Page 87 of Before We Were

But right now? I don't give a shit about consequences.

Right now, I let myself be exactly what she needs—even if it's killing me from the inside out.

I stay until her breathing evens out, until the tears dry on her cheeks and her grip on my shirt loosens. Only then do I carefully extract myself from her grasp, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. She stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible before burrowing deeper into her pillow. I watch her for a moment longer, memorizing the peaceful look that's finally replaced the pain on her face.

With a deep breath, I slip out of her room, easing the door closed with barely a sound. The weight of everything—Jesus, it's crushing. Like carrying a fucking universe of shit I can't begin to unpack. You’d think I’d be used to that feeling by now.

Mom is in the lounge, those all-seeing eyes locked on me the second I hit the bottom of the stairs.

"Nate?" Her voice is all soft concern. "Is Nora okay? Jake said she wasn't feeling well."

"She's okay," I throw out, shrugging like it's nothing. The lie tastes like ash in my mouth. "Just exhausted."

She gives me that look. The one that sees straight through everything. "You know, you've always been the only one she lets in."

I lean against the doorframe, wood cool against my shoulder. Feels like the only steady thing in this moment. My entire body is a live wire of fucked-up emotions.

"Yeah, but things have changed." The words come out rough.

Her smile does something dangerous—soft, knowing. "If two people can't stay away from each other, maybe they're not meant to be apart."

Maternal wisdom.

Always hitting exactly where it hurts most.

"Maybe you both need to stop running."

The words sink into me like stones, creating ripples I'm not ready to face. The hardwood blurs as I try to breathe, to hold myself together.

"I've watched you love that girl all your life," she continues. "Maybe you should give her a chance to love you too.”

It lands like a punch.

Right in the chest where all my most fucked-up fears live.

I need out. Now.

I escape to the patio, but Mom's words follow me like persistent shadows. Out here, under the late afternoon sky, my feet shuffle restlessly against the weathered boards. I'm haunted by memories of my parents' tumultuous relationship, the echoes of their chaos still reverberating through my bones. The deep-seated resentment I've harbored toward my mom for not leaving Scott sooner burns in my chest—a familiar anger at how she allowed his destructive nature to tear through our lives like a hurricane.

Each night I spent as a kid, stationed outside my mom's door, making sure she was safe, left scars that run deeper than I care to admit. The weight of those memories presses down on me now, feeding into my fears about letting Nora in completely. The twisted logic I've lived by—that no one could hurt me more than I could hurt myself—feels like a prison of my own making. How do you let someone in when all you've seen of love is manipulation and pain?

I'm not just tired. I'm terrified of becoming my father, of dragging Nora into the same kind of darkness that nearly destroyed my family. The responsibility of holding it all together when I feel like I'm crumbling inside is exhausting. Every step forward feels like walking through quicksand, pulled back by the ghosts of my past.

So I run.

It's what I'm good at, what I've always done when emotions threaten to overwhelm me. But even as I try to escape, my mind drifts to possibilities I've been avoiding.

"You okay?" Mom's voice cuts through my spiral, gentle but knowing.

I nod, but the gesture feels hollow, unconvincing even to myself.

"Yeah, uh..." My voice comes out rough, hesitant. "I was thinking maybe I could clean out the sunroom. Since no one's really using it." The words tumble out before I can second-guess them.

Mom raises an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and understanding crossing her features.

"The sunroom? Why?" There's something knowing in her tone that makes me shift uncomfortably.

I run a hand through my hair, aiming for casual but probably missing by miles. Her expression shifts to something warm, almost proud, and it makes my chest tight.

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