27. Late Night Drives
CHAPTER 27
LATE NIGHT DRIVES
NATE
The second I see Nora push through the front door, every instinct in me goes on high alert. She's always been good at building walls, locking away her pain behind carefully constructed barriers, but I see right through them—I always have. Today, her panic is a neon sign, bleeding through her usual composed facade. Her eyes are wide, haunted, her breathing uneven and sharp. Jake claims she's just feeling sick, but that's bullshit. There's something deeper written in the tremor of her hands, the way her eyes won't settle.
I'm up the stairs after her before I can process the decision to move. Her closed door is a clear message to stay away, but I've never been good at following rules when it comes to her. I tap on the door, and her voice comes through, strained and distant, telling me to leave.
I don't.
Instead, I push the door open to find her pacing, arms wrapped around herself like she's holding her pieces together. The sight of her like this—vulnerable and scared—hits me like a physical blow. The room feels charged with her anxiety, the air thick with it.
"Nora," I start, my voice coming out soft.
She's lost in her head, trapped in whatever nightmare is playing behind those green eyes. Her shoulders shake with each ragged breath, and it kills me to see her trying to handle this alone. I step closer, careful to give her space. She attempts to brush it off, claiming exhaustion from a long day, but the lie sits heavy between us. Someone's hurt her—the thought ignites something primal and protective in my chest—and I'm determined to find out who.
Right now though, what she needs isn't my rage. She needs the comfort we've always found in each other, the same safety we shared as kids.
"Can I hold you for a minute?" Sixty seconds to show her she's not alone, that she can break apart in my arms and I'll keep her safe while she does.
She collapses against me, fitting perfectly against my chest like she always has, like she was meant to be there. Her body trembles, and I feel her heart racing against mine.
"Hey, hey, you're panicking, Nor." Her eyes are vacant, lost in some private terror. It reminds me of that night on the beach, the same raw fear etched across her features.
"If you don't slow down, you're gonna pass out. Focus on me." I run my fingers through her hair, the silky strands familiar against my skin. The gesture seems to ground her, pulling her back from whatever edge she's teetering on.
"Feel that? You're here with me." I guide her breathing, keeping my voice steady. "In for four, hold, now out for eight. Slow and easy."
Her breath steadies gradually, like waves calming after a storm.
"Nate?" Her voice is barely there, fragile as spun glass.
"I'm right here," I assure her, the words a promise I intend to keep.
"You're okay." Confusion clouds her features, as if she's trying to piece together what just happened.
Inside, I'm seething, wanting to tear apart whoever caused this, but I keep my voice gentle. "You're okay now." The contrast between my calm exterior and the inferno of protective rage burning inside me is almost painful.
"How'd you know how to help?" she asks, her voice stronger now.
"Google.” I half-smirk, trying to inject some lightness into the heavy moment.
She narrows her eyes, seeing through my deflection. "Nate, be serious."
I sigh, not ready to unpack my own demons, not when hers are still so raw. "Does it happen often?" I ask instead. "The panic attacks?"
Her hesitation speaks volumes—I can almost see the internal debate playing out behind her eyes: trust or retreat. But she nods, a silent admission that cuts deep. Exhaustion is written in every line of her body.
"Do you need anything?" I ask, stepping back to give her space.
"I think I just need a nap... maybe a shower," she whispers, her voice still carrying echoes of her panic.
I plant myself on her bed while she goes to the bathroom. Something's off—and I know her too well to miss it. The way she's biting her lip, how her eyes bounce around the room like they're trying to escape my gaze. I've got a PhD in reading Lenora Wells, and right now, every nerve is screaming something's wrong.
She comes back from the bathroom, stops cold when she sees me still here. Like she can't believe I’d stay.
"You don't have to stay," she says, her voice this weird mix of surprise and something else. Resignation? Hope? "I'm okay now."
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her. It's not a promise. It's a fact. Gravity doesn't ask permission, and neither do I.
I tap the bed. "Lay down."
She hesitates—classic Nora. Always overthinking, always calculating the risk. But she comes, curling up on her side, facing me. Her eyes are these heavy, exhausted things, like she's carrying worlds I can't see.
