Page 133 of Before We Were

"Nate, I never left."

This is intimacy in its purest form—the ability to be completely bare, showing every scar and shadow, knowing you won't be turned away. But Nora and I, we're like parallel lines, destined to run alongside each other without ever truly meeting. She softens my edges in ways I never thought possible and all it takes is just a glance from those bright green eyes.

Before her, I believed I was impossible to love. She makes it look effortless, loving me despite every attempt I make to push her away. I can't pinpoint when I fell in love with her. It happened gradually, like watching the tide come in, until suddenly I was drowning.

Being this close to her is dangerous, addictive. But addiction is a monster that lurks in darkness, waiting to strike. This girl is more potent than any drug I've known, because nothing else comes close to the high of being near her. Like any addict, I can't resist the urge to stay close, to let her touch quiet the chaos inside me.

When she tightens her hold and whispers, "Stay," I know I shouldn't.

She's an addiction I can't kick, one I'm not sure I want to. Every cell in my body craves her presence. I settle beside her, holding her close, pretending this moment won't have to end.

"I'm here, Nate," she whispers into the darkness.

For the first time in forever, I let myself believe it.

CHAPTER40

FRONT ROW SEATS TO THE SHIT SHOW

NORA

For the secondtime this summer, Nate has found his way into my bed. His muscular body curves around mine like a shield, his breathing evening out as peace finally claims him. Though I can't see his face because I'm pressed against his chest, I feel the weight of exhaustion in his limbs, the way tension bleeds from him with each breath.

"Leni?" His voice carries a rare vulnerability, almost childlike.

"Yeah?"

"You're my favorite," he breathes, arms tightening around me like I might disappear.

"Favorite what?" I whisper, smiling against his warm skin.

A low hum vibrates through his chest as sleep begins to claim him. "Everything," he murmurs, grip steady around my waist.

I tilt my head up to find his eyes closed, features softened by approaching dreams. My fingers find their way to his hair instinctively, threading through dark strands in a soothing rhythm. The intimacy should frighten me, but instead it feels like coming home.

Our shared past pulses between us as I hold onto him, protecting him like I did when we were just kids—when he was simply a boy desperate to be seen. My cheek rests against him, catching the steady rhythm of his breath as it slows, the storm inside him quieting beneath my touch.

This is my Nate.

Not the hardened shell he presents to the world, but the boy—raw, real, and recklessly beautiful in his imperfections. My heart aches with the weight of this truth: loving him isn't a choice, it's as natural as breathing.

"Don't leave me," he whispers, voice raw with a desperation he shows no one else. Each word is a plea woven with vulnerability that cuts straight to my core.

"I wasn't planning on it," I murmur back, emotion thick in my throat. Sleep finally takes him completely. I could stay suspended here forever, lost in our private infinity where need flows both ways, where we don't complete each other but elevate one another instead. But that's exactly what terrifies me most. I would walk through fire for Nate Sullivan, shield his heart with my own, regardless of how many pieces mine might shatter into. I just pray I'm strong enough to weather the breaking.

Morning light paintsgolden stripes across the room as consciousness finds me. There's solid warmth pressed against my back—Nate, his arm still claiming my waist, his body hard and unyielding against mine. My heart stutters, panic rising swift and sharp in my chest.

How the hell am I supposed to extract myself from this?

I attempt to shift, gently working to loosen his hold, but he only draws me closer in sleep, grip tightening possessively. I freeze, trying to quiet the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through my mind. He misses us.

But which version of 'us' does he miss? His admission lingers, igniting something deep inside that I can't keep ignoring.

When he stirs slightly, I seize my chance. I wiggle free with careful movements, heart thundering as I rise from the bed as silently as possible.

I need air.

I grab my running shoes and flee into the early morning, desperate to clear my head.

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