Page 191 of Before We Were

"Don't—" she starts, voice trembling like leaves in a storm. She finally turns, and the light illuminates her tear-streaked face like rain on glass. The sight guts me worse than any hit I've taken. Her eyes look to my face, expression twisting with something complex and painful.

Fear? Guilt? Pain? All of them tangled together like thorny vines.

"You're hurt," she whispers, the words falling between us like broken pieces of something we can't put back together.

"It's nothing," I say quickly, even as my jaw throbs like a second heartbeat and my knuckles sting. Blood dries on my skin like war paint, but none of that matters.

"Are you okay?" The question feels inadequate for what I see raging behind her eyes.

She shakes her head, tears falling faster now like stars breaking free.

"I can't do this, Nate," she says, voice breaking like glass under pressure. "I can't??—"

Her words dissolve into a choked sob that sounds torn from somewhere deep and wounded. I step closer, hands hovering in the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, "I didn't want you to see that, but he—" I stop, running a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt clashing inside me. "I couldn't watch him touch you like that."

Her eyes glisten in the dim light, full of emotions I can't unravel, like looking into a kaleidoscope of pain.

"Why do you always have to fix everything?" she asks, tone raw and accusing, but there's no anger—just bone-deep exhaustion.

I step closer, careful as if approaching the edge of a cliff.

"Because even though you don't need anyone saving you, where I can, I'll always try," I say simply, words rough but honest as an open wound.

Her breath hitches and I watch her defenses crumble like a castle made of sand. Her face collapses as she lets out a shaky breath that sounds like surrender, arms still hugging herself.

"Hey," I whisper, reaching for her again. This time, she doesn't pull away when my hands cradle her face, touch gentle despite split knuckles. My thumbs brush away her tears as I lean down to catch her eyes, trying to keep her in this moment with me.

"Don't cry. Please. I'm here."

She shatters completely and falls into me, clutching my shirt in her fists. I wrap my arms around her frame, holding her tightly against me, feeling her heartbeat race against my chest as I rest my chin against her hair. She shakes in my hold and I try to be the shelter she needs.

"I found Jake," I murmur, voice low and steady as I can make it, trying to give her something solid to hold onto. "Ollie's staying back to make sure he gets home."

She nods against my chest, breaths still uneven as waves, but relaxes slightly in my arms, tension easing fraction by fraction. My hand strokes her back in slow circles, trying to ground her, to remind her she's safe now, even as my own heart thunders with everything.

"I'm taking you home," I tell her softly, lips brushing her temple.

And in this moment, with her trembling in my arms and my blood still singing with violence, I know I'd burn down the whole fucking world to keep that promise—to keep her safe, even if it means protecting her from myself.

CHAPTER56

THE CALL

NORA

The soft strummingof an acoustic guitar drifts through the car like whispered confessions. The Goo Goo Dolls'"Before It's Too Late"fills the space between us, its melody rising with an urgency that mirrors the storm inside my chest. Each note feels like a plea to hold onto something precious slipping away, and I can't help but appreciate the universe's cruel poetry in this moment.

My forehead rests against the cool glass of the passenger window, seeking relief from the inferno of emotions burning beneath my skin. Outside, the world blurs as streetlights and shadows pass by. All I can focus on is the quiet hum of the engine and the way the music wraps around us like a living thing.

Nate's presence beside me is steady as a heartbeat, but the tension radiating off him charges the air like static before lightning. The fresh cut on his lip stands out angry and red—a harsh reminder of everything that's brought us here.

"I know the answer, but I'm still going to ask," he says finally, his voice low and careful. "Are you okay?"

I keep my eyes fixed on my ghostlike reflection in the window, unable to meet his eyes. After everything—not just tonight but all the moments leading here like dominoes falling—words feel impossible, trapped behind walls I've built between my heart and my tongue. Instead, I shake my head, a motion so small it's barely there, but he notices, like he always does.

The song shifts to a softer, almost pleading riff that resonates in my bones like a second heartbeat. It mirrors everything we're yet to say—all the things I can't voice and the questions he's too afraid to ask. We're like two people speaking different languages but understanding the same pain.

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