I watch her breathe. In, out. In, out. Counting like it's the only thing keeping her together. Time becomes this weird, liquid thing. Just her breath. Just us.
She inches closer. Her hand—fuck—her hand brushes mine, and something inside me breaks and reforms all at once.
I shift, pull her into me. She melts against my chest like she was carved to fit exactly here. It's dangerous. We're a minefield, her and me. One wrong move and we'll detonate everything we've barely held together.
But right now? I don't give a shit about consequences.
Right now, I let myself be exactly what she needs—even if it's killing me from the inside out.
I stay until her breathing evens out, until the tears dry on her cheeks and her grip on my shirt loosens. Only then do I carefully extract myself from her grasp, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. She stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible before burrowing deeper into her pillow. I watch her for a moment longer, memorizing the peaceful look that's finally replaced the pain on her face.
With a deep breath, I slip out of her room, easing the door closed with barely a sound. The weight of everything—Jesus, it's crushing. Like carrying a fucking universe of shit I can't begin to unpack. You’d think I’d be used to that feeling by now.
Mom is in the lounge, those all-seeing eyes locked on me the second I hit the bottom of the stairs.
"Nate?" Her voice is all soft concern. "Is Nora okay? Jake said she wasn't feeling well."
"She's okay," I throw out, shrugging like it's nothing. The lie tastes like ash in my mouth. "Just exhausted."
She gives me that look. The one that sees straight through everything. "You know, you've always been the only one she lets in."
I lean against the doorframe, wood cool against my shoulder. Feels like the only steady thing in this moment. My entire body is a live wire of fucked-up emotions.
"Yeah, but things have changed." The words come out rough.
Her smile does something dangerous—soft, knowing. "If two people can't stay away from each other, maybe they're not meant to be apart."
Maternal wisdom.
Always hitting exactly where it hurts most.
"Maybe you both need to stop running."
The words sink into me like stones, creating ripples I'm not ready to face. The hardwood blurs as I try to breathe, to hold myself together.
"I've watched you love that girl all your life," she continues. "Maybe you should give her a chance to love you too.”
It lands like a punch.
Right in the chest where all my most fucked-up fears live.
I need out. Now.
I escape to the patio, but Mom's words follow me like persistent shadows. Out here, under the late afternoon sky, my feet shuffle restlessly against the weathered boards. I'm haunted by memories of my parents' tumultuous relationship, the echoes of their chaos still reverberating through my bones. The deep-seated resentment I've harbored toward my mom for not leaving Scott sooner burns in my chest—a familiar anger at how she allowed his destructive nature to tear through our lives like a hurricane.
Each night I spent as a kid, stationed outside my mom's door, making sure she was safe, left scars that run deeper than I care to admit. The weight of those memories presses down on me now, feeding into my fears about letting Nora in completely. The twisted logic I've lived by—that no one could hurt me more than I could hurt myself—feels like a prison of my own making. How do you let someone in when all you've seen of love is manipulation and pain?
I'm not just tired. I'm terrified of becoming my father, of dragging Nora into the same kind of darkness that nearly destroyed my family. The responsibility of holding it all together when I feel like I'm crumbling inside is exhausting. Every step forward feels like walking through quicksand, pulled back by the ghosts of my past.
So I run.
It's what I'm good at, what I've always done when emotions threaten to overwhelm me. But even as I try to escape, my mind drifts to possibilities I've been avoiding.
"You okay?" Mom's voice cuts through my spiral, gentle but knowing.
I nod, but the gesture feels hollow, unconvincing even to myself.
"Yeah, uh..." My voice comes out rough, hesitant. "I was thinking maybe I could clean out the sunroom. Since no one's really using it." The words tumble out before I can second-guess them.
Mom raises an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and understanding crossing her features.
"The sunroom? Why?" There's something knowing in her tone that makes me shift uncomfortably.
I run a hand through my hair, aiming for casual but probably missing by miles. Her expression shifts to something warm, almost proud, and it makes my chest tight.
