I hesitate, then shake my head. "I'm good. I've had my fair share of drama already. Besides, I really want to dive into this story while I'm still feeling inspired."
He settles in, looking thoughtful, his blue eyes studying me in that way that makes me wonder if he sees right through my excuses.
"Fair enough. But if you change your mind, I'll come back and get you."
"How was your day, anyway?" I ask, partly to change the subject, partly to stop my mind from wandering back to Nate.
"Good, actually," Jake begins, leaning forward. "Nate was... different today. Better. Guess getting his ass kicked did him some good." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, but his eyes are serious, watching me like he's waiting for something to crack.
Just hearing Nate's name makes my heart skip a beat—a familiar stumble I've grown to hate. The car ride floods back in vivid detail—his half-apologies hanging in the air like mist, his confusing signals ricocheting off the walls I've built around myself. I feel a sharp pang of longing mixed with frustration. He had said sorry, kind of, but it wasn't enough. Memories of last summer surface unexpectedly—the night that changed everything. I'd needed him, believing with every fiber of my being that he'd be there like he always was.
But he wasn't. That absence, that silence on the other end of the phone, had shattered something inside me I hadn't realized existed until I was holding the broken pieces.
I hadn't told him about that night, how I'd cried into the silence until my throat was raw, feeling foolish and abandoned. He had always been my rock; the one person I believed would be there without judgment. But when I needed him the most, he wasn't there.
The worst part?
He doesn't remember any of it.
Or at least, he pretends not to.
That was the moment it hit me. Life can shatter you into pieces so small you don't recognize yourself anymore, and no one is immune to that pain. Staying open, even when you're hollowed out by hurt is a choice that feels like trying to breathe underwater.
Then, Dad passed away.
Just when I thought I couldn't break any further, the final piece of my heart cracked. I nearly let myself drown in that grief, let it pull me under like a riptide. You hold onto things, onto moments, thinking you've got forever to memorize the sound of someone's laugh or the way they say your name. But everything is temporary.
That includes Nate.
I wanted to confront him earlier today. Sitting in the car with him while his hands were clenched around the steering wheel just added to the thick tension suffocating the air between us. I wanted to scream, demand to know why he abandoned me, then proceeded to act like I didn't exist. But all I managed was to ask why he'd been ignoring me. As if it was just about the distance, the silence from the beginning of this summer. Not about the gaping void his absence had left over the past year.
I muster a small smile, murmuring, "That's good."
Jake studies me for a moment. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, just tired," I lie smoothly, and he lets it slide.
After dinner, as our moms head out for their night, while the boys take off for the carnival, I settle back at the table outside, determined to immerse myself in writing. The house falls silent, filled only with the soft hum of the dishwasher and occasional creak of the floorboards.
Outside, the air is warm, thick with the scent of grass and salt from the lake. Crickets chirp softly, their sounds weaving into the night's calm. The sky stretches vast and navy above, dotted with stars, traces of sunset lingering at the horizon in stubborn strokes of purple and blue. Trees stand still, their leaves whispering secrets in the gentle breeze. Everything feels distant, simpler. Tonight, at least, the world is quiet, and I am at peace with its silence.
As I stare at the blinking cursor, trying to find words that could capture a love as deep as Alfie and Gracie's, the sudden sound of footsteps on the stairs sends a jolt through me. My heart hitches—I was sure I was alone. Looking up, I see Nate walking into the kitchen. The light falls across his strong jaw and angled features, casting subtle shadows that play up the intense look in his deep-set eyes. He's dressed casually in a black t-shirt that fits snugly across his broad shoulders, complemented by a backwards baseball cap that somehow adds to his rakish charm.
"I thought you'd gone to the carnival," he comments casually as he heads for the fridge.
"I need a break from crowds and drama," I respond, eyeing him warily. He moves with a familiarity that seems out of place after our strained talk. "Why didn't you go?"
He shrugs, leaning against the counter. "Same reasons."
I tilt my head, studying him. "Don't enjoy crowds and cotton candy?"
He lets out a laugh, then his jaw tightens. "When I was ten, yeah." He avoids eye contact, and I suspect it's because of our earlier conversation. "Where've you been hiding all day?"
"Just around, trying to find the right spot to write," I admit, aware of his intense focus. "Still haven't found it, so I'm settling for here tonight. At least the view's decent."
His eyes drift to my computer, curiosity flickering across his face. "What are you working on?"
It feels odd talking like this—almost normal, as if we're skirting around deeper issues, both of us waiting for the other to drop their guard again.
