8. Breathe In, Breathe Out
CHAPTER 8
brEATHE IN, brEATHE OUT
NORA
I take another sip of water, courtesy of Nate earlier. The cool liquid does little to wash away the bitter taste of being caught between Connor and Nate’s egos.
"So, what's the story with you and Sullivan?" Connor's curiosity has an edge to it, predatory almost. "He's been glaring holes into my back all night. Looks about ready to go for my throat."
"There's no story. He's just... being Nate." My voice wavers just enough to betray me, and I curse my inability to lie convincingly.
Connor's smirk deepens as he closes the distance between us. "Here's to bad decisions then." The way he tips back his beer feels like a countdown to something I desperately want to avoid.
"Actually, I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Need some fresh air." The excuse sounds weak even to my ears.
"You're already outside," he laughs, the sound laced with something that makes my skin crawl.
"It's too loud here," I stumble back, seeking escape. "I'm just going to??—"
I don't finish. Instead, I flee into the darkness, each step away from Connor easing the vice grip around my lungs. The party's chaos fades behind me as I make my way to the shoreline, where my heels sink into cool, wet sand. I slip off my shoes, letting the damp grains soothe my feet.
The ocean stretches before me, a vast darkness under a star-scattered sky. My chest aches with longing for simpler comforts: worn pajamas, a soft blanket, the familiar comfort of my favorite movies. I close my eyes, breathe in the salty air and listen as the waves create their endless rhythm.
"Hey, Dad," I whisper to the moon, its gentle light a poor substitute for his presence. "I miss you. I'm sorry it's been a while." The words feel foolish, yet they're the only bridge I have to him now. Grief is relentless. It comes in waves and the one person who could help me navigate these feelings is the very one who is gone.
Footsteps interrupt my solitude. Before I can react, unfamiliar hands wrap around me. The scent is wrong—not the one that means safety. My heart pounds against my ribs as Connor pulls me closer.
"Who are you talking to out here all by yourself?" His breath reeks of alcohol, hot against my neck.
"Connor, you're drunk." I struggle against his grip, but he only tightens his hold when I turn to face him. His fingers digging into my waist.
"Come on, Nora. You've made me chase you, save you, all night." His words slither between us as he edges closer.
"I didn't ask you to do either," I snap, pushing against his chest, but he's immovable.
“But I still did.” His grin turns predatory, misinterpreting my fear for coyness.
"We should go back to the party." Desperation edges into my voice.
"Or we could go to my place."
My stomach lurches. "I'm good."
"Fine, we could do it here.” The dangerous edge in his tone makes my blood run cold. "You like playing hard to get, don't you?"
"I'm not playing. Let me go, Connor." Terror roots me to the spot as his grip tightens further.
"Or what?" His lips brush my ear, sending revulsion through me.
This can't be happening.
Not again.
I need to fight, to scream, but panic throttles every instinct.
"Connor, seriously get off me. Now." My shove against his chest only makes him press closer, his lips trailing down my neck as tears blur my vision.
"I bet you taste so fucking good, Nora. His whispered words make me shudder before his mouth crashes onto mine.
A familiar, husky voice cuts through the night like a blade. "You have three seconds to get away from her."
Nate appears, his expression murderous, body coiled with fury. Relief floods through me, tangled with fresh fear.
"Fuck off, Sullivan," Connor hisses, his hold loosening slightly.
“Get your fucking hands off of her, or you won't have any left to fuck yourself with." Nate's voice drops to a deadly whisper. "I'm not going to tell you again."
"Is that a threat?"
"Did it sound like a compliment?"
"Nora and I were just get??—"
Nate's fist connects with Connor's face before he can finish. "Time's up."
The impact sends him stumbling backward, blood trickling from his split lip. Nate advances, each punch precise and brutal.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Connor clutches his jaw, trying to defend himself.
"I warned you." Nate grabs Connor's shirt, pulling him close. "But then again people like you never fucking listen."
Another punch lands with a sickening crunch. Connor collapses, groaning.
"Nate!" My voice breaks through his rage. He freezes, fist raised, chest heaving.
Jake and Ollie appear, pulling Nate back. His eyes never leave Connor, who struggles to his feet, face bloodied.
"This isn't over, Sullivan," Connor spits.
"Stay away from her." Nate's voice carries a deadly promise.
Connor glares at me. “Bitch."
Nate lunges, but Jake and Ollie hold him back. "He's not worth it, man," Ollie pleads.
"You're gonna pay for this, Sullivan!" Connor shouts as he retreats.
“Try me, asshole.” Nate spits back.
My legs threaten to give way as the adrenaline ebbs. I wrap my arms around myself. How did I get caught in the middle of this chaos?
