35. Ripples Of The Past
CHAPTER 35
RIPPLES OF THE PAST
NATE
"You've known her your whole life. Why do you look like you're walking to your own funeral?"
Nick side-eyes me as I pack up to leave.
I let out a breathy laugh, raking a hand through my hair. "Is it that obvious I'm shitting bricks?"
"Pretty much." He smirks, crossing his arms. "What's the deal? Why are you so nervous?"
I pause, rubbing the back of my neck as tension settles between my shoulder blades.
"It's complicated between Nora and me. There's history there and—" The words feel heavy in my throat, like they've been sitting there for years. Because they have.
"I fucked up with her last year. I wasn't there for her when her dad died, and now every time I look at her, all I feel is guilt."
Nick narrows his eyes. "Is that all you feel when you look at her?"
The question hangs in the air. Lying isn't an option, and even if I tried, Nick would see through my bullshit. We’ve spent a few long days together, half them hammering nails into wood, yet somehow he's become the first person in a long time who I can trust. Who doesn't see me as some lost cause.
"How do you know she hasn't forgiven you?"
I look down, kicking at the floor like a goddamn teenager.
Because I haven't forgiven myself.
"She shouldn't forgive me. But now it's like there's this permanent wall between us, and no matter what I do, I can't break it down."
Nick shrugs, tossing a rag over his shoulder.
"Maybe you don't need to break it down. Maybe you just need to open a door. And maybe, the key to that door is forgiving yourself first."
I give him a dry look. "What self-help book is that from?"
He grins. "Actually, it was a fortune cookie."
I laugh despite myself. As much as I try to act like it's not a big deal, it is. It's not just missing the funeral. It's everything—the way I've let my own shit stop me from being and doing anything in life. She deserves more than what I can give her emotionally. I can't give her the fairytales she dreams about and writes about.
"Before you go," Nick heads towards the back and returns with a box. "Taste test these on your date and give me some feedback."
"It's not a date."
"You're whisking a girl you’ve known your whole life, who you clearly have feelings for away on a boat during sunset. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd say that's a date."
I don't fuel the fire with a response, instead offering a grin and thank you before walking out the door.
The drive back to the house does my head no good. I can feel the nerves building again, curling tight in my gut. And then, when I finally see her standing on the front porch waiting for me, everything goes quiet and still in my mind. She opens the door, and the sweet smell of her perfume fills the car. It's like the world just pauses, and all I can see is her.
Fuck me.
She's beautiful, and it's effortless. Her presence alone makes my chest tight with a feeling I can't—won't—name.
I am so fucked. So fucking fucked.
The drive to the marina passes in comfortable silence, broken only by occasional questions and soft small talk. Her presence fills the space between us with an electric charge that makes my skin hum. Why does this girl have such a tight grip on my every emotion? How does she make me so fucking nervous with just a glance?
I help her onto Scott's boat—the one he impulsively bought Mom as an "I'm sorry for being such a piece of shit husband" gift, masquerading as an anniversary present months after their actual anniversary.
As I steer us out toward the ocean, the further we get from dry land, the more the tension in my shoulders begins to ease. The water has always been my sanctuary.
She's wearing loose linen shorts that show off her long, already—tanned legs, and a tank top that clings to her curves in ways that make it hard to focus on anything else. Her hair's pulled back, but the salt breeze is already working its magic with the loose strands framing her face. And fuck, her smile. If I ever wanted to bottle up the feeling of sunshine, I'd just have to see that smile.
I catch myself staring, and it's only when she says my name that I snap out of it.
"Nate?"
"Huh?"
Smooth dickhead.
Real smooth.
I clear my throat, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. She laughs softly, the sound carrying on the wind.
"I was trying to say thank you."
"For what?"
"For what you did with the sunroom. You really didn't have to."
I shrug, aiming for casual even as my heart races. Her eyes soften, and for a second, I see something in them I can't quite place—something that makes my breath catch.
"It was really thoughtful and meant a lot."
I shake my head, swallowing past the tightness in my throat.
"I'm happy you like it. And you're welcome." It was a small gesture, but more than anything, I wanted her to know that I'd always be in her corner, making sure she followed through with her dream. Even after everything, the guy she once knew was still here for her.
We fall into a comfortable silence as we sail toward the open sea. The sun hangs lower now, painting the water in shades of gold and amber.
Eventually, Nora speaks again, her voice quieter this time.
"The last time I was out on the water was with Dad... all of us, together." Her voice wavers as she looks down at the bracelet that's been on her wrist ever since the carnival. She runs her thumb over it, a ritual I've seen her perform countless times. "I can't believe it's already been a year."