"Go ahead," she says with a wink that says she sees right through me.
In my mind, I can already see it—Nora's safe haven, a space away from whatever demons are chasing her. The image solidifies something in me, a purpose taking root. After today, feeling her shake against me, seeing that raw fear in her eyes—I'd do anything to keep her safe.
But just as that thought starts to settle, my phone buzzes, the sound sharp and intrusive in the quiet night air. My stomach drops when I see Monty's name on the screen.
I stand abruptly, muttering about needing to handle something. Mom doesn't push, just nods with that infinite patience of hers, but I'm already moving, seeking refuge on the dock where the air feels cleaner, though it does little to calm the anxiety building inside me.
The message stares back at me.
Monty
Your debt just tripled, Preppy. Don't make me ask again.
I close my eyes, one hand coming up to rub the tension gathering at the back of my neck as the weight of my mess crashes down on me. Drug money, Monty, Nora, and all the things she knows nothing about. It's like walking a tightrope over a canyon, knowing one wrong step could send everything crashing down.
Then Jay's message cuts through.
Jay
Can we meet tomorrow? Freaking the fuck out here, man.
The text stirs something in me. Jay's the only one who truly gets the shit storm I'm in—the kind that tears through families like a tornado, leaving nothing but wreckage behind. I still remember the day I met him, just a kid dealing with a runaway dad and a mom drowning in her own struggles. When diabetes hit her hard and money was tight, she turned to the worst kind of help—men who paid in pills instead of cash.
The night Jay broke down and told me everything, I stepped in without hesitation, covering his mom's medical bills. He was a good kid that was dealt a fucked up hand, and even though what I did wasn't much, to him it meant everything. Now, a year later, we're still caught in each other's shit, pulling each other out of the fires I seem to keep starting. Getting him tangled in my mess with Monty was a mistake that haunts me daily. It tears me up knowing he's losing sleep over my fuck-ups, especially now that Monty knows about my family's stake in half the county.
I'm slowly starting to realise there might be no clean way out of this.
Standing here on the dock, watching the ripple across the water, I skip another stone, letting it dance across the surface. Each bounce creates perfect circles that expand outward, intersecting and fading like the memories I'm trying to process. The stone eventually sinks, disappearing beneath the darkening water, but the ripples continue their journey to the shore, touching everything in their path. Just like my choices, affecting us all, whether I want them to or not. I'm drowning in questions with no answers.
How do I claw my way out of this without dragging Jay—or anyone else—down with me?
The day offers no solutions, just the quiet sound of water lapping against wood and the weight of decisions I can't undo. After the weight of the day's revelations, I need to clear my head. I grab my old skateboard—a relic from simpler times—and lose myself in the rhythm of wheels against pavement until the sunset paints the sky in shades of amber and rose.
Coming home to the sounds of post-dinner cleanup and video games feels surreal, like walking between two worlds. Kat mentions Nora's been sleeping since the afternoon, and as I pass her closed door, concern twists in my gut. But I keep moving, retreating to my room where the darkness matches my mood.
It's 11 PM when my phone lights up the darkness with a text.
Nora
Awake?
My heart slams against my ribs, her two syllables enough to send electricity through my veins. The darkness envelops me, broken only by the soft blue glow of the screen.
Me
Yeah.
I swing my legs over the bed, sitting there in my boxers, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Her next message makes my pulse jump.
Nora
I need to get out of this house.
Relief floods through me like a shot of pure adrenaline. Ridiculous how a few words from her can still do this to me after all these years.
Me
Wanna go for a drive?
The seconds stretch into eternities while I wait for her reply. Being alone with her is playing with fire, and I'm already burning. I'm about to back out when my phone buzzes again.
Nora
Give me five?
Well, fuck.
So much for self-preservation.
I'm out of bed before I can talk myself out of it, grabbing my keys and jacket in one fluid motion. I slip out the front door and slide into the Mustang, heart pounding in my ears as I wait.
