Page 120 of Before We Were

We're alone now.

No cell reception, no distractions. Just us and the ocean. And it’s terrifying, because I realize I've never wanted anything more than to keep her all to myself. To freeze time and stay like this, just the two of us, away from everything that threatens to tear us apart. I grab the box Nick insisted we take, laughing under my breath.

"Nick wants us to try some new menu items for the restaurant."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "A food critic? Now that I can do."

I grin, pulling out the containers. "He did promise dessert too. But only if the feedback is good."

We sit on the deck, legs stretched out as the boat sways gently beneath us. The ocean stretches endlessly ahead, the setting sun painting everything in fire-bright hues of pink and gold. Nora sits across from me, her hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her skin glowing like it's been kissed by the dying day. Every time her eyes meet mine, my chest tightens with an ache I can't ignore. She's like the moon in the night sky—no matter where I try to run and hide, she's always there, lighting up the darkest parts of me.

"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she's treading on fragile ground. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty, but there's a quiet determination underneath that makes my throat go dry.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Something in me already knows what she's going to ask, and instinct screams at me to deflect, to run.

But I'm tired of running.

"The nightmares..." Her voice breaks through the quiet tension. "Are they always about your dad?"

She's sitting right in front of me now, her jade green eyes locked on mine, pulling at something deep inside me that I've kept buried for too long. It's like she's demanding all my attention, though she already has it. She always does.

Her hand brushes the top of mine, steady and warm.

"Nate, you can talk to me."

I look anywhere but at her. The water ripples around us in gentle waves, but inside me, it's like a storm threatening to break loose. I swallow hard, the words lodged in my throat like they've forgotten how to be spoken.

"I—"

She wants me to talk, but how do I put words to the things I've spent my whole life trying to bury? We shouldn’t be talking about me. We should be talking about her. My mind races trying to find ways to divert the conversation back to her. But then she does something that nearly breaks me.

Her hand, soft and warm, cradles my face. She leans in, her eyes never leaving mine, her fingers curling gently against my skin. It's like she's holding all the broken pieces of me together, silently promising she won't let me fall apart.

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispers, her voice steady, unshaken by the storm raging inside me. "And if you're unsure about trusting me, well, too bad. Because I'm not going anywhere until I prove to you, you can trust me."

In an instant everything cracks wide open.

Her words are a lifeline thrown into the chaos. I've spent years wading through the wreckage of my life, convinced that no one could ever stick around long enough to help me sift through the ashes. But she's here. She's not afraid. And somehow, that makes all the difference. Because no matter how much everything else falls apart, she's always been my constant—even when I hadn't shown up for her.

"You're one of the few things I'm sure of," I manage to say, my voice rough with emotion.

It's the truth, and it burns to admit it. She's the only person who sees me for who I am—really sees me—and doesn't walk the other way. She knows about the scars, both the ones on my skin and the ones buried deeper, the ones that twist like barbed wire around my heart. She knows about my parents, about my failures, and somehow, she still looks at me like I'm worthy of something I can't see in myself.

I swallow hard.

"The nightmares have gotten worse over time." My voice drops low. "Sometimes I can't tell the difference between what's real and what isn't. What I dreamt happened and what actually did. The drugs helped numb and silence everything for short amounts of time."

The memories crash over me like waves, threatening to pull me under. Scott's voice, slurred and angry. My mom's crying, the kind that never really stopped. The promises he made—empty, worthless. I shut my eyes, trying to keep it all contained.

"Mom... she cried all the time. Scott blamed everyone and everything but himself—his job, the world. Never took any responsibility when things were turning to shit. Instead, he'd just lay into mom or me if I stood in his way."

I look up at her, but she doesn't flinch. She just holds the space for me to unravel.

"The older I got, it kept escalating." My voice trembles, and I hate it. "He started drinking more. Taking more pills and fuck knows what else. And every night when he'd come home from another cocaine bender, the blows got harder. It was like the more I grew, the angrier he got. He hated me for even existing."

Nora reaches out, her hand brushing against mine, and I almost flinch. Almost. But her touch is soft, grounding me in the present.

"Nate," she says softly, my name a prayer on her lips.

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