Her eyes are sad and it physically causes me pain seeing so much hurt in them. One year since they laid David to rest, and I wasn't there. I wasn't standing beside her in that cemetery. I wasn't there to hold her hand or offer my shoulder when she needed it most. The guilt of that absence has been the wall between us that I've never known how to tear down.
It wasn't lost on me, the significance of today. How could it be? The date has been etched into my conscience like a scar. It was one of the reasons I wanted to get her out on the water—away from everything that would remind her of that day, the day I failed her in the worst possible way. Maybe somewhere deep down, I thought bringing her here, to a place that held good memories of her father, might begin to make up for my absence when it mattered most. But nothing could erase that failure, the first of many ways I've kept her at arm's length because I don't deserve to be any closer.
I glance at her, my heart squeezing. Her voice cracks just a little, the weight of the memory pressing down on her. But she doesn't cry. Nora's strong like that. She carries her grief differently—quiet, private. I want to reach over and hold her, tell her I'm sorry again, but the words stick in my throat like sand.
The smell of salt and sea air wraps around us, and I breathe in deep, hoping it'll steady me. The sky bleeds into the horizon in endless shades of blue, and the setting sun casts everything in a golden glow that makes the world feel bigger than we'll ever understand.
We're alone now.
No cell reception, no distractions. Just us and the ocean. And it’s terrifying, because I realize I've never wanted anything more than to keep her all to myself. To freeze time and stay like this, just the two of us, away from everything that threatens to tear us apart. I grab the box Nick insisted we take, laughing under my breath.
"Nick wants us to try some new menu items for the restaurant."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "A food critic? Now that I can do."
I grin, pulling out the containers. "He did promise dessert too. But only if the feedback is good."
We sit on the deck, legs stretched out as the boat sways gently beneath us. The ocean stretches endlessly ahead, the setting sun painting everything in fire-bright hues of pink and gold. Nora sits across from me, her hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her skin glowing like it's been kissed by the dying day. Every time her eyes meet mine, my chest tightens with an ache I can't ignore. She's like the moon in the night sky—no matter where I try to run and hide, she's always there, lighting up the darkest parts of me.
"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she's treading on fragile ground. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty, but there's a quiet determination underneath that makes my throat go dry.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Something in me already knows what she's going to ask, and instinct screams at me to deflect, to run.
But I'm tired of running.
"The nightmares..." Her voice breaks through the quiet tension. "Are they always about your dad?"
She's sitting right in front of me now, her jade green eyes locked on mine, pulling at something deep inside me that I've kept buried for too long. It's like she's demanding all my attention, though she already has it. She always does.
Her hand brushes the top of mine, steady and warm.
"Nate, you can talk to me."
I look anywhere but at her. The water ripples around us in gentle waves, but inside me, it's like a storm threatening to break loose. I swallow hard, the words lodged in my throat like they've forgotten how to be spoken.
"I—"
She wants me to talk, but how do I put words to the things I've spent my whole life trying to bury? We shouldn’t be talking about me. We should be talking about her. My mind races trying to find ways to divert the conversation back to her. But then she does something that nearly breaks me.
Her hand, soft and warm, cradles my face. She leans in, her eyes never leaving mine, her fingers curling gently against my skin. It's like she's holding all the broken pieces of me together, silently promising she won't let me fall apart.
"I'm not afraid of you," she whispers, her voice steady, unshaken by the storm raging inside me. "And if you're unsure about trusting me, well, too bad. Because I'm not going anywhere until I prove to you, you can trust me."
In an instant everything cracks wide open.
Her words are a lifeline thrown into the chaos. I've spent years wading through the wreckage of my life, convinced that no one could ever stick around long enough to help me sift through the ashes. But she's here. She's not afraid. And somehow, that makes all the difference. Because no matter how much everything else falls apart, she's always been my constant—even when I hadn't shown up for her.
"You're one of the few things I'm sure of," I manage to say, my voice rough with emotion.
It's the truth, and it burns to admit it. She's the only person who sees me for who I am—really sees me—and doesn't walk the other way. She knows about the scars, both the ones on my skin and the ones buried deeper, the ones that twist like barbed wire around my heart. She knows about my parents, about my failures, and somehow, she still looks at me like I'm worthy of something I can't see in myself.
I swallow hard.
"The nightmares have gotten worse over time." My voice drops low. "Sometimes I can't tell the difference between what's real and what isn't. What I dreamt happened and what actually did. The drugs helped numb and silence everything for short amounts of time."