"Nate," I call softly. He stands apart, back turned, blood staining his shirt from his split lip and knuckles. A bruise blooms under his eye—I hadn't noticed Connor landing a hit.
"I fucking told you to take her home," he snaps at Jake, his voice sharp with fury. His bloodshot eyes carry a wild edge I've never seen before.
This is all too much.
My chest constricts suddenly, lungs forgetting how to fill. The air turns thick, impossible to swallow.
"Hey Nora, are you all right?" Ollie's concern draws attention to my trembling form. Suddenly I'm on my knees, the cool sand against my skin is all I can feel until someone gathers my hair back.
"How much did she drink?" Nate's voice comes from behind me, sharp with worry.
"She wasn't really drinking," Jake answers.
"Connor was feeding her drinks all night. This is exactly why I told you to take her home."
The world tilts beneath me as I search for focus. Everything—the sand, the party's distant thrum, Nate's gentle touch in my hair—blends into a disorienting blur.
This was a mistake. The idea of losing myself in the crowd's anonymity seems stupid now.
"Hey." Nate's voice softens as he kneels beside me, his hand making soothing circles on my back. "Take a few deep breaths. Can you do that?"
I nod, closing my eyes against the dizziness.
"Good." His hand continues making circles on my back. It's not working because each breath seems to fuel the panic until tears slide down my cheeks. There's a crowd of people that's now gathered on the beach watching.
"Hey, don't worry about them." Nate shifts, moving in front of me, blocking out the curious onlookers with his broad shoulders. He cups my face gently with one hand, thumb brushing away a tear. His eyes lock onto mine, steady and grounding—now he's all I can see. The world narrows to just his face, his concerned expression, the slight furrow between his brows.
"You're okay. You're safe."
You're safe.
The words echo through me—I hadn't felt safe in so long. I focus on his face through my tears, trying to steady my breathing. The intensity in his gaze holds me there, anchoring me to the present moment instead of the panic.
He scoops up some sand, pouring it into my palm. "Feel that?"
I nod.
"Good. Feel the sand and take a few more slow breaths. In and out..." he demonstrates, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm I try to match. "In and out..."
My body gradually relaxes as I follow his lead, my fingers curling around the sand, its grittiness oddly comforting against my skin. I wonder where he learned this technique, how he knew exactly what to do when I was spiraling.
"Get her some water and meet me at the car," he tells Jake and Ollie. Turning back to me, he asks, "Can you walk?"
I want to say yes, but my legs feel like water. "I... I think??—"
He lifts me into his arms effortlessly. My head spins from the combination of anxiety and his familiar scent as I rest against his neck, arms circling him.
"I can... I can walk," I protest weakly.
"Nora," his eyes meet mine, a ghost of a smile in his voice, "shut up and let me help you."
So I do, letting him carry me to the car through the neighbor's yard, avoiding the chaos of the party. His arms hold me securely, the scent of spearmint and whiskey more intoxicating than any drink. When he sets me down by the car, the silence between us fills with unspoken words.
"You weren't drinking?" Confusion and concern color his voice.
"I hardly finished the one I had." The memory of that night last year right before dad died stops me cold. "I just want to go home."
His expression tightens.
"Why did you—?" I begin, but I already know he won't answer fully.
"Because he deserved it," he says shortly, jaw set in that familiar, protective line.
It's not the whole truth, but with Nate, it rarely is. His guarded nature serves as both shield and fortress—keeping everyone at arm's length while somehow remaining close to me. Despite our distance, despite the changes, he still sees me as something to protect rather than an equal.
His dark eyes pull me in like gravity, making my heart race. He's different now, but what draws me to him—what both repels and attracts—remains as powerful as ever.
"Thank you," I mutter, barely above a whisper.
Nate opens his mouth to respond, but Jake interrupts with my water. "It was impossible to find a bottle of water in that place."
"Thanks," I manage, steadying my voice. To Nate, I just smile a half-heartedly.
Something in his gaze softens momentarily before vanishing. He opens the car door, his movements careful. "Get some rest," he murmurs as I slide into the seat.
He steps back, lighting a cigarette. The flame briefly illuminates the tension in his features before he exhales slowly, smoke curling around him.
"Drink more water. And Jake, make sure she takes an aspirin before bed," he adds roughly, then walks away.
I watch his retreating form, marked by the cigarette's glow until he disappears. In that moment, despite everything, I see him clearly. Nate might hide behind indifference, might play the detached protector, but his actions reveal deeper truths he won't—or can't—acknowledge.
Nate can pretend he doesn't care, that he doesn't need anyone. But I see him. I always have.
And maybe that's why he keeps his distance.
Because being seen is Nate's greatest fear, and his greatest need.