Page 11 of Before We Were

"Guess some things never change," she adds, and the double meaning in her words hits like a punch to the gut, reminding me of everything I've broken between us.

We steady ourselves, though every cell in my body protests as she straightens up, and I do the same. Then something hits the porch with a clatter that sounds like a gunshot in the charged silence.

Shit.

Before I can move, she bends down, and I force my gaze away from the curves her movement reveals, focusing instead on the small bags of weed she's now holding in hands that once knew every callus on mine. Disappointment flickers across her face—a look that cuts deeper than any blade.

Thank fuck it's just the weed and not the pills.

Footsteps approach, and tension mounts like a storm about to break as my mom's voice carries from inside. "Nate? Is that you?"

I'm screwed.

So fucking screwed.

"You finally decided to come home, did you?" Mom's voice slices through the tension like a knife.

Nora presses against me, her proximity sending chaotic signals through my brain like fireworks. I yearn to touch her, to trace the lines of who she's become, but she leans back against me, holding out the bag of weed for me to take. Our hands brush as I take it, her warmth penetrating every fiber of my being like a brand. My eyes drift traitorously to the heart-shaped birthmark just above her lower back, visible beneath her crop top. She's grown up in more ways than one, and each way is another nail in my coffin.

"Nate was just helping me with my bags," Nora covers smoothly, her lie as practiced as my own. The ease of her deception triggers a memory of us covering for each other countless times before, back when we were partners in crime instead of whatever the hell we are now.

"Oh, good. Nate, can you get the rest of Nora's stuff to her room and help Kat too, please?"

"Sure," I manage, a half-smile playing on my lips as I stash the weed back in my pocket, trying to ignore how her presence has already dismantled every wall I've spent years building.

Mom heads back inside, her voice trailing like smoke. "Kat, let's open that Rosé while we cook," she calls back, leaving us alone in a silence that feels like a loaded gun.

"Listen—" I start, but Nora strides past me like I'm nothing but air, dismissive of the moment we just shared, of the electricity still crackling between us.

She grabs a bag from the backseat, and I pick up the other, watching her movements like a man memorizing his own execution. My gut sinks as I realize she's pissed, and this new Nora's anger feels dangerous as a hurricane on the horizon.

"You're just going to ignore me?" The irritation in my voice weighs heavy as chains, and I try to catch her eye, desperate for some sign of the girl I used to know. I shouldn't be irritated—I've got no right—but I am.

"Learned from the best," she fires back, her sass catching me completely off guard, sharp as a blade between ribs. There's something thrillingly different about her now, and damn if I don't find myself drawn to it. She's always been fiercely independent, but this version of Nora seems to have no use for me. Can't say I blame her, but it doesn't quench my craving for her attention one bit.

"Are you going to rat me out?" I probe, genuinely curious as we retrace our steps, each one feeling like walking deeper into quicksand. The question hangs between us, loaded with two years of silence and suspicion.

"What am I, five?" There's a new edge to her that I can't help but admire—confident, bold, lethal. She never hesitated to call me out on my bullshit, even as kids, but now her words carry weight like ammunition.

She halts suddenly, almost causing me to bump into her again, and the near contact sends electricity racing down my spine. Her piercing gaze locks on mine, stirring a flutter of unease in my gut that feels like falling. I'm on edge, unsure of what's coming next but certain it'll leave a mark.

"You know there are better things to spend your money on, right?" Her voice drops low, private—a reminder of conversations we used to have when she was the only one who could talk sense into me.

“I already have enough Rolexes.”

What. The. Fuck. Nate?

The words come out before I can stop them, dripping with the kind of privileged arrogance I hate in others. I want to snatch them back the moment they leave my mouth.

Her eye roll is monumental, like watching someone dismiss your entire existence, and she spins away, continuing forward with the grace of someone who knows exactly how to wound.

"Look, I just don't need you causing issues with my mom or Jake. It's nothing, really. I sometimes just need to??—"

She pauses again, her shoulders rigid as steel. Before she even turns, I sense the anger radiating from her like heat from a fire.

"You know, I'm trying really hard to see things from your perspective, but I can't quite jam my head that far up my ass." Her words are a soft hiss as she steps closer, invading my space until all I can smell is her honey-sweet perfume mixed with summer air. "Don't worry, Nate, your little secret? It's safe with me."

The pat on my chest feels like a brand, her smug smirk a promise of warfare to come. If I thought I was screwed before, now I'm certain I'm standing at the edge of my own personal hell.

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