34. Expect The Unexpected
CHAPTER 34
EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED
NORA
The two hours of sleep I managed after sneaking out of Nate's room feel like shards of glass behind my eyelids, but I'm already lacing up my running shoes. Sometimes moving is easier than staying still with your thoughts. The house holds its breath around me, as if afraid to disturb the remnants of darkness we fought through together. I can't shake the image of Nate from my mind—his eyes wild with terror, body trembling beneath the weight of nightmares that have haunted him since childhood. But now they seem darker, more violent, as if something fundamental inside him is unraveling.
It happened like so quickly.
One minute I was dreaming, the next his scream tore through the walls—sharp and broken. I tried to snap him out of it, only to find him above me, his hands pinning mine to the bed with a desperate strength I didn't know he possessed. For a heartbeat, I didn't recognize him through the mask of fear distorting his features.
But then reality crashed in, and I knew—he was lost in one of his nightmares again.
The horror that crossed his face when he recognized me carved itself into my memory.
He scrambled away, apologies spilling from his lips. But beneath my concern, beneath the ache of watching him suffer, something else stirred—a heat that caught me off guard, desire threading through my veins. I can still feel him pressed against me, and I wanted—God, I wanted him. But I couldn't voice that need, not when he was shattered with shame. And even if I could reach for him now, the shadow of what Evan did to me last summer looms like a wall between us. The way he stripped me down to nothing, left me feeling small, powerless, broken. I haven't let anyone touch me since then—not really, not in the ways that matter.
And then last night, after Nate finally calmed and I held him like I used to when we were kids, words I never meant to speak slipped out into the darkness between us. I'm still not sure if he was awake, his breathing had evened out against my collar bone, but the confession hung in the air like smoke—how afraid I was, how weak I felt, how the thought of being touched again made me want to crawl out of my own skin.
Now, with the inevitability of seeing Evan again, my stomach turns to ice. The mere thought of pretending everything is fine makes bile rise in my throat.
My lungs burn as I push myself harder along the empty streets, trying to outrun memories that refuse to fade. With every exhale, I attempt to release the past. He's always been damaged in his own way, carrying scars that run deeper than the ones visible on his skin. When we were kids, I thought I could protect him from nightmares. Now I'm not sure who needs protecting more.
I slow to a walk as I reach the pier, brushing away sweat-dampened hair from my face. The sunrise bleeds through the clouds, painting everything in soft gold, but it feels like a beautiful lie—nature's attempt to pretend everything is okay when nothing feels right anymore.
I want Nate in ways that terrify me. But I'm more afraid of what giving in to those feelings could mean. Because once we cross that line, there's no going back. And I don't know if I'm ready for him to see all the broken pieces I've been hiding.
But losing him entirely?
That's a risk I can't bear to take.
By the time I make it back, sweat trickles down my spine and my legs feel weighted with lead. The summer heat wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, my breath still ragged from pushing too hard. I needed the burn, the distraction, something to quiet the chaos in my mind. But standing at the front door, exhaustion has replaced relief.
The moment I step inside, raised voices drift from the kitchen—Jake and Nate, their argument a familiar dance. I pause, wiping my forehead, straining to make out words spoken in tense, barely contained voices.
"Would it kill you to make a little effort with him? For all our sake?" Jake’s voice cuts like a blade.
"You never had to deal with him like I did." Nate’s reply carries an undercurrent of frustration.
"I'm not making excuses. I know he's not the picture-perfect family man. I know he's done shit too, but??—"
"No, you don't," Nate interrupts, his voice cracking. "You've never had to—" The words shatter against silence.
I lean against the wall, my stomach knotting as I listen to them tear at old wounds. Their different childhoods always stood out like a stark line drawn between them—Jake the golden child Scott praised endlessly, while Nate could never seem to measure up. I'd watched Scott's face light up at Jake's every achievement while Nate bore the brunt of his disappointment, his anger, his bitterness.
It wasn't fair.
Their voices drop when they realize I'm here. I take my cue, stepping in to wish Jake happy birthday, even though I know Lydia will insist on the real celebration tomorrow. She's been doing this since we were kids—making a grand production of our "birthday-and-a-day" celebrations, since Jake and I were born exactly a year and a day apart.
Tomorrow will be all decorated cakes and embarrassing childhood photos, but today is just Jake's. And since he's already heading out to whatever plans he's made, that leaves me alone with Nate—something that rarely ends well. Which is why his invitation to go out on the boat later today catches me completely off guard.
"Or do you have plans?" He jokes with a sly smile, like he already knows the answer because my silence said as much.
I try to match his casual tone. "Actually, you're in luck because today I do not."
His smile grows a fraction, that small curve in his lips sending my stomach into a free fall. This is exactly why I avoid being alone with him. Too many reactions I can't control.
"Well, I have to head down to Sonder for a few hours to help Nick with something. But I'll be back around 4 PM. We should catch the sunset."
Great, a sunset. On a boat. In the middle of the ocean. With the guy I've been in love with since I was eight.
My internal sarcasm does nothing to slow my racing heart. This is exactly the kind of situation I've been carefully avoiding for years—just Nate and me, no buffers, no easy escapes. Nowhere to hide from the questions I see sometimes lingering in his eyes.
I freeze, nerves spiking with a cocktail of excitement and fear. Part of me yearns to understand what's happening with him, to finally talk about the nightmares and everything he's carried for so long. But another part—the smarter, self-preserving part—trembles at the thought of being alone with him, of what truths might surface.
What's the worst that could happen?
Oh, just complete emotional devastation.
Totally fine.
The walls I've built between us have kept me safe. They've kept the fragile peace we've managed to establish.
And here I am, walking right into the fire anyway.
Once I’m freshly showered with hair still dripping, I head downstairs. Lydia is in the kitchen and she looks exhausted, but her eyes brighten when they meet mine.
"Oh, I didn't realize you were home." A smile plays at her lips.
"The boys are all out so I thought I would spend some time writing. Have you seen my computer? I thought I left it down here."
Her smile turns knowing. "It's in the sunroom."
"The sunroom?" Confusion furrows my brow.
"Go and see for yourself." There's something mischievous in her tone.
I hesitate before pushing open the sunroom door.
My breath catches.
Sunlight streams through the windows, casting a warm glow over the spotless room. Fresh flowers grace the desk beside what appears to be new pens, my laptop perfectly positioned.
Next to it sits a framed photo—the same one we have at home of all of us kids with dad on the lake. Tears prickle at my eyes as I notice a gift wrapped in simple brown paper, a note resting on top.
My hands tremble as I recognize Nate's handwriting.
This might be a more inspiring place to write a New York Times Best Seller than the kitchen table.
I swallow hard, carefully unwrapping the gift to reveal a limited-edition copy of The Secret Garden. My fingers trace the cover as memories of bedtime stories with Dad flood back.
It’s the note on the final page that steals my breath.
The end is only a chance for another beginning.
Expect the unexpected, and that's where you'll usually find the magic. - N
My heart twists as I sink into the chair. Nate's always been kind, protective, even when hurting. But this gesture feels different—thoughtful, intimate, purely him.
There's so much I don't know about this version of Nate but the boy I knew still exists beneath the surface. I place the book down gently and open my laptop.
Something about his gesture makes me want to write, to pour everything onto the page.
Taking a deep breath, I begin.
Stories have a beginning that defines them and an end that is inevitable.
But in between the beginning and the end, that's up to us to determine.
And sometimes we just have to trust that the universe will surprise us.
Usually when we least expect it.
Because if we expect the unexpected, that's usually where we'll find the magic.