Page 156 of Before We Were

I force a bitter laugh to cover the ache spreading through my chest. "Wow. Nice to see I'm that easy to throw away."

I turn for the door before tears betray me, but his hand catches my arm, sending electricity through my skin. I collide with his chest—solid, warm. His breath brushes my cheek as he holds me there like an anchor.

"Nora..." My name fractures in his throat. His eyes lock with mine, a battlefield of unreadable emotions. He brushes my hair away from my face, his fingers gentle against my temple, trailing behind my ear. The warmth of his touch is a cruel contrast to the hollowness in his stare—his hands remember what we were while his eyes have already forgotten.

"Say it," I whisper, my voice trembling with everything we've left unsaid. "Whatever it is you're so afraid to tell me, just say it."

His grip loosens slightly, his hand sliding down my arm to circle my wrist, like he's afraid to let go entirely.

"You don't get it." He whispers.

"Get what, Nate?" My voice rises, frustration spilling out as my chest heaves against his. "Because the only thing I’m getting, is that you're addicted to this back-and-forth. You pull me close then push me away, over and over, like some twisted game??—"

"I'm not trying to play games," he growls, his voice low and fierce, but there's something else there—something that sounds a lot like fear.

"Then what the hell are we doing?" I snap, the heat between us charging the air like lightning before a storm.

He exhales sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he's carrying.

"I... I don't know."

"You don't know?" I throw my hands up, shaking my head in disbelief. "Well, you better figure it out then."

"It's not that simple," he says, his voice quiet but laced with frustration.

"Why not? Why can't it??—"

Before I can finish, his hands are on face, pulling me closer until our noses touch and breaths mingle. His eyes—those eyes I've known since childhood—burn into mine with an intensity that steals my breath. He tilts my face up, forcing me to look deeper, to read what he can't say aloud. The truth is there, raw and unguarded, if I'm brave enough to see it. His voice drops to a hoarse whisper, filled with something that sounds like fear and longing twisted together.

"Because I can lose everything, every-fucking-thing. But not you. Never you. That's why."

My resolve falters.

Every part of me screams to stay, to understand, to finally break through whatever's holding him back. But he's already retreating, the wall slamming shut as quickly as it cracked open. His next words are clipped, controlled, like he's already decided our fate.

"Can we try to go back to how things were? Pretend that what happened a couple days ago didn't happen." He pulls away, putting space between us like he's done a hundred times before. "It’s better this way."

Pretend?

I've practically perfected the art of pretending. With everything I've lost, it's second nature. But pretending with him feels less like a relief and more like a betrayal—of my heart, of his truth, of whatever we could be if we were brave enough to try. Still, it's what he wants, so I force a smile, nodding like it's nothing.

"Sure," I say, my voice steady even as I'm breaking inside.

"So, we're okay?"

The last thing we are is okay.

"Sure," I repeat, the word tasting like ash.

He sinks into his chair, his gaze shifting to his guitar—anywhere but me. The sting of being so easily dismissed burns more than I'd like to admit. I turn for the door, his silence heavy in the air between us. Before leaving, I glance back one last time, taking in the sight of him—this boy who's been my closest friend, my beautiful stranger, and the one who's managed to break my heart in ways he doesn't even realize.

"Do the gig," I say softly.

His head snaps up. "Why?"

"Because you sell yourself short, Nate."

He blinks, caught off guard, but says nothing. I don't wait for a response. I leave before I give him the chance to let me down again—before I can change my mind and tell him that pretending not to love him might be the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

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