Perfect.
Fucking perfect.
"It looks better on you, than it does me," I mutter, my voice betraying more than I want it to.
Her eyes linger on me for a moment, and I know she feels it, the charge between us. It's in the air, in the space between our bodies, crackling like electricity. I see it in the way her breath quickens, the way her fingers twitch like she doesn't know what to do with her hands. I can't take this any further. Not until I sort out the dumpster fire that is my life.
I drive her home, the tension between us still thick, still palpable. When I pull up to the house, she notices I don't get out of the car.
"You're not coming?"
"I need to do something. I'll be back in an hour," I say quietly. The look of disappointment on her face twists something in my chest. For a second, I think about telling her everything. But I can't—not yet.
"Just let Mom know to start dinner without me." I hate the way she's looking at me right now, like I've just fucked up the perfect afternoon with her. But I need to do this.
She watches me for a second, her eyes searching mine, then nods, stepping out of the car without another word.
As I drive away, I make a decision. I'm going to clean up my life and end the things that don't matter. Because the only thing that matters now is standing in the driveway watching me drive off.
CHAPTER36
DROWNING IN TRUTH
NORA
The truthabout Nate's nightmares hits me like shattered glass, each piece cutting deeper than the last. These things that haunt him, even in daylight, they've always been there, tucked away underneath the surface. My chest constricts as everything clicks into place, years of puzzle pieces finally forming a complete picture. The bruises he'd laugh off, the way he'd flinch when his father's name came up, how he'd pull away if anyone got too close—it wasn't indifference. It was preservation. He's been protecting everyone else—his mom, Jake, even me—while slowly disappearing piece by piece, like a photograph fading in the sun. The realization settles in my bones, heavy and suffocating.
I turn to him, ready to unleash years of bottled anger at the unfairness of it all, but the words die in my throat when our eyes meet.
What I see there steals my breath—not just pain, but exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, years of carrying burdens that were never his to bear. Yet beneath that weight, there's something else: relief, as if sharing this secret has loosened the chains around his heart, even if just for a moment.
"People don't have power over us," I whisper, my voice trembling but sure. "We give that to them."
He stares at me, his expression unreadable, and panic flares in my chest like a match struck in darkness. But then his voice breaks through, soft as a prayer.
"Thank you."
I blink, caught off guard. "For what?"
"For being you." The rawness in his words makes my heart ache.
A shaky laugh escapes me, filled with emotions I'm not ready to name. "I don't know how to be anyone else but me around you."
When I look up, I catch that rare smile—the one that shows his dimples, the one that's been living rent-free in my heart since we were kids. His expression remains serious, but there's something different now, something softer. Like I'm seeing a version of him that's been locked away, waiting for someone to find the right key. I've seen all his jagged edges now—the parts he's buried under years of jokes, anger, and carefully maintained distance. Instead of running, I want to stay. To understand every scar, every shadow, every story written in the spaces between his words.
"I don't think you realize how much you've been doing for everyone else," I say softly, my fingers brushing his, electricity sparking at the contact. "But you don't have to carry it all alone anymore."
He looks down at our hands, and when his eyes meet mine again, the vulnerability there takes my breath away. It's like watching a fortress's walls crumble, revealing something precious and unguarded beneath.
"I never wanted to carry it," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I just didn't know how to stop."
His words break my heart and heal it simultaneously. He's forgotten how to let someone else share his burden, but that changes now. I'll be here—not to fight his battles, but to help carry the weight when it threatens to crush him.
"I see you, Nate," I whisper, emotion thick in my throat. "I've always seen you."
"I know."
For the first time in years, there's a glint of light in his eyes that tells me he believes me.
