Page 227 of Before We Were

Jake looks up, and the shadows in his blue eyes make my chest ache. There's something different, something darker in them I haven't seen before. The Jake I knew—the one who could light up a room with his smile—seems buried beneath layers of hurt and uncertainty.

"Hey," he replies, his voice low and rough, like he's been carrying these words for too long.

The silence stretches between us, heavier than any argument we've ever had. I take a hesitant step closer, my fingers finding the back of a chair, needing something solid to hold onto.

"Jake, I hate this," I say, my voice cracking. "This… isn't us. When did things get so weird between us?"

He drops his gaze to the floor. "I don't know, Nora," he murmurs. The sadness in his voice cuts deeper than anger ever could.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to bridge the gap between us.

"Look, I'm sorry. About what happened the other day."

Jake exhales deeply, running a hand through his already messy hair. The gesture is so familiar it makes my heart hurt.

"I know. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said what I did. I was angry, and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair."

"No more secrets," I say firmly, stepping closer. I hold out my pinky like we used to do as kids, the gesture both a peace offering and a promise. Something shifts in his expression, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a faint smile tugs at his lips.

"No more secrets," he echoes, his voice softer now.

He hooks his pinky with mine, and for a moment, the tension eases. Relief washes over me. But Jake doesn't let go. His eyes stay fixed on our intertwined fingers, his voice barely above a whisper when he speaks again.

"Mom officially signed the papers. For the divorce."

My breath catches. "She did?"

"Yeah." He releases our pinkies and leans back slightly. His expression is heavy but calmer than I expected. "She actually sat me down and told me when it was done. I guess I thought… I don't know, maybe I thought this summer would feel like it used to. The four of us all together, my family could feel like a family again, you know? But it's been anything but that. Maybe we're not supposed to go back."

His words make me realize how much we've all been clinging to ghosts of the past. For Jake, it's been more than nostalgia—it's been a lifeline, something to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain.

"Maybe," I watch Jake's face carefully, "it's not about trying to recreate what was. Ever since Dad died, all I feel like I've been doing is chasing the ghost of him. Thinking if I could just do the same things, go to the same places, somehow, I'd feel closer to him. But all it did was remind me of what I'd lost." I pause, the truth of my own words hitting me. "The past is like a photo, it captures a moment perfectly, but you can't step back into it. Maybe healing isn't about trying to rebuild what broke. Maybe it's about taking those broken pieces and creating something new, something different but just as beautiful."

The words surprise me even as they leave my lips. I've been struggling so much with my own past, with the idea of moving forward. Maybe I needed to hear these words as much as Jake did.

He looks at me, and for the first time in weeks, the sadness in his eyes lifts just enough for hope to peek through.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "It just sucks that things are so fucked up."

"It's just a blip in time," I offer with a small, tentative smile. "Things won't stay like this forever."

But even as I say it, I know believing those words is a whole different challenge. For now, though, I hope they're enough.

Sonder pulses with life tonight.The crowd's chatter hums like electricity, glasses clinking a delicate symphony against the backdrop of laughter. Amber lighting bathes everything in a warm glow, catching on the polished wood and twinkling fairy lights that Nick and Nate have carefully curated. Every detail speaks of intention, of the heart they've poured into making this place feel like home.

My eyes find Nate immediately.

He stands to the side of the stage, guitar balanced against his hip as he tunes it with meditative focus. There's something different about him tonight—a quiet confidence that seems to radiate from within. His fitted black t-shirt follows the lines of his body like a shadow, and his dark hair falls in that perfectly imperfect way that makes my fingers itch to run through it. But it's more than his appearance that catches my breath, it's the way he holds himself, like he's finally stepping into who he's meant to be.

The real Nate.

The one who's always been there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be seen. This is the boy who, despite his scars, stands steady and true, with a heart so vast it seems infinite. He's been the constant thread woven through every chapter of my life, teaching me how to find light in the darkest moments. He's held pieces of me I didn't even know were missing, never trying to fix me because he never saw me as broken.

I've caught him playing before—stolen moments in his room or on the back porch when he thought he was alone. It always felt like witnessing something sacred, watching him unfold parts of himself usually kept hidden. Music isn't just something Nate does—it's the language his soul speaks in.

Standing here now, watching him, the feeling hits me so hard it steals my breath.

I love him.

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