Page 85 of Before We Were

I feel naked under his scrutiny, as though he can see straight through to the fractured pieces I'm trying so desperately to hold together.

My throat constricts as tears threaten to spill over. Crying now would undo everything—would tear down the walls I've spent a year building. But Nate watches me with those knowing hazel eyes, and I feel my defenses crumbling like sandcastles against the tide.

"You've been crying," he states simply, no question in his voice.

I stand frozen as heat creeps up my neck, caught in the gravity of his gaze. When he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering against my cheek, the world seems to still. The tough exterior he shows others melts away, leaving just Nate—raw and real. His touch grounds me, creating a pocket of safety in the midst of chaos.

"Who was it?" The question cuts through the silence, sharp with controlled anger.

"What?" I gasp, fear spiking through my confusion.

"Who hurt you this badly?" His eyes are soft but determined, promising retribution without words. His gaze, usually comforting, now terrifies me with its intensity.

"N-No one," I stammer, the lie hollow in my mouth.

"That's not going to fly with me, Nora. Was it Connor?"

"No," I manage as the room spins faster. "It's not Connor."

"Hey.” Nate's hands frame my face, steadying me. "Look at me, Leni."

The nickname tightens something in my chest. I meet his eyes, seeing the depth of concern there, and it overwhelms me—not because of Evan, but because I dread what Nate might do if he discovers the truth.

"Nate, please," I whisper, my voice threadbare. "I don't want to talk about it. It's nothing. I'm just tired."

"Don't do that," he says, frustration flickering across his features. "Don't downplay this. Someone hurt you, and I want to know who."

"Why?" The question escapes like a breath.

"Because, Nora." His voice softens dangerously. "There's very little I wouldn't do for you. So, either you tell me, or I'll go find out myself. And it's going to be a lot worse for them if I have to find out on my own."

My attempts to deceive him are futile; he sees through every shield I raise.

"Nate," I choke out, "I just want to forget it. Please."

He exhales heavily, but his touch remains steady, anchoring me to the present.

"Okay," he concedes, though his eyes tell a different story—he's waiting patiently for my walls to crumble.

"Nora," he whispers, his gentleness pulling at the loose threads of my composure. "Can I hug you?"

The question catches me off guard, but I nod without hesitation. His arms encircle me, strong and secure, and I bury my face in his chest. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm cocooned in safety, protected from the threats beyond this bedroom. My tears soak into his shirt as I finally let go, allowing myself to be vulnerable in this sanctuary of his embrace. The closeness is overwhelming yet soothing—both a balm and a spark that ignites something deeper, more complicated. I surrender to it, letting my guard fall. His silence speaks volumes, his presence more comforting than any words could be.

“They're not going to do this to you again," he whispers into my hair, his voice steady with conviction.

I want to believe him, to let his promise shield me from further pain. But hope feels like a precipice when you're already falling apart—beautiful, terrifying, and impossibly far away.

CHAPTER27

LATE NIGHT DRIVES

NATE

The secondI see Nora push through the front door, every instinct in me goes on high alert. She's always been good at building walls, locking away her pain behind carefully constructed barriers, but I see right through them—I always have. Today, her panic is a neon sign, bleeding through her usual composed facade. Her eyes are wide, haunted, her breathing uneven and sharp. Jake claims she's just feeling sick, but that's bullshit. There's something deeper written in the tremor of her hands, the way her eyes won't settle.

I'm up the stairs after her before I can process the decision to move. Her closed door is a clear message to stay away, but I've never been good at following rules when it comes to her. I tap on the door, and her voice comes through, strained and distant, telling me to leave.

I don't.

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