Page 270 of Before We Were

Hope is what put Nora in that hospital bed while I sit here, destroying my own life in the process.

"Isn't this running though? Just to another country?" My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears.

"No." Nick's response carries the weight of experience. “It’s distancing, so you can start facing yourself away from distractions. Away from old habits and familiar demons."

"What if I can't?" My voice cracks, splintering like glass under pressure, vulnerability seeping through the fissures before I can patch them. "What if I try and it's not enough?"

Nick stands, his hand dropping from my shoulder, but his presence looms larger, filling the room with an authority earned through years of his own battles.

"That's the risk, Nate. That's life. But here's the thing: losing something because you tried and failed? That's a pain you can live with. It's clean, honest—something you can learn from. Losing something because you were too scared to even try? That's the kind of regret that'll eat you alive. It'll hollow you out until there's nothing left but 'what ifs' and empty promises."

I bury my face in my hands, fingers pressing against my temples like I'm trying to hold my skull together. My chest feels like it's caving in, every breath a struggle against the hurricane of fear and want and need all tangled together inside me.

"And if I'm too far gone?" I whisper, the words barely a breath, carrying the weight of every needle mark, every broken promise, every midnight confession I've made to empty rooms.

"I don't believe you are," Nick says with a firmness that brooks no argument, the same tone he used when he came to pick me up the first time I was bleeding out. "You're here. You're still breathing. And as long as you're breathing, there's a chance. A chance to be better and be the man she sees in you. The man I've always seen in you, even when you couldn't see it yourself."

I don't know if I believe him.

Nick pulls a card from his back pocket and places it on the table beside me. The sound of cardstock against wood cuts sharp through the quiet room.

"When you're ready, call this number. Javier is a good friend of mine. Tell him I sent you and he'll take care of everything from his end. Then just say when and I'll book your flight and drive you to the airport myself."

I pick up the card, its edges fraying under my trembling fingers like my resolve. It's simple—a name, a number, and nothing else.

No promises, no guarantees. Just a choice.

Maybe the first real choice I've made in years.

"You can't outrun the pain or the darkness, Nate." Nick's voice carries the weight of someone who's tried. "But you can fight it until it knows its place in your life. And you don't have to do it alone."

His voice softens, gentles like he's talking to that scared kid he first met, and for the first time, I let his words settle into the cracks I've been too afraid to show. Maybe I'm not beyond saving. Maybe there's still something worth fighting for in the wreckage I've made of my life.

I look up at him, the card clutched in my hand like a lifeline, like a ticket to somewhere better than here.

"I don't know if I can do this."

Nick smiles faintly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes that speaks of his own battles won and lost. "You don't have to know, Nate. You just have to try. Sometimes trying is the bravest thing we can do."

CHAPTER78

CHOICES

NORA

Everything is tooloud and too quiet all at once, like someone's turned up the volume on reality while muting everything that matters. Mom and Lydia hover as they help me from the car, their touches gentle but somehow amplifying the hollow space inside me. I've come back to a life that feels like watching my favorite movie with all the scenes scrambled—familiar but fundamentally wrong.

Jake and Ollie wait on the porch, and the sight twists something raw beneath my ribs. Behind them, Mia, Camilla, and Marcus clutch an oversized teddy bear and balloons declaring 'Welcome Home' in mockingly cheerful letters.

It's overwhelming, but I force my lips into what I hope passes for a smile and let them welcome me back to a home that doesn't feel like mine anymore.

Camilla reaches me first, arms outstretched. When she hugs me, pain radiates through my side like lightning, drawing a sharp flinch. Her face drains of color as she pulls back.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"It's fine," I lie, because that's what you do when people are trying so hard to make things normal. You pretend. You smile. You swallow the pain until it settles somewhere deep inside where no one can see it.

She studies my face for a moment, tears glistening in her usually bright eyes, before pulling me into another hug, this one gentle as a whisper.

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