I?

Then again, didn't I just cry on his shoulder, wishing my own mother was dead? After encouraging her to end her misery with a bottle of pills? How different was I, really? Just because they weren't dead, didn't make me wish it any less.

"I don't know what to think," I told him honestly, running my hand across my forehead with my eyes squeezed shut, a tear escaping down my cheek.

"I know," he exhaled heavily. "It's a lot and I'm sorry."

My head snapped up at the sound of the screen door slamming shut.

Evan looked from Jonathan to me. "What's going on?" I brushed away the tear. His eyes flickered in confusion then alarm. "What did you do to her?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Jonathan stood in front of me before I could utter a word.

"This has nothing to do with you, Evan," Jonathan explained. His voice was low, and it sliced with warning. "You're not a part of every moment of her life."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Evan demanded in the same tone.

"Jonathan, don't," I begged, fearful of what he would say next.

"Did something happen to Rachel?" Evan inquired, keeping his eyes on Jonathan without a glance in my direction.

"No," Jonathan laughed humorlessly. "This is between me and Emma. You're not the only one she confides in. You don't need to know everything."

I'd opened my mouth to intercept the conversation when Evan returned with, "And she confides in you?"

"She does," Jonathan explained simply.

"Evan," I called to him in a rush, needing to ease the suspicion that gleamed in his eyes.

"No, I want to hear this," he interjected sharply. His harsh tone drove me back a step.

"Yeah, she tells me things that you wouldn't understand," Jonathan explained coolly.

"Please don't do this," I beseeched, reaching for Jonathan's arm. But he moved toward Evan, blocking my path. I was drowning in desperation, but neither of them responded to my pleas. 

"What does she trust you with? What wouldn't I understand?" Evan inquired, clenching his jaw. Jonathan stepped over the threshold into the foyer. I tried to position myself next to him, to calm the growing tension that hummed between them, but it was as if I were invisible. My heart pounded against my chest.