The memories crash over me like waves, threatening to pull me under. Scott's voice, slurred and angry. My mom's crying, the kind that never really stopped. The promises he made—empty, worthless. I shut my eyes, trying to keep it all contained.
"Mom... she cried all the time. Scott blamed everyone and everything but himself—his job, the world. Never took any responsibility when things were turning to shit. Instead, he'd just lay into mom or me if I stood in his way."
I look up at her, but she doesn't flinch. She just holds the space for me to unravel.
"The older I got, it kept escalating." My voice trembles, and I hate it. "He started drinking more. Taking more pills and fuck knows what else. And every night when he'd come home from another cocaine bender, the blows got harder. It was like the more I grew, the angrier he got. He hated me for even existing."
Nora reaches out, her hand brushing against mine, and I almost flinch. Almost. But her touch is soft, grounding me in the present.
"Nate," she says softly, my name a prayer on her lips.
"He never laid a hand on Jake. Never yelled at him. Why? I don't know. But I didn't care, as long as he never touched him. That was all that mattered. I didn't want Jake to end up like me—like this." I gesture to myself, to the broken pieces I've become.
She still doesn't look away. Her eyes stay locked on me, and there's something in them—something I can't put words to. It's not pity or fear. It's like she sees all of me, even the parts I've tried to hide, and she's still looking at me like I'm something whole, not the broken mess I know I am.
"The only thing football was good for was that I naturally got stronger. When I started fighting back, it infuriated him, but some sadistic part of him loved it. And when he couldn't hurt me physically anymore, he found other ways." I pause, my throat tightening around the words I never thought I'd say aloud. "He broke mom instead."
The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy with years of guilt and pain. I hate talking about this, hate reopening wounds that never really healed. Because they come with memories I've tried to keep buried—the screams, the tears, the sickening sound of flesh on flesh or glass shattering. The way mom would sacrifice herself to save me from the brutal beatings, closing their bedroom door and telling me to go to sleep. It'd make me physically sick, knowing what she put on the line just so he wouldn't kill me with his fists.
Nora's hand tightens around mine. "Nate, I'm so sorry."
"I wanted to leave, Nora. So many times, I wanted to just pack up and run, but I couldn't leave them. If I did, he'd..." I stop myself from voicing the worst-case scenario. "I was the only thing keeping him in check."
She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. The silence between us is full of understanding.
"That's why you got caught with the drugs at school? You did it on purpose, so you'd have to stay behind." She pauses, her eyes searching mine. "That's why you weren't at the funeral?"
I don't answer, but my silence is enough.
Her eyes have become more intense because she's fighting back her own tears.
"Does your mom know that's the reason you got kicked out? Does Jake?"
I laugh, but there's no humor in it.
"Mom always had this idea that football and a college scholarship could fix everything. Like it would somehow make him stop, like he'd finally love me if I succeeded." My jaw tightens. "And Jake puts our dad on a pedestal where he can do no fucking wrong. But Scott only cares about one thing. Power. That and upholding the Sullivan name. He'd prefer me gone but not without the Ivy League degree and football trophies to brag about."
Her hand slips to my cheek again, turning my face toward her.
"Your mom wanted you out because she loves you, Nate. She wanted a future for you."
A future.
That's almost laughable now. At the rate I'm going, I'd be lucky to make it to thirty-five.
"A future," I repeat. "And leave her behind? Leave Jake behind? So he could use them instead of me? I couldn't do it. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to them."
Her eyes soften, but there's a fire in them that makes my chest ache.
"You don't really think any of this was your fault, do you?"
She continues to hold my face in her hands, her palms warm against my skin, and for the first time in forever, I feel something.
Something good. Something I don't deserve, but can't help but crave.
When she looks at me like this, it's like she's reaching into the darkest parts of my soul and telling me it's going to be okay. That it's safe to be vulnerable with her. That she'll protect what remains of my heart with everything she has. And I believe her.
"Nate, if we let our nightmares define us, then we lose sight of our dreams." She glances up at me, a small smile playing at her lips. "I read that somewhere. Sounds pretty legit."
I huff out a laugh, even though my chest feels too tight to breathe. "Do you always see the silver lining in everything?"
She thinks about it, her eyes drifting up toward the sky, as if she's searching for an answer in the emerging stars.
"I guess I just choose to believe that you can find hope in the strangest places. Even in the darkest corners."
Her words stir something deep inside me, awakening feelings I've kept buried for too long.
Hope.
She talks about it like it's something that can be found, like a light hidden under layers of darkness. I've spent my whole life in that darkness, convinced there was no way out, but she—she makes me think maybe there's more.
