Page 188 of Before We Were

My chest constricts painfully, bile rising in my throat. His hand brushes my waist, and memories of his touch flash through my mind like shards of broken glass.

I'm frozen, sick, helpless all over again.

"God, I missed how you tasted," he murmurs, his grip tightening as he leans closer.

And then suddenly, he's gone.

Yanked backward with such force that I stumble. Before I can process what's happening, Nate's fist connects with Evan's jaw with a sickening crack that echoes over the music. The room seems to hold its breath.

"You have some fucking nerve touching her," Nate growls, his voice like gravel dragged over steel.

Evan stumbles, laughing bitterly as blood trickles from his split lip.

Nate doesn't flinch. His hand fists in Evan's shirt, eyes blazing with murderous fury. "Touch her again," he says, voice low and lethal, "and I'll break every fucking bone in your body, twice."

"Enjoy my seconds, Sullivan," he spits venomously. "She's a little too soft for my taste, but still fun."

I see the exact moment Nate snaps—his eyes darkening to obsidian, his body coiling like a spring loaded with violence. Fear stabs through me, sharp and cold.

"Nate, don't—" I choke out, but it's too late.

In a heartbeat, Nate tackles Evan, driving him through the coffee table with a thunderous crash. The room erupts—gasps and shouts mixing with the sound of shattering glass. Nate pins Evan down, his fists flying with a brutality that turns my stomach. Evan thrashes beneath him, swinging wildly, but Nate's rage is unstoppable, a force of nature unleashed.

"Stop it!" I scream, but my voice drowns in the chaos.

Connor bursts through the crowd like a bull, grabbing Nate and wrenching him back. Before anyone can react, Connor's fist catches Nate's jaw with a sound that makes me flinch. Nate staggers but recovers instantly, the fury in his eyes burning brighter as he launches himself at Connor, turning the fight into a savage brawl.

CHAPTER55

THE RESPONSIBLE ADULT

NATE

The music hitslike a thunderclap the second we step inside Shay and Harlow's house, bass reverberating through my bones. Bodies pack the space wall-to-wall, the air heavy with sweat and cheap beer. By the keg, guys chant like they're summoning ancient spirits, while couples press against walls as if the world might end tomorrow. Some kid I half-recognize lies unconscious on the couch, fingers wrapped around an empty bottle like it's keeping him alive. A classic Eden elitist party—nothing subtle about it, nothing genuine either.

The crowd surges around me like a living creature, hungry and suffocating. People slap my back, shouting my name as if we share some deep connection, treating me like their hometown hero. It sets my teeth on edge. They're clueless about what's really at stake tonight, and I don't have patience for their manufactured friendship.

I push through the mass of bodies, a single question burning in my throat: "Have you seen Jake?"

Most just shrug, eyes glazed and distant, too far gone to care. Others can't even hear me over the music that rattles the windows like an approaching storm.

"Nate!" Jay's voice slices through the chaos. He leans against the kitchen counter, joint dangling from his fingers like a red flag, wearing that perpetual smirk that seems permanently etched on his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, tension coiling in my muscles.

He exhales smoke in lazy spirals, unbothered as always.

"Got some buyers here. Came to make a quick deal." His eyes flick over me, calculating. "Didn't expect to see you. Thought this wasn't your scene."

"It's not." My gaze drifts to the writhing mass of bad decisions behind me. "I'm looking for my brother. Have you seen him?"

Jay takes another drag, the gesture as loose as his ethics. "By the firepit. Guy looks pretty cooked."

Of course he is.

My fingers curl into fists, knuckles whitening as familiar guilt twists in my chest. Jake drinking himself stupid with people who couldn't care less about him. Maybe I've been wrong all these years, trying to shield him from the truth like some misguided guardian angel—it's done more harm than good. Maybe the lies I told to protect him, pretending everything was fine while our world crumbled, make me no better than our parents. Just another person in his life dealing in beautiful deceptions.

"Let's go," I say, voice hard as steel as I turn toward the backyard.

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