Page 116 of Before We Were

Nick pauses, turning back to me. "They might never go away completely, but that doesn't mean you can't start fresh. You've got a whole life ahead of you, Nate. And at any point, you can begin again. Trust me."

He walks away, leaving me with those words settling into my bones.

"And for someone who hasn't touched a guitar since he was fifteen, you've still got it," he shouts, without turning to face me.

I smile at the compliment, and just like that, something in me shifts. It's tiny, barely there, like the first spark of a flame—but it's there.

CHAPTER34

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

NORA

The two hoursof sleep I managed after sneaking out of Nate's room feel like shards of glass behind my eyelids, but I'm already lacing up my running shoes. Sometimes moving is easier than staying still with your thoughts. The house holds its breath around me, as if afraid to disturb the remnants of darkness we fought through together. I can't shake the image of Nate from my mind—his eyes wild with terror, body trembling beneath the weight of nightmares that have haunted him since childhood. But now they seem darker, more violent, as if something fundamental inside him is unraveling.

It happened like so quickly.

One minute I was dreaming, the next his scream tore through the walls—sharp and broken. I tried to snap him out of it, only to find him above me, his hands pinning mine to the bed with a desperate strength I didn't know he possessed. For a heartbeat, I didn't recognize him through the mask of fear distorting his features.

But then reality crashed in, and I knew—he was lost in one of his nightmares again.

The horror that crossed his face when he recognized me carved itself into my memory.

He scrambled away, apologies spilling from his lips. But beneath my concern, beneath the ache of watching him suffer, something else stirred—a heat that caught me off guard, desire threading through my veins. I can still feel him pressed against me, and I wanted—God, I wanted him. But I couldn't voice that need, not when he was shattered with shame. And even if I could reach for him now, the shadow of what Evan did to me last summer looms like a wall between us. The way he stripped me down to nothing, left me feeling small, powerless, broken. I haven't let anyone touch me since then—not really, not in the ways that matter.

And then last night, after Nate finally calmed and I held him like I used to when we were kids, words I never meant to speak slipped out into the darkness between us. I'm still not sure if he was awake, his breathing had evened out against my collar bone, but the confession hung in the air like smoke—how afraid I was, how weak I felt, how the thought of being touched again made me want to crawl out of my own skin.

Now, with the inevitability of seeing Evan again, my stomach turns to ice. The mere thought of pretending everything is fine makes bile rise in my throat.

My lungs burn as I push myself harder along the empty streets, trying to outrun memories that refuse to fade. With every exhale, I attempt to release the past. He's always been damaged in his own way, carrying scars that run deeper than the ones visible on his skin. When we were kids, I thought I could protect him from nightmares. Now I'm not sure who needs protecting more.

I slow to a walk as I reach the pier, brushing away sweat-dampened hair from my face. The sunrise bleeds through the clouds, painting everything in soft gold, but it feels like a beautiful lie—nature's attempt to pretend everything is okay when nothing feels right anymore.

I want Nate in ways that terrify me. But I'm more afraid of what giving in to those feelings could mean. Because once we cross that line, there's no going back. And I don't know if I'm ready for him to see all the broken pieces I've been hiding.

But losing him entirely?

That's a risk I can't bear to take.

By the timeI make it back, sweat trickles down my spine and my legs feel weighted with lead. The summer heat wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, my breath still ragged from pushing too hard. I needed the burn, the distraction, something to quiet the chaos in my mind. But standing at the front door, exhaustion has replaced relief.

The moment I step inside, raised voices drift from the kitchen—Jake and Nate, their argument a familiar dance. I pause, wiping my forehead, straining to make out words spoken in tense, barely contained voices.

"Would it kill you to make a little effort with him? For all our sake?" Jake’s voice cuts like a blade.

"You never had to deal with him like I did." Nate’s reply carries an undercurrent of frustration.

"I'm not making excuses. I know he's not the picture-perfect family man. I know he's done shit too, but??—"

"No, you don't," Nate interrupts, his voice cracking. "You've never had to—" The words shatter against silence.

I lean against the wall, my stomach knotting as I listen to them tear at old wounds. Their different childhoods always stood out like a stark line drawn between them—Jake the golden child Scott praised endlessly, while Nate could never seem to measure up. I'd watched Scott's face light up at Jake's every achievement while Nate bore the brunt of his disappointment, his anger, his bitterness.

It wasn't fair.

Their voices drop when they realize I'm here. I take my cue, stepping in to wish Jake happy birthday, even though I know Lydia will insist on the real celebration tomorrow. She's been doing this since we were kids—making a grand production of our "birthday-and-a-day" celebrations, since Jake and I were born exactly a year and a day apart.

Tomorrow will be all decorated cakes and embarrassing childhood photos, but today is just Jake's. And since he's already heading out to whatever plans he's made, that leaves me alone with Nate—something that rarely ends well. Which is why his invitation to go out on the boat later today catches me completely off guard.

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