"You really believe that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, what's the alternative?" she says, shrugging lightly, like it's the simplest thing in the world. But that's Nora—she makes the impossible seem within reach, like there's always a way through. I've never met anyone like her, never met someone who could pull me out of my own head the way she does.
"How come you can believe in everyone else's dreams except your own?" I ask. I've always noticed that about her—she's the first to stand in someone's corner, to cheer them on, but she never gives herself the same grace.
"I've always found joy in cheering others on and watching the people I love succeed and thrive."
I watch her, the way the last of the sunlight catches the edge of her hair, turning it into a halo. How does she not see it? How does she not see the way she lights up everything around her?
"Maybe it's time someone was in your corner for once," I say, my voice low, but she hears it.
The moment feels too raw, too real. I need to break this tension before I do something reckless.
"Come with me," I say, nodding toward the front of the boat.
The boat rocks beneath us as I pull her closer, leading her to the bow. The sunset is fading behind us, casting the water in deep orange light, and I can't help but feel like the world is about to tilt on its axis.
"Do you trust me?" I ask, a smirk tugging at my lips.
She looks at me, half-smiling, half-nervous. "Do I have a choice?"
I step closer, my chest almost touching hers. "You always have a choice."
Her breath hitches, and that beautiful blush I love spreads across her cheeks—the one that appears whenever I'm too close. It drives me crazy, the way her body betrays how she feels before she even says a word.
"I trust you," she says.
"Good. Then hold onto me." My voice is rougher than I intend, laced with something I can't hide anymore.
She hesitates but still wraps her arms around my neck. Something inside me settles as my arms circle her waist like they belong there. If I could freeze a moment forever, it'd be this one—her body pressed against mine, her head tilted up just enough for me to see every inch of her face. Her lips parted, eyes locked on mine, trust radiating from her.
"Keep your eyes on me, Leni," I say, using her nickname like a tether.
Without giving her a chance to protest, I tip us both over the edge of the boat. We crash into the water, the cool shock of it wrapping around us as we plunge beneath the surface. For a second, everything is quiet—the world muted, the only thing I'm aware of is her body pressed against mine, clinging to me like I'm her lifeline. I know she's mine.
When we break the surface, she gasps, laughing through her shock.
"You're insane!" she yells, her arms still wrapped tightly around me.
"You say insane, I say fun.” I grin, holding her closer. She's still gripping me, her wet hair plastered to her face, water droplets sliding down her skin. It's like God himself took the time to carve her to perfection.
The way she's looking at me right now? I'm not sure I'll be able to keep myself in check much longer. My gaze keeps drifting to her lips, to the soft curve of her mouth, and the way her breath hitches when I run my hands down her back to hold her steady in the water.
But I know better. I can't just act on this—on us—when everything is so tangled up in the past and the chaos I've created. It would be selfish. So instead of leaning in, I take a deep breath and pull back.
"It's getting dark. We should probably head back."
"Yeah. Right. Sure." She lets go, and the second she does, the distance feels like a physical ache.
I help her back to the boat, guiding her up the step ladder as she shivers, and I'm struck again by how much I want her. How much I need her. Every inch of me is screaming to pull her back into my arms, to let everything I'm holding back pour out into one kiss, one touch.
But I keep it together.
Barely.
I hand her some dry clothes—my favorite Aerosmith t-shirt and track pants. When she steps out of the cabin wearing just the t-shirt like an oversized dress, the sight nearly knocks the wind out of me. She's doing things to me that I won't be able to hide much longer.
"How do I look?" she teases, her cheeks flushed, but there's something in her eyes that tells me she's feeling the same pull I am.
Perfect.
Fucking perfect.
"It looks better on you, than it does me," I mutter, my voice betraying more than I want it to.
Her eyes linger on me for a moment, and I know she feels it, the charge between us. It's in the air, in the space between our bodies, crackling like electricity. I see it in the way her breath quickens, the way her fingers twitch like she doesn't know what to do with her hands. I can't take this any further. Not until I sort out the dumpster fire that is my life.
I drive her home, the tension between us still thick, still palpable. When I pull up to the house, she notices I don't get out of the car.
"You're not coming?"
"I need to do something. I'll be back in an hour," I say quietly. The look of disappointment on her face twists something in my chest. For a second, I think about telling her everything. But I can't—not yet.
"Just let Mom know to start dinner without me." I hate the way she's looking at me right now, like I've just fucked up the perfect afternoon with her. But I need to do this.
She watches me for a second, her eyes searching mine, then nods, stepping out of the car without another word.
As I drive away, I make a decision. I'm going to clean up my life and end the things that don't matter. Because the only thing that matters now is standing in the driveway watching me drive off.