21. Seeing Ghosts
CHAPTER 21
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.
"Thanks," I mumble, embarrassed by my earlier unraveling.
"You good?" he asks, his touch lingering like a question mark.
"If by 'good' you mean still breathing, then yeah," I manage, attempting humor to mask my lingering disquiet.
His soft laugh briefly fills the air—until Farrah's sharp approach slices through it, her blonde hair a bright flag of warning in the carnival lights. Flanked by Shay and Harlow, her gaze cuts to our intertwined hands with surgical precision. I withdraw mine, the contact suddenly scalding, just as her stormy expression lands on us.
"I thought you weren't coming tonight?" Farrah's voice drips with venom disguised as honey, her eyes glinting as she looks at Nate like she's marking her territory.
Nate doesn't miss a beat, cool as winter frost. "Plans changed."
Farrah's piercing eyes shift to me, sharp and assessing. "I thought carnivals weren't your scene," she sneers, her voice laced with condescension.
"Changed my mind.” He shrugs, his indifference stoking the fire in her eyes.
Feeling the tension rise like mercury, I interject, "I'm gonna grab something to drink." I edge away, hoping to escape the brewing storm. Girls like Farrah had a way of making simple nights feel like walking a tightrope over shark-infested waters.
But my retreat halts when Nate says, "I'll go with you," his words falling like a gauntlet between us and Farrah's fury.
I realize this night is about to become much more complicated than a simple fear of heights.
Farrah's arms cross over her chest like a shield. "We're not done here," she snaps, voice tight with promised retribution.
Nate's response cuts through the carnival noise. "Yeah, we are actually."
His dismissal sends a shiver racing down my spine. I've witnessed this kind of possessive drama before—it never ends well. I make my way through the crowd, the sticky night air thickening around me. Nate catches up, his footsteps falling into sync with mine.
"I'm sorry about that," he murmurs, voice tinged with concern.
I nod, forcing a smile that feels as artificial as the carnival's neon glow. "It’s fine."
Another familiar voice cuts through the chaos like a firework.
"Nora!” Camilla bounds over, her energy infectious as she wraps me in a tight hug. "I saw Jake before and he said you weren't coming?”
"Plans changed," I repeat Nate's words.
We chat, but a sudden sight catches my eye—a figure in the distance, eerily familiar, partially obscured by the crowd. Everything in me freezes solid. He looks just like Evan—Evan the guy who has haunted every nightmare for the past year, whose shadow lurks in every dark corner.
No, it can't be him.
He's not here.
He can't be.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory. I've tried so hard to erase that night. But what the mind tries to forget, the body always remembers, like muscle memory of a dance you never wanted to learn.
In the car, I'm silent sitting in the back seat with Jake while Ollie navigates up front for Nate. The night air whispers through my cracked window, carrying lingering scents of carnival sugar. I catch Nate's eyes in the rearview mirror more than once, dark and concerned, searching my reflection like he's reading a book written in a language only he understands.
"Everything okay?" Jake's voice cuts through my haze as we near home.
I muster a weak smile. "Yeah, just tired."
Jake frowns slightly, too knowing. "You were so set on staying home tonight. What changed?"
I glance toward Nate, who's focused on the road, his profile carved in shadows and streetlight. The muscles in his jaw work slightly—he's listening to every word.
"You were right. I needed a distraction," I admit, the truth slipping out. "Nate was heading out anyway and offered a ride."
He doesn't look too convinced, but thankfully he doesn't press me for more.
"Tomorrow, wanna hang out? Just you and me?"
I feel Nate's eyes on me through the rearview mirror. I'm too afraid to make eye contact with him in case he reads something on my face I don't want him to see.
"Sure, sounds like a plan," I say with a smile that's reciprocated by Jake.
When we finally pull into the driveway, I mumble a quick goodnight to everyone and make a beeline for the bathroom. I stand under the hot shower longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the night’s tension, hoping it might also clear my head. With damp hair and skin still flushed from the heat, I slip into my pyjamas and pad down the hallway toward my bedroom. Wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and disappear, the last thing I expect to see is Nate sitting on the edge of my bed, gently stroking my old stuffed animal Bones. The sight of him—this boy who embodies both danger and safety—cradling something so innocent from my childhood makes my chest ache with unnamed feelings.
"Sorry.” Nate quickly sets Bones down, then looks up with an intensity that catches me off guard, his hazel eyes burning like amber in firelight. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." His usual guarded demeanor has softened, leaving him looking unexpectedly vulnerable.
"I'm good," I mumble too quickly, avoiding his eyes that always see too much. "Just a long day."
"I thought we already figured out you have a terrible poker face," he says, playful but concerned. It doesn't lighten the mood. Instead, it feels like he's peeling back layers I've tightly wound around myself.
He takes my hand in his, the unexpected touch sending electricity racing up my arm. He leans in, his voice dropping to a soft whisper that wraps around me like a familiar blanket.
"Listen, I know I haven't given you many reasons to trust me lately... but you can talk to me, Nora. Whatever it is, I'll listen."
His sincerity hits me like a tidal wave, and for a moment, I consider letting it all spill out—the anger, the heartbreak, the mess I've been drowning in. But fear freezes the words in my throat. I can't let him see that part of me, still bleeding from wounds I've hidden beneath smiles and casual conversation. I want to believe him. God, I want to so badly it physically aches.
But how can I? After that night? The night I called him, desperate, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone. I needed him and he wasn't there.
Instead, he was with her.
Farrah.
Her voice still cuts through my memories, cool and dismissive. "Nate's busy," she'd said, the words dripping with disdain. Like I was nothing. Like my whole world wasn't shattering around me.
"I appreciate you checking on me," I say instead, forcing a smile that feels like porcelain about to crack. "But I'm good, really. I just need to sleep."
He stands reluctantly, like he's surrendering a battle but not the war. At the door, he turns back, his eyes soft yet piercing as starlight.
"For what it's worth," he says, voice barely above a whisper, rough with something that sounds dangerously like longing, "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," I manage, forcing the words out like pushing through thorns. It's not the whole truth, but it's all I can offer without crumbling.
"Goodnight, Leni." The nickname falls from his lips.
"Goodnight," I whisper back, and he closes the door softly behind him, the click of the latch sounding final as a period at the end of a sentence.
Alone again, I collapse against my pillows like a puppet with cut strings. I wonder how long I can keep pretending that the cracks in my foundation aren't spreading like spider webs across glass. Being invisible has become my shield against a world that feels too sharp, too dangerous. But invisibility can't last forever—I know that truth like I know my own reflection.