Page 12 of Before We Were

"Besides," she adds, voice honey-sweet but laced with venom, "I think you can create enough chaos in your life without any help from me." She snatches the bag from my grasp and strides into the house, every step a declaration of independence, screaming that she's not just capable of tearing me apart, but also perfectly willing to leave me bleeding in her wake.

We're just twelve minutes into day one of summer together, and I'm already drowning in the undertow of everything she is now—fierce, fearless, and absolutely fucking dangerous to every wall I've built. The realization hits me like a knockout punch, this summer isn't just going to be long; it's going to be the death of every defense I've ever had.

My throat still burns from Monty's grip, but it's nothing compared to the ache Nora's presence leaves behind. She's always had that power—to make physical pain feel like a fucking paper cut compared to what she does to me just by existing. And now she's here, breathing this same air, carrying all our history like a weapon she knows exactly how to use.

Standing in the shadow of our broken past, watching her disappear into the house that holds too many memories of us, I realize I'm not just screwed—I'm standing on the edge of an abyss I've spent two years trying to convince myself I didn't want to fall into.

Fuck my life indeed.

The summer already feels like a minefield, and Lenora Wells isn't just another explosive to dodge—she's the one with her finger on the detonator, and something tells me she remembers exactly where all my weak spots are.

The worst part?

Part of me wants her to press that button.

CHAPTER4

YOU’RE ONLY SIXTEEN ONCE

NORA

I wishI could claim I recovered gracefully after nearly face-planting into the pavement. In some perfect world, I would've flashed a radiant smile and maintained my composure while those piercing hazel eyes studied me. But any pretense of dignity evaporated the moment his arms encircled my waist, fitting there as naturally as if they belonged. My breath caught—a momentary lapse that probably starved my brain of oxygen long enough to short-circuit my common sense.

The world around me blurred into meaningless shapes the second our eyes met. Time stood stilled, and I found myself mapping the landscape of his face like it was territory both familiar and foreign—his deep mahogany hair shot through with threads of caramel and auburn, catching sunlight in a way that transformed him into something almost mythical. The strong cut of his jaw and those impossible lashes only added to the illusion. If not for that fleeting half-smile that curved his lips as he steadied me, I might have mistaken the intensity in his gaze for anger.

Seeing Nate for the first time in over a year unleashed a flood of memories I'd fought to lock away in the darkest corners of my mind. The image I'd preserved of him now felt like a mirage, something that shimmered and shifted the closer I tried to examine it. Time has this cruel way of fooling you—making you believe nothing has changed until suddenly everything does. It reshapes people, sometimes into better versions of themselves, sometimes into strangers wearing familiar faces.

Standing before him now left me unmoored, experiencing the vertigo you get when you lock eyes with someone from your past only to realize you've both become different people, traveling separate paths. Even though he stood right there, looking at me the way he always had, the Nate I once knew felt like a ghost. Or maybe he was still there, hiding beneath layers, concealing himself from truly being seen.

But I've always seen Nate Sullivan, always.

Nate had always been that bright-eyed kid who shot up in height early, bypassing the awkward teenage phase entirely and landing straight in heartthrob territory—an annoyingly smooth transition that still irritates me. He can make torn jeans and a simple dark grey t-shirt look like haute couture, as if he just stepped off a Paris runway. Now he's even taller, his already imposing six-foot-four frame somehow stretching further skyward. The lean build from high school remains, but everything about him seems more defined—his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. There's a new edge to his aura too, something darker and more guarded, as if he's carrying secrets he's determined to keep buried.

Being this close to him scrambles my thoughts. The intoxicating blend of tobacco, leather, and bergamot that clings to him makes it impossible to think straight.

He's been talking since our collision on the front porch, but my traitorous eyes keep drifting to the solid plane of his chest, only to snap back up when I catch his knowing, sideways grin—the one that tells me he knows exactly why I haven't heard a word he's said.

Stupid grin. Stupid piercing eyes. Stupid perfect face.

No, we're not doing this.

Never again.

Wait—what did he just ask?

Shit.

One moment with Nate is all it takes to unravel years of carefully constructed defenses. A single look, one ghost of a smile, and suddenly I'm that seven-year-old girl again, helplessly drawn to a boy who's always been just out of reach.

When our eyes meet, something electric crackles between us—a bone-deep recognition that thunders through my body. For a heartbeat, wrapped in his arms, I forget everything: where I am, what happened, even the anger I've harbored against him for so long.

Damn you, Nate.

The solid warmth of his body, his overwhelming proximity, the way his eyes hold mine as if I'm the only person in his universe—it's too much, too intense, too everything.

Reality crashed back when I spotted the bag of weed he was trying and failing to hide. Maybe I don't know him anymore. Reality has a way of shattering illusions, leaving nothing but sharp edges and uncomfortable truths.

Standing in my bedroom—the one where I've spent every summer since I was four—memories assault me from every corner. This space, with its sun-drenched layout and that old rocking chair still nestled in the corner, feels like a time capsule of my past. I've devoured countless books in that chair, lost in stories while summer light painted patterns across the pages. The expansive windows frame the lake vista perfectly. This room is mine because, as the only girl, I was given this sanctuary.

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