She appears like a ghost in the darkness, quietly closing the door behind her. When she slides into the passenger seat, she brings with her the faint scent of lavender and vanilla. It drives me fucking crazy. I start the engine but keep the headlights off until we're further down the street, away from prying eyes. The air between us feels charged, alive with possibility. A mysterious smile plays on her lips as she watches me, expectant, patient. The empty streets feel like our private universe, a world where only we exist. The silence should be uncomfortable, but it's not. It’s full of all the things we're not saying.
"Can I ask you something?" The light turns green, but I hesitate, caught in the gravity of her gaze.
She nods, those piercing green eyes locked on mine, making my heart stutter in my chest.
"What would you do if everything you planned just... blew up and you couldn't fix it?" The question comes out raw, honest, in a way I rarely allow myself to be.
She draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, thoughtful in the soft glow of passing streetlights. Her silhouette against the window is achingly familiar, a sight I've seen a thousand times but never tire of.
"The only thing you can do, I suppose," she finally says, her voice carrying quiet wisdom that's always been uniquely hers.
"And what's that?"
"Create a new future." Simple words, but they hit me like thunder.
"And if there isn't one?" I probe, hyper-aware of her presence, of how she makes the car feel too small and too vast all at once.
"There's always a future, Nate," she says softly, her fingers finding the bracelet on my wrist. Her touch sends electricity sparking through my skin, and I have to focus on breathing normally. "The world's full of endless possibilities, remember? You just need to figure out what you want your future to look like and walk toward that."
Her optimism fills the space between us—warm and infectious.
It's fucked up how easily we fall back into this—like my body remembers hers even when my brain's screaming to keep distance. A year of shit between us, and here we are, finishing each other's sentences like we never stopped. Makes zero sense that I still know exactly what she's thinking when she tilts her head that way, or how she still calls me on my bullshit with just a look.
But it also makes complete sense.
Some things just get carved into you.
For a second, I almost forget that we're supposed to be different people now—that I'm not the boy who'd do anything for her smile, and she's not the girl who knew all my secrets.
It’s a lie though.
Because I still am and she still does.
Her tender voice pulls me from my own thoughts.
“Dreams matter, you know? They can turn real when you least expect it. Like stories—they start and end, but you get to shape everything in between."
She turns to the window, lost in thought, and the streetlights paint patterns across her face.
The air between us feels too damn comfortable, like slipping back into your favorite hoodie after someone else has been wearing it. Both wrong and right at the same time.
I let myself believe for a dangerous moment that maybe nothing's changed. That we could just—what? Pick up where we left off? But then reality sucker punches me back to now.
This familiarity is a mind-fuck, a reminder of what I had and what I threw away by thinking distance was the solution.
Knowing I did it to protect her, doesn't make it hurt any less.
"And sometimes," she adds, still continuing on with her thoughts. “You have to trust that the universe will surprise you, usually when you least expect it. That's where the magic happens." Her smile fades slightly, touched with melancholy. "That's what dad always said."
The mention of David tightens my throat, guilt a familiar weight. But before I can spiral, she speaks again.
"That's what you have to do. Don't lose faith in magic."
I can't respond.
Anything I say would shatter this moment, this delicate balance we've found. She's too much, too bright, too real. Looking at her is like staring into the sun—beautiful and dangerous and impossible to resist. It's not just her physical beauty, though that's undeniable. There's something wild and innocent about her—a storm always brewing behind those eyes, threatening to ignite everything in its path. She's lighting me up from the inside, and I know I'll let her burn me alive if she asks.
I'm in deep, drowning in her, and the scariest part is I don't want to surface. I'd let her destroy me completely if it meant taking away the shadows I sometimes see in her eyes.
"I hope you're right," I whisper, turning back to the road, shifting gears more to have something to do with my hands than any real need. Her hand covers mine on the gearshift, and the warmth of her skin sends shockwaves through my entire body.
I look at her hand on mine, then back at her face. She smiles, adding a playful wink that does dangerous things to my heart.
"Always am."
"How do you do it?" The question escapes before I can stop it, raw with honesty.
She tilts her head, confusion furrowing her brows. In the shifting shadows of passing streetlights, her face is a study in contrasts—soft and sharp, familiar and mysterious.
