Page 169 of Before We Were

So I stayed and became the wall she could lean on. My storm could wait. I prayed my touch didn't make it worse. That maybe my presence could help mend what was torn from her.

She deserves peace and safety. I don't know if I can give her that. But I'll try. Because even broken and haunted by whatever that bastard did, she's still the bravest, most beautiful thing I've ever known. I'm worried she'll never see herself the way I do.

"Nate?" Her voice breaks through, soft and trembling as her hand cups my face. Her thumb traces my cheek, grounding me, pulling me back from the edge. "What's wrong?"

"You're asking me what's wrong?" Of course, she is—she always puts everyone before herself. I press my forehead to hers, trying to steady the hurricane in my chest.

"You scared me last night." My voice stays low, careful, as I brush a strand of hair from her face. "I need you to tell me what happened, Nora. Please. Not knowing is killing me."

She looks up at the ceiling, her body going rigid. I worry she's about to shut down again, so I wait, drawing invisible patterns on her arm while she finds her words. She might not see it, but I hope she feels it—feels how much she means to me, even when the words stick in my throat.

"It happened last summer, right before Dad—" she swallows hard, tears pooling in her eyes. "Before he died."

I take her hand, weaving our fingers together. I want to be her anchor now, the way she's always been mine. She studies our intertwined hands like they hold answers to questions she's afraid to ask. I prop up on an elbow, cradling her face with my free hand.

"Nothing you say will change how I see you, Leni. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Her eyes close, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Then the words that shatter my world: "Last summer, Evan… He tried to…" Her words catch in her throat and I can see how hard she’s trying to fight back tears, so I squeeze her hand as a reminder that I’m here.

"He what Nora?" I regret asking as soon as the words leave my mouth.

"He forced himself on me."

Rage explodes in my chest, white-hot and violent. I’m grateful she's still focused on our hands, blind to the fury I know is written across my face.

"It happened at a party," she continues, voice distant. "One I didn't even want to go to, but my friend—" She pauses, pain flickering across her features. "Well, I thought that's what she was. She dragged me there because of some guy she was obsessed with."

"Evan." His name tastes like poison.

I thought I knew pain, thought I'd lived it every day in that house of broken promises and shattered dreams. But seeing her look so small, so vulnerable, it kills me. She was never meant to be small, and the fact that some bastard made her feel that way makes me want to tear him apart. I know he's why she looked at me with fear last night.

Why her voice trembled.

Why she couldn't breathe.

I want to kill him.

I keep perfectly still, forcing down the rage threatening to explode. She needs me steady right now, needs to feel safe in my arms where she belongs. Her voice wavers, and I squeeze her hand gently, urging her to continue.

"He spiked the drink he gave me.” she says, lost in the memory. "Then… next thing, his body was on top of me. The room was dark. I couldn't scream. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move."

Her eyes search mine, gauging my reaction. I grip my self-control with everything I have, desperate not to let her see how close I am to breaking.

Nausea rises in my throat. Every word she speaks is another knife in my gut, but I force myself to stay steady. She needs my strength now, not my rage.

"Did he…?" The words die in my throat, too terrified of the answer.

"No," she whispers, shaking her head. “He tried and got far enough before Claire walked in. She thought…" Her breath catches. "She thought I wanted it. Called me a two-faced whore. That was the end of our friendship."

Two names on my hit list now.

Her words feel like bullets. She's been carrying this alone, drowning in silence while I was blind to her pain. The rage inside me burns hotter than anything I've ever felt, even in my darkest moments at home.

"Did you tell anyone?" My voice barely holds together.

She shakes her head, tears falling freely now.

"My dad knew something was wrong," she says, breaking. "He kept asking me to talk to him, but I couldn't. I hadn't processed it myself. And the day he died… we fought. I told him to stay out of my life because I was so angry and overwhelmed." A sob tears from her throat. "Nate, the last thing I ever said to him was that I didn't need him. And then he was gone."

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