Page 137 of Before We Were

"What you've done?" The words tear from his throat like they're ripping him apart. "All you've fucking done is destroy this family. Destroyed her." His voice cracks on 'her,' and the sound splinters something in my chest.

"You're a coward, a piece of shit who can't own up to anything. So you know what? Burn it all to the ground. Or better yet, watch me do it for you."

Scott's face hardens into something brutal. "You ungrateful little cunt," he growls, grabbing Nate's shirt with a savagery that makes my blood freeze.

I move before I can think, instinct driving me between them.

"Hey!" My voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

They both turn to look at me, and the contrast is stark. Scott's expression is unreadable, a mask of cold indifference, but Nate—God, Nate's face is an open wound. Anger twists with something deeper, more vulnerable. Pain, maybe. Or shame. The kind that comes from having your deepest fears confirmed in front of everyone you love.

Scott releases Nate's shirt with deliberate slowness, smoothing the wrinkles as if this were nothing more than a minor disagreement. His eyes, when they meet Nate's, hold nothing but contempt.

"I should have given you up when I had the chance," he mutters, the words precise and purposeful, designed to draw blood.

Then he's striding to his Porsche, gravel crunching under expensive shoes. The engine roars to life, and he peels away without a backward glance, leaving nothing but dust and devastation in his wake.

"Nate," I call out, my voice catching on his name. I reach for him, but he's already retreating, building walls I can almost see materializing around him.

He shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is stripped raw, barely holding together.

"Nora, don't. Please... just don't. Not right now. I need… I just need to be alone."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I watch him turn away, each step widening the chasm between us. His shoulders are rigid with tension, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands—the only visible sign of how deeply Scott's words cut.

The space he leaves behind feels charged with hurt and shattered possibilities. The contrast between this Nate and the one who held me last night, who whispered vulnerabilities against my skin, makes my chest ache. I want to run after him, to remind him that he's more than Scott's poisonous words, more than the damage his father inflicts.

But I stay, understanding with crushing clarity that sometimes love means knowing when to let someone bleed in peace.

Even if every instinct screams to stem the flow.

CHAPTER41

NORA'S MIXTAPE #17

NATE

Scott's wordsdetonate like grenades in my head. I'm used to my father's usual arsenal—useless, fuck up—but what destroys me is his final blow before Nora interrupted.

"You're exactly like your mother. I should have given you away when I had the chance."

Molten rage courses through my veins as I storm to the boat shed, each step weighted with years of accumulated pain. The world constricts around me, familiar panic clawing at my chest. My lungs forget how to work, my heart is like a wild animal trying to break free of my ribcage. The boat shed walls press in, suffocating me with memories I can't outrun.

Too tight.

Too fucking tight.

I demolish the nearest object—an old toolbox—sending bits of metal and plastic flying. Blood wells from where steel slices my hand, but even that sharp sting can't silence the war zone in my head.

I need something.

I need out.

I need release.

The bags of pills—oxycodone and opioids I'd had stashed in the boatshed weeks ago—mock me from the table. They whisper an old truth: once an addict, always an addict. Once a fuck up, always a fuck up.

I'm dancing with the devil, both in my mind and in those small white capsules that promise oblivion. My hands tremble as I run them through my hair, desperately seeking stability in reality. The demon inside me pirouettes on the edge of my sanity, every fiber of my being craving that chemical silence.

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