26. Whats His Name?
CHAPTER 26
WHAT'S HIS NAME?
NORA
PRESENT DAY
I push through the front door with haste. Nate looks up from the half-finished puzzle sprawled across the coffee table, concern flooding his face as his eyes meet mine. His brow furrows instantly, jaw tightening as he takes in my state. He's always been able to read me, to sense when something's wrong, and right now every cell in my body screams with wrongness.
I force myself past him, each step measured and careful, as though walking on glass. I feel his eyes tracking me, heavy with unasked questions. My lungs feel too small for my chest when I hear him ask Jake, "What the fuck happened?"
"She wasn't feeling great. Upset stomach or something," Jake replies, his casual tone a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
I don't stop—can't stop.
Lingering would shatter the fragile composure I'm desperately clinging to. The stairs become my escape route, each step echoing my mounting panic until I reach my room and slam the door. My back slides down against the cold wood as my breathing fractures into quick, shallow gasps. The familiar tightening in my chest signals an approaching panic attack as the edges of my vision blur and darken. I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to anchor myself as the room tilts and spins around me.
Time hasn't dulled the pain—it's only taught me to hide it better. For twelve months, I've perfected the art of burying everything so deep that sometimes I almost believe my own lies. But the memories, when they surface, cut just as deep as they did that first day.
"Nora?" Nate's voice penetrates my solitude, gentle but unmistakably firm.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing him away. I can't let him see me like this, stripped of all my carefully constructed defenses.
"Go away," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. Rising unsteadily, I begin to pace, as if movement alone could dispel the shadows closing in.
"Nora, what's??—"
"Nate!" My voice cracks like thin ice. "Just leave me alone."
The door creaks open, and he stands in the threshold, concern etched deep in the lines of his face. He doesn't enter, but his presence fills the space anyway, steady as a heartbeat.
"You're shaking," he observes, his voice soft as falling snow.
I turn away, but his words follow me. "Talk to me Len?—”
"I'm fine," I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. My trembling hands betray me, and I curl them into fists at my sides.
His footsteps whisper across the floor as he approaches, moving with the careful precision of someone approaching a wounded animal.
"Your eyes are red," he murmurs.
I feel naked under his scrutiny, as though he can see straight through to the fractured pieces I'm trying so desperately to hold together.
My throat constricts as tears threaten to spill over. Crying now would undo everything—would tear down the walls I've spent a year building. But Nate watches me with those knowing hazel eyes, and I feel my defenses crumbling like sandcastles against the tide.
"You've been crying," he states simply, no question in his voice.
I stand frozen as heat creeps up my neck, caught in the gravity of his gaze. When he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering against my cheek, the world seems to still. The tough exterior he shows others melts away, leaving just Nate—raw and real. His touch grounds me, creating a pocket of safety in the midst of chaos.
"Who was it?" The question cuts through the silence, sharp with controlled anger.
"What?" I gasp, fear spiking through my confusion.
"Who hurt you this badly?" His eyes are soft but determined, promising retribution without words. His gaze, usually comforting, now terrifies me with its intensity.
"N-No one," I stammer, the lie hollow in my mouth.
"That's not going to fly with me, Nora. Was it Connor?"
"No," I manage as the room spins faster. "It's not Connor."
"Hey.” Nate's hands frame my face, steadying me. "Look at me, Leni."
The nickname tightens something in my chest. I meet his eyes, seeing the depth of concern there, and it overwhelms me—not because of Evan, but because I dread what Nate might do if he discovers the truth.
"Nate, please," I whisper, my voice threadbare. "I don't want to talk about it. It's nothing. I'm just tired."
"Don't do that," he says, frustration flickering across his features. "Don't downplay this. Someone hurt you, and I want to know who."
"Why?" The question escapes like a breath.
"Because, Nora." His voice softens dangerously. "There's very little I wouldn't do for you. So, either you tell me, or I'll go find out myself. And it's going to be a lot worse for them if I have to find out on my own."
My attempts to deceive him are futile; he sees through every shield I raise.
"Nate," I choke out, "I just want to forget it. Please."
He exhales heavily, but his touch remains steady, anchoring me to the present.
"Okay," he concedes, though his eyes tell a different story—he's waiting patiently for my walls to crumble.
"Nora," he whispers, his gentleness pulling at the loose threads of my composure. "Can I hug you?"
The question catches me off guard, but I nod without hesitation. His arms encircle me, strong and secure, and I bury my face in his chest. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm cocooned in safety, protected from the threats beyond this bedroom. My tears soak into his shirt as I finally let go, allowing myself to be vulnerable in this sanctuary of his embrace. The closeness is overwhelming yet soothing—both a balm and a spark that ignites something deeper, more complicated. I surrender to it, letting my guard fall. His silence speaks volumes, his presence more comforting than any words could be.
“They're not going to do this to you again," he whispers into my hair, his voice steady with conviction.
I want to believe him, to let his promise shield me from further pain. But hope feels like a precipice when you're already falling apart—beautiful, terrifying, and impossibly far away.