"Do what?"
"Be so sure of yourself all the time?"
Her laugh is soft, musical, and far too intoxicating for my sanity. "I'm not sure of anything. Did you not see what happened earlier?"
"Bullshit." I shake my head, feeling the weight of what I'm about to admit. "You walk around like you know exactly who you are. Meanwhile, I'm here feeling like I'm trying out a hundred different versions of myself, getting further from the truth every time."
Her expression softens as she considers this, and something in her eyes makes my chest tight.
"Well, maybe that's the problem. You're too busy trying to find who you are instead of remembering who you've always been."
Her words cut through the fog in my head, simple and sharp as a blade. The way she says it, like it's the most obvious truth in the world, gets under my skin in ways both exhilarating and terrifying. She's always had this ability to see right through my defenses, to read the parts of me I keep locked away. Sometimes I think she was made to know me better than anyone else, better than I know myself.
The rest of the drive wraps us in silence, but it's heavy with unspoken words and ghosts of conversations we're both too afraid to start.
When I park the car, the clock is nearing 2 AM and my body is exhausted but my mind races with dangerous possibilities. Each tick of the clock reminds me that this fragile peace we've found could shatter at any moment. Being near her is like standing at the edge of a cliff—the fall inevitable—but I can't seem to step back.
"Can I ask you something now?" Her voice breaks through my thoughts, light but hesitant in the darkness.
"Sure." My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
Her gaze dances away, a tell I've known since we were kids. "Have you been... you know..."
"Using again?" I cut in, my voice sharper than intended, defensive.
Color blooms across her cheeks—embarrassment mixed with genuine concern.
"I haven't since the night at the beach." The memory of her terror-stricken eyes that night still haunts me. Seeing her look at me like I was turning into my father… it was the wake-up call I needed.
Never again.
Relief floods her features, mixed with something that looks dangerously like joy. "Oh..."
"Yeah." The word hangs between us, weighted with everything we're not saying.
"Thank you," she whispers. The melody of her voice resonates through my chest, striking chords I thought I'd buried years ago.
"For what?" My voice comes out raw, exposed.
"For being there," she answers simply, but her tone carries layers of meaning that make my heart race.
Before I can process what's happening, she leans closer, erasing the careful distance between us. Her lips brush my cheek, soft as a whisper, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It's barely a touch, but it ignites every nerve ending in my body, sending electricity coursing through my veins. She pulls back too soon, slipping out of the car like a dream fading in the morning light. Though she's gone, the phantom sensation of her lips lingers, burning into my skin like a brand. I nod dumbly, trying to gather the scattered pieces of myself as she disappears into the night.
I slump back against the seat, the void she leaves behind almost tangible. My heart thunders against my ribs, a chaotic drumbeat that echoes the turmoil she stirs in me. Something has shifted tonight, changed irrevocably, and I'm left grappling with a feeling that's both exhilarating and terrifying.
The urge to follow her, to pull her into my arms and show her how she makes me feel alive in ways nothing else can, is almost overwhelming. But I stay rooted to my seat, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. While I'm prone to making mistakes, she's one I can't afford to risk. Not when the stakes are this high.
When I finally make it to bed, I stare at the ceiling, knowing sleep is a lost cause. Her words keep echoing in my mind like a persistent melody.
What if she's right?
What if the universe is trying to tell me something, and I'm just too fucking scared to listen?
As I start to drift off, the image of her floods my consciousness—those eyes, and a smile that could outshine the stars. Nora is etched into every part of me, a piece I can't excise no matter how hard I try. I know I should be running from this, from her. Every lesson life has taught me screams to get away before I destroy the one good thing I have left. But for the first time in years, I don't want to run.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Because loving Nora isn't just about risking my heart anymore—it's about risking hers, too. And I'm not sure which would be worse: losing her again or watching the light in those bright green eyes dim because of me. As I lie here in the darkness, her lingering warmth still ghosting across my skin, I realize I really am in too deep.
But then again, when it comes to her, I always have been.