"You can't keep thinking about how you've hurt people or how you've let them down. It's about you now, Nate. You need to find a way to be happy. For you."
His hand clasps my shoulder, and something in his voice changes, becomes raw with memory.
"When my brother died, I drowned myself in booze and pills. Thought it would numb the pain. It didn't. It just made everything worse because the pain never went away. It just waited until I was sober enough to start paying attention to it again. That's why I left in the first place. I needed to get away to figure out who I was and what I wanted." He squeezes my shoulder. "I think that's what you need. A fresh start. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere you can breathe and figure out what you want and who you want to be without anyone else telling you so."
His words settle over me, heavy with the understanding of someone who's walked this path before.
How many times has he tried to guide me away from making his same mistakes?
How many times have I ignored him, thinking my pain was somehow different, somehow special?
"Think about it," Nick says. "Say the word and I'll take care of everything and get you out." The corner of his mouth lifts in that familiar half-smile that's seen me through countless rough patches. "But I need you to want this for yourself. You need to want to help yourself. Give yourself a chance at a different life. Clear your head. Write music. Pick flowers and chase butterflies for all I care. But you can't keep living like this. It's going to kill you."
I nod, barely registering the movement. My mind is fucked right now, but Nick's words are holding me steady and keeping me from drifting too far.
"I'm not going to lie and tell you it's going to be easy. I won't pretend like it won't suck every living fiber out of you either. But I will tell you that it's still possible to find the light. Loss may be permanent but suffering isn't."
I look at him for the first time—really look at him—and see the lines of worry etched around his eyes.
How much of that is because of me?
His words hang in the air, heavy with truth. I let out a slow, uneven breath, my chest tightening, my head pounding, my body screaming for another hit, but my heart—it's caught.
"Is Nora..." The words scrape my throat raw. I can barely force them past the fear. "Is she..."
"She's okay." Nick's voice is steady, an anchor in the storm. "She has a long road ahead of her too, but she's doing okay."
Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a tidal wave of guilt that threatens to drown me. I see her again—lying with a faint beating heart in my arms. The memory twists the knife deeper.
"She deserves better than me," I mutter, shame burning my throat like bile.
Nick's grip on my shoulder tightens, his fingers digging into muscle, reminding me of all the times he's refused to let me fall. "Maybe she does. But she's not asking for better. She's asking for you. And if you can't see why, maybe it's time to stop looking at her and start looking at yourself."
I laugh bitterly, the sound like broken glass in my chest. "Everything I touch, I ruin. My family. My friends. Her." The words taste like truth, familiar and bitter on my tongue. "All I do is take and destroy."
Like father, like son—the mantra I've been running from since I was old enough to understand what Scott’s fists could do.
Nick shifts to sit in front of me, slinging his arms around his knees, leveling his eyes with mine. His gaze isn't soft—it's sharp with the same tough love that's kept me alive this long. I want to look away, but I can't.
"I've been exactly where you are. Telling myself the same bullshit to justify not trying. But you know what? It's cowardly."
I flinch at the word. It cuts deeper than I expect it to.
"Yeah, cowardly. You think you're protecting her by shutting down and keeping her at bay? By pretending you don't care? All you're doing is running. And the longer you run, the harder it's gonna be to find your way back. To her. To yourself."
I hate how much his words sting because they're true. Each one strikes like a match against my raw nerves, illuminating truths I've been trying to keep in darkness.
I hate that he's looking at me like I'm worth saving when I've done nothing to deserve it.
I hate that when he says,"find your way back,"I think of her face—her smile and her laugh that sounds like every good memory I've ever had—it feels like hope.
And I hate hope.
Hope is the cruelest trick of all—a light that only makes the darkness deeper when it fades.
Hope is what kept Mom coming back to Dad, thinking this time would be different.
Hope is what left Jake with scars he thinks I don't see.
