23. The Thing About Odds
CHAPTER 23
THE THING ABOUT ODDS
NATE
Things between Nora and me are complicated. Not the bullshit "it's complicated" Facebook status kind of complicated.
This is deeper. Rawer.
The tension's shifted—not gone, just...transformed. Like some fucked-up alchemy that turns sharp edges into something that burns slower, more dangerous. I'm still trying to keep her at arm's length, but my arms keep getting shorter.
I see it in her too—those quick glances, the way she pivots conversations like she's dodging landmines. We're both walking this razor-thin line between what we want and what we think we should do. Protecting each other by staying away, which is basically the most fucked-up version of love I can imagine.
I want to dive deep with her.
Not just scratch the surface, but after everything—all the shit I've put her through—do I even have the right to want that? To hope we might find our way back to something real? The universe has a sick sense of humor, and Nora? She's the punchline I can't stop thinking about.
The house is unusually quiet when I wake earlier than normal. Throwing on a Metallica t-shirt, I head downstairs, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee. Mom's there, newspaper spread before her, surprise flickering across her face as she looks up.
"Well, this is a rare sight," she teases, her smile gentle. "Up before noon."
"Yeah, don't get used to it." I keep my tone light while pouring coffee, letting the mug's warmth distract from the familiar nausea that's plagued me these past weeks. The bitter scent both comforts and turns my stomach—a reminder of countless mornings spent hunched over the toilet, of Ollie silently leaving water and aspirin without questions.
Mom folds her newspaper with deliberate care, studying me. "You've been smiling more lately. It's good to see you happy."
Happy.
The word sits wrong, like ill-fitting clothes. If she knew about the hell of detoxing, of hiding the worst of it... "I guess I've had things to smile about," I manage, masking my struggle with a shrug.
Her eyes soften with that maternal insight that always sees too much, but she doesn't push. We're alike that way—knowing when to give space.
"So, what are you up to today?"
"Got an errand to run," I say, depositing my mug in the sink.
The smell of dusty pages and worn leather washes over me the second I push through the door at Gracie’s bookstore. Alfie glances up from some stack he's arranging, those ancient glasses sliding down his nose when he spots me. Something about the way the old man looks at me—like he's actually glad to see me walk in—makes my chest tight.
"Nathaniel? What a pleasant surprise to see you here."
Alfie's voice cuts through the silence, smooth as aged whiskey.
"Morning, Alfie."
His eyes—kind, knowing—study me. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Uhh, yeah, actually." I run a hand through my hair. "Do you have The Secret Garden ?"
A smile spreads across his face. "An ageless classic. We've got a few special editions just in."
He pulls out a beautifully bound copy, his fingers tracing the cover.
“It's fascinating how this book is really about healing hidden spaces. Like something locked away, forgotten—but not dead. Just waiting for the right kind of care."
I feel something shift. The book isn't just a book anymore.
"You know, Grace believed all great love stories shared one thing—they beat the odds. Just like Mary in the garden, some connections need patience. You have to believe in what you can't immediately see. Restore what others might consider beyond saving."
They beat the odds.
The words hang between us. I'm thinking about Nora—about us. A connection locked away, wounded. Needing careful tending. Potential hidden beneath layers of hurt and misunderstanding.
"And if the odds are constantly stacked against you?" I ask softly.
"Sometimes, love is about fighting the odds together." He pauses, eyes meeting mine.
Isn't that what it's always been with Nora? The push and pull, the way we can't seem to stay away from each other even when it feels like the world—or maybe just me—is trying to keep us apart.
"Then how do you know if it's worth it?" I ask, my voice quieter now, like I'm afraid of the answer.
Alfie chuckles softly. "You don't."
"You don't?" I raise an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline. But Alfie just keeps walking, his grin widening like he's about to drop some grenade of wisdom right into my lap.
"Sometimes you meet someone and you don't know how or why or what brought you together. But suddenly you can't imagine life without them. Everything feels lighter and brighter. It's better just because they exist. You forget who you were before them because you've never felt more like yourself than how you feel with them there."
I stare at him, absorbing every damn word about being someone's person, not just being there but fighting alongside them.
Alfie hands me a special edition of The Secret Garden with a gold-embossed leather cover. "This one's perfect for her," he grins.
Caught off guard, I frown.
"How'd you know it's for a girl?"
He chuckles, tapping his nose. "Seen plenty of lost boys in here, trying to fix things with someone who matters. I think you're forgetting I've been around for quite some time. Besides, she was looking at that one the other day when she was here."
Before I can reply, the door swings open, and a new face steps in.
"Ah, just in time. Nathaniel, meet Nick, he's just moved back to town."
Nick nods at me, his demeanor laid back but sharp. "Hey, nice to meet you Nathani??—"
"Nate. Call me Nate."
I fucking hated Nathaniel.
"Nice to meet you, Nate." Nick holds his hand out, waiting for me to shake it.
When I do, I notice his hands are rough and calloused. Signs of a guy who works hard.
"Nick's setting up a new bar," Alfie continues. "But hit a bit of a hurdle with renovations."
Nick rubs his neck, frustration clear. "That's now two contractors who have bailed suddenly. Now I'm short on hands and don't know if we'll get to open before the summer is over."
An idea sparks in my mind.
"Need some help?"
He looks surprised. "Are you offering?"
I shrug, trying to play it cool, but honestly, the idea of having something—anything—to focus on besides the mess I've made feels like a lifeline.
"I've got time, and I know how to use a hammer,” I say, feeling a shift inside. Maybe it's time to start fixing more than just old mistakes.
Nick looks at me for a moment, then nods. "All right. How about you swing by the bar tomorrow and I can show you what we're working with?"
"Sounds good,” I say.
"Well, that was easier than I thought it'd be trying to find someone. Maybe I should swing by bookstores to find more helping hands. I'm going to head out, Uncle. I will see you tonight, and Nate, I'll see you tomorrow.”
"Don't work too hard, boy." Alfie says.
Nick gives him a gleeful smile. It's an exchange a doting father would give a son and it makes me wonder what the story is behind these two to have formed such a tight bond. I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a hint of jealousy bubbling underneath the surface.
Alfie, watching me with that knowing grin as Nick leaves, breaks the silence. "That nephew of mine works too hard. It's good he's got help now."
I nod, feeling a bit more purposeful.
Alfie wraps the book I've chosen, his hands steady and experienced. "You know what I believe?" His voice draws me in.
I lean on the counter, curious. "What's that?"
"We meet the most important people when we least expect it," he says, his tone soft yet certain. "And often, what you need isn't a thing—it's a person. A person who'll help you uncover the answers to the things you're searching for." He winks at me with a sly grin.
His words weigh heavy on me.
"What if you're too screwed up to keep them around?" The question slips out, raw and honest.
Alfie pauses, his task momentarily forgotten. "Healing doesn't mean the damage never existed, son. It means it no longer controls you." His gaze is piercing, seeing through me. "Remember that."
I nod, struggling to find my voice as he hands me the packaged book.
Handing him a fifty, my mind races with his insights. "Keep the change, please."
Alfie smiles, gratitude spread across his face.
As I head for the door, Alfie calls out, stopping me in my tracks, "Nate, those voices in your head? They're just echoes of past pains. Don't let them win."
Turning back, I manage a tight smile.
I step into the sunlight, feeling a strange mix of burden and relief.