Page 70 of Before We Were

I don't believe him, but I focus instead on how safe his hand feels in mine.

"You ready?" he asks.

"To die?" I joke weakly.

Nate laughs softly, squeezing my hand.

A happy bubble grows in my chest as we reach the very top. The wind plays with my hair, and I'm not so scared anymore, not with Nate holding my hand like it's the most important job in the world.

"I got you, okay?" he says again, the words feeling like a pinky promise—the most serious kind there is.

I look at him, and suddenly everything clicks into place. He's not just my friend or my brother's best friend. He's something bigger, something that makes my heart feel too full, like a balloon about to burst.

Right here, at the top of the world with the stars sprinkled above us like magic dust, I realize something huge: I think I love Nate Sullivan.

CHAPTER21

SEEING GHOSTS

NORA

PRESENT DAY

He remembers.The realization makes my heart skip like a record needle catching on vinyl. I glance down at the beaded bracelet hugging my wrist. He always throws me off balance, seeing right through the walls I've carefully constructed. The air feels charged with possibility, electric like the atmosphere before a summer storm. Each bead under my thumb brings back summers I've tried to box up and label "do not open" in my memory.

My stomach twists as I look up at the Ferris wheel, its lights spinning constellations against the ink-black sky. Heights have never been my thing, and they're not about to start being my thing tonight. But Nate catches the flicker of hesitation in my eyes—reading me like a book he's memorized cover to cover.

"Are we doing this?" he asks, his voice deceptively casual, as if he's talking about what movie to watch, not about catapulting us into the waiting arms of the sky.

I muster a grin that feels plastic on my face. "Uh... yeah. We are." My voice pitches too high, betraying me.

"Sure?" He arches an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. "Are you still afraid of heights?"

"Me? Pffft." I wave off the accusation with a flourish worthy of Broadway, trying to steady my quivering hand. "Let's do it."

His grin broadens and stretches out his hand, and just like that, I'm convinced I can handle this. With Nate, the impossible always seems within reach. He makes everything less terrifying, like adding color to a black and white world.

We board the ride, and as the seat lifts, only the metal bar feels real under my white-knuckled grip. Nate leans back, annoyingly at ease while I'm sitting here like it's potentially our last moment on Earth. The carnival worker drones through the safety spiel, like he's done a thousand times already tonight, his words fading into the symphony below. I can barely breathe, let alone appreciate the 'view'. But Nate's calm presence beside me anchors me to sanity. As we ascend, the view spreads beneath us—a tapestry of lights and laughter woven into the night.

Okay, this isn't so bad.

Then the Ferris wheel hoists us higher, and my stomach performs an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine. I clutch the safety bar, knuckles bleaching white. The town shrinks into a dollhouse version of itself, and panic mounts, tightening around my chest like a python. My breathing hastens, teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Nate's head swivels toward me, his concern piercing through my spiral.

"Len," he coaxes gently, his voice a calm harbor. "Count your breaths with me, okay?"

I press my eyes shut, trying to sync my breathing with his steady cadence. It helps—a bit. But then, the Ferris wheel jerks to a halt, shuddering under us, and my heart catapults to my throat. Without thinking, I grab Nate's hand, my fingers interlacing with his like they remember exactly where they belong. His hand tightens around mine immediately, warm and steady, and my racing pulse stutters at the contact.

When was the last time we touched like this?

The familiarity of it hits me like a physical ache.

"Hey, hey," he murmurs, "I got you." The simplicity of his words, laden with an unspoken promise, anchors me. "If we go down, we go down together, remember?"

I do.

I pry my eyes open, meeting his. His expression is tender, imbued with a quiet strength that somehow, despite past hurts and broken promises, compels me to believe him. I manage a small, shaky smile, though my heart drums wildly against my ribs.

The ride eventually lowers us back to solid ground. My legs wobble like unset gelatin, nearly buckling beneath me. I stagger, and immediately, Nate's hand steadies me with a gentle grip on my elbow that sends sparks racing across my skin.

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