Page 60 of Before We Were

I’m home for less than two minutes before I grab my keys and head out. The road stretches out before me, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the fading afternoon light. Time passes and each song ticks over into the next one before I realise I’ve been driving aimlessly. My mind a tangled fucking mess of thoughts about the way one girl seems to be haunting every corner of my consciousness, even when I'm trying to escape her.

Cary Brothers'"Ride"plays softly, its melancholic melody a perfect soundtrack to my current state of mind. The irony isn't lost on me—the song's themes of longing and uncertainty mirroring my own internal chaos. I'm not even sure why I'm driving, only that movement feels like the only way to quiet the noise in my head.

And then—because life has a cruel sense of fucked up humor—there she is.

Nora, walking alongside her bike, looking both determined and vulnerable. The universe seems to be laughing, dropping her directly into my path when I'm least prepared to handle it.

I pull up beside her, rolling down the window. "What are you doing?"

She yanks out her earphones, startled. "Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me, Nate.” Her eyes narrow. "What are you doing here?"

"I was heading home. Get in."

"No, thanks. I'm good."

"Nora, just get in the car."

"I don't need a ride. I've got my bike."

I get out of the car.

"I'm not letting you walk home alone. Just toss the bike in the back."

"Thanks, but no." She starts walking, chin lifted.

"Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

She whirls to face me. "I'm not the one making things difficult. You're the one who refuses to listen when I say I'm fine walking."

"What's your problem?"

"My problem?" She laughs sharply. "You, Nate. You're my problem. This hot and cold game you play is getting old." She steps closer, lavender and vanilla filling the space between us. "I'm fine on my own. I don't need you saving me every five seconds, okay?"

"You're right." The words come out softer than intended. "You don't need anyone saving you. But that doesn't mean I can't look out for you. Please, just let me drive you home."

She holds my gaze for a moment before walking toward the car, bike in tow.

My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as we drive. Nora's voice cuts through the silence, sharp with frustration.

"So why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you been acting like a royal jackass and ignoring me?"

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"Yes, you have." She turns in her seat, eyes searching my face. "One minute we're fine, and the next, it's like I don't exist. What gives?"

Rays of dying sunlight flash across her face. She looks—I don't know—unreal. Untouchable. Fractured in that way that makes you want to look and not look at the same time. "It's not you."

"Then what is it? Because I'm sick of tip-toeing around you. It's fucking annoying."

The curse catches me off guard—Nora never swears. "I've just got... a lot on my plate right now. It's not about you." But that's a lie so big it could choke me.

It has everything to do with her.

With how close I am to imploding when I’m near her yet how natural it felt to have her in my arms the other night. And how fucking terrifying it is to want something—someone—this much when everything in my life is a house of cards waiting to collapse.

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