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A panicky sort of excitement warred with my worry.

The words I’d just reread flitted through my head as Nate walked over to join me.

I had his past figured out, or at least I was nearly certain I did.

Now, the issue was showing him. Would he be happy?

Would he hate me for springing this on him?

At this point, it was too late to go back.

I’d live with the consequences. He deserved to know.

If I’d done this the wrong way, then so be it.

He narrowed his eyes warily. “What do you mean?”

My phone was still clutched in my hand, zoomed in on the photo, but I didn’t want Nate to read it. I wanted to explain.

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand. “We need to go down the road.”

Thankfully, he didn’t pull away or try to stop me. He followed me back to the car, and once we were on the road again, I finally relayed what I’d learned.

“You said that when you happened upon the store, you’d been walking for a long time, right?” I asked.

Nate nodded. “Yeah. At least an hour, probably longer.”

“Up ahead is a bridge. A car accident occurred there. Middle of the night on a cold, rainy evening.”

“Uh-huh,” Nate said, his voice shaky.

Some distance beyond, a six-foot-tall sign appeared.

Instinctually, I knew it was the one from the newspaper article.

The one announcing the bait shop behind us.

As we drove past, I glanced in the mirror and saw I was right.

My hands shook in anticipation and fear.

My mouth was dry, and it was hard to swallow.

Seeing the bridge up ahead, I pulled onto the shoulder. “News reports at the time said a couple lost control of their car and went over the side. Both were killed.” I put the car into park and turned to look at Nate. “Their names were Jacob and Rosa Bishop.”

“Uh-huh,” Nate repeated, nodding vaguely as he stared out the window at the bridge and river ahead.

“The police assumed they were struck by a drunk driver who took off.” I reached out and put my hand on Nate’s.

He gripped my fingers in his trembling hand.

“Their car was sent over the edge of the bridge into the water below. The driver was never apprehended.” I swallowed hard.

“The Bishops had a son who was with them in the car. His body was never recovered, and after a couple days, he was presumed dead, his body swept away by the current. Nate, the little boy’s name was Nathaniel Bishop. ”

Nate said nothing, just let go of my hand and got out of the car in a flash.

Exhaling heavily, I opened my door and got out. By the time I’d gotten around to Nate’s side, he’d already walked toward the bridge. Standing there, he had his fingers interlaced and resting on top of his head, staring at the bridge.

Walking up to join him, I put a hand on his back. He trembled beneath my touch. I worried about how he’d react to all this. The proof was almost incontrovertible. The time of year, the bait shop, the name ? It all lined up.

Nate gazed out at the water for a long time.

Several minutes, at least, but I didn’t say a word.

He needed time to think. All I did was stand there and rub soothing circles on his back.

The look on his face morphed and changed with each minute that passed.

First he looked sad, then angry, then confused.

Since he was a child, Nate had lived with the idea that his parents had been awful people who’d turned him out on the road to fend for himself. That had all been proven wrong. Or, at least, it was most likely proven wrong, based on the evidence.

Finally, without a word, Nate spun on his heel and stalked back to the car.

“Nate?” I said, startled by the reaction. “Are you?—”

“We need to get going. We still have a long way to go,” he called over his shoulder.

Staring after him, I wrapped my arms around myself.

I got it—he needed time to process. All I could do was hope he came out the other side the same man.

Maybe a better man? The bitterness that colored a lot of Nate’s personality came directly from the mental self-portrait he’d painted, and most of that had come from the night I’d just described to him.

After a few seconds, I followed him back to the car. Nate was already behind the wheel. His face was a mask of emotion and confusion.

“How do you feel?” I asked as I buckled my seat belt.

“Good. Fine,” he said. “I think.”

In the past, I’d have been scared that I’d upset him, that I’d somehow ruined something for him.

It was part of why I’d had little luck with men.

I always made sure not to upset them because I was afraid they’d leave.

Like my father, like my stepfather, like all of them.

That desire to keep things perfect, even to my own detriment, had always caused my relationships to sour.

This was different. Nate deserved the truth, even if that meant things got a little uncomfortable. Perhaps a more direct approach would have worked better, but judging by his reaction so far, he’d have refused to come here if he’d known.

“Do you believe the story?” I asked.

Nate shrugged as he turned the car around to go back the way we’d come. “I don’t know. Maybe. If they were looking for a little boy, wouldn’t they have connected that to the kid who wound up at the nearest shop? Maybe it was a really weird coincidence.”

“Yeah, but back then, conversation between departments wasn’t great.

Also,” I added hesitantly, “there’s the possibility that the caseworker you had was just really bad at their job.

I don’t like that idea, but I have to admit it’s possible.

Worse things have happened due to laziness or incompetence. ”

“Did, uh, did these Bishop people have any other family?”

The question pierced my very soul. Could there have been a distraught grandparent or aunt who would have taken Nate in and given him a better life?

“The article I found didn’t say anything about that, so I doubt it. I could do some more research, if you want?”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, Cameron, why didn’t you tell me we were coming here?”

My blood ran cold.

“I mean, you suggested this route. You turned the wrong way out of the parking lot. You knew we were coming here, right?”

It might have been better if he looked angry or bitter. But instead, he just looked confused and a little hurt.

I put my hand on his forearm and squeezed.

“Nate, I thought about telling you. I really did. I almost told you last night, but… well, a lot had happened, and I made a split-second decision on the way back to take us this way. I’d read the article and worried you’d refuse to come if you knew beforehand.

I’m probably a shitty person for it, but there it is. ”

Nate took a deep breath. “You aren’t a shitty person.” His voice was low and even, and I wasn’t sure whether I believed him.

“Are we okay?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, but he took my hand and laced our fingers together.

The rest of the drive passed in a quiet bubble of emotion. I wished I could see into his mind and know what was going on in there, but I allowed him his peace. I sat, holding his hand, until we got home.