39. Parallel Lines
CHAPTER 39
PARALLEL LINES
NATE
The engine's rumble fades into the night as Nick's car disappears, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the familiar ache of fresh bruises. The walk to the front door feels endless, each step a reminder of tonight's shitshow. Farrah might be out of the picture now, but that victory tastes hollow, mixing with the copper tang of blood in my mouth and the growing dread in my gut.
The house stands silent at 1 AM, as I drag myself up the stairs, biting back groans with each step, until a soft glow catches my eye. It's coming from Nora's room. The light spills into the hallway like a beacon, and something inside me shifts, yearns. The memory of her comfort from the last night pulls at me with gravitational force, but I resist. She doesn't need to see me like this—another reminder of how I'm the black hole in her orbit, threatening to pull her into the darkness.
Just as I turn away, the bathroom door opens. Nora steps out wearing those damned pajama shorts that make my throat go dry, her legs endless in the dim light. My body responds instantly, a pavlovian reaction I can't control. Our eyes lock, and the concern that floods her expression hits harder than any punch I took tonight.
"Nate, what happened?" Her voice wraps around me like silk, soft and strong all at once.
She moves closer, and I'm frozen in place as her fingers trace the tender skin around my eye. The gentleness of her touch burns more than the bruise itself. When her hand finds mine, the air between us grows thick with unspoken words. Her thumb grazes my split knuckles, and suddenly breathing becomes a conscious effort.
"A little altercation but I'm okay." The lie tastes bitter.
"You're either completely delusional or just stupid."
Both.
"I should—" I try to pull away, though it feels like ripping open a wound. "You should get some sleep."
But she steps closer, her presence magnetic.
"Come with me." She takes my hand again, and the universe clicks back into place. I want to resist—should resist—but I never could when it comes to her. She leads me into her room like she has countless times before, her warm grip the only thing keeping me anchored to reality.
"Sit," she commands, though there's a tenderness in her tone that makes it feel like coming home.
I sink onto her bed's edge, trying to ignore how my skin burns where her fingers brushed. "Now what?" I manage, raising an eyebrow despite the ache.
Her smile lights up the room. "Stay here."
"What am I, a dog?"
She pauses at the doorway, throwing a glance over her shoulder that makes my heart stutter. "Dogs actually listen."
When she returns with the first aid kit, I force a laugh that sends pain shooting through my ribs.
"I'm fine, Len, seriously." It's another lie—the painkillers have worn off, my head wound has bled through Nick's amateur bandaging, and my ribs feel like shattered glass under my skin.
She steps between my knees, the proximity sending electricity through my veins. The heat of her body radiates against mine, and I'm drowning in everything that is her.
"I'm glad you're not being a broody asshole for once. Stay still."
I obey because denying her anything feels impossible. Her fingers work with practiced care, cleaning the gash on my temple. The antiseptic stings, but it's nothing compared to how she cradles my face.
"You know you don't have to pretend with me," she murmurs, her words carrying the weight of years of shared history. "What happened?"
I try to look away, rubbing my jaw to hide the tremor in my hands. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Her hands capture my face, forcing our eyes to meet. "Well, your face says otherwise. Now hold still so I don't get this in your eye."
Her touch holds me steady, keeping the pieces of me from scattering into the darkness. Without conscious thought, my hands find her hips, drawing her closer until our breaths synchronize. Her thighs brush against mine, and the contact sends sparks through my entire body.
"That better?" My voice comes out rough, revealing more than I intend.
Her smile holds secrets I'm afraid to decode. "You tell me."
I can't tell her anything. Can't tell her how close I am to shattering, how much I want to lose myself in her. She tends to my wounds with the same care she's always shown, and I catch her hand as she pulls away.
"This is kinda our thing, isn't it?"
"What?"
"You fixing me."
"You don't need to be fixed, Nate. Patched up every now and then, maybe."
The laugh I let out feels like knives in my chest. I meet her gaze, holding it steady. "Thank you. For always fixing me anyway."
"Nate…" The way she says my name holds a universe of questions.
"It's all good." The words taste like ash.
"That's not an answer." Her tone is gentle but leaves no room for escape, and it kills me how much she still cares after everything.
"Len, it's nothing you need to worry about. I have it handled." The lie sits heavy between us, because I'm not sure I have anything handled anymore.
"Are you okay, Nate? And I mean, are you really okay?"
The question echoes in the hollow spaces inside me.
"This really does feel like old times," I say instead, though I'm not sure which times I mean—the innocent closeness of our youth or the darker moments when she'd patch me up after Scott's rages.
She looks away, and suddenly I'm desperate for her attention. "You're changing the subject," she points out.
I manage a ghost of my usual grin. "I am, but it's true, isn't it?"
"I hate seeing you like this." I can see beyond her sad eyes that she'd hoped things would be different.
Hope.
That fucking word.
It's a luxury I never could afford. Growing up the way I did, reality became my closest companion.
My hand moves of its own accord to her neck, freeing her hair from its bun. Dark waves cascade down, framing her face like a painting I want to memorize.
"I like your hair down," I whisper, watching color bloom across her cheeks. Nothing in this world compares to her beauty in this moment. Our fingers intertwine, and I can't look away from where we're connected.
"Thank you," I murmur, the words carrying the weight of years.
"I'll send you the bill via email," she jokes, and I'm laughing—really laughing—despite the pain it causes.
When our eyes meet again, she's looking at me like she can see past every wall I've built.
"What?" I ask, feeling exposed.
"Nothing," she says softly. "It's just… I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."
Her smile breaks through the darkness surrounding my heart. The urge to kiss her, to pour every unspoken feeling into action, nearly overwhelms me. How do you explain to someone that they make your soul feel like colliding galaxies?
"Do you want to listen to music?" she offers, but I shake my head.
"Not tonight." I lean closer, my voice dropping to match the intimacy of the moment. "I just want this." I ease back onto her bed, drawing her with me. She settles against my chest, her arms around my waist, and I run my fingers through her hair, knowing it soothes us both.
"It's finally stopped," I say after a while.
"What's stopped?"
"The noise. In my head."
We lay in comfortable silence, this moment of peace worth every ache in my body. She traces gentle fingers over my face, and I stare at her like I'm seeing her for the first time all over again.
"I miss this," I confess, barely audible, half delusional from the concussion.
"Miss what?"
"Us."
The admission hangs in the air between us, but her response is immediate, sure.
"Nate, I never left."
This is intimacy in its purest form—the ability to be completely bare, showing every scar and shadow, knowing you won't be turned away. But Nora and I, we're like parallel lines, destined to run alongside each other without ever truly meeting. She softens my edges in ways I never thought possible and all it takes is just a glance from those bright green eyes.
Before her, I believed I was impossible to love. She makes it look effortless, loving me despite every attempt I make to push her away. I can't pinpoint when I fell in love with her. It happened gradually, like watching the tide come in, until suddenly I was drowning.
Being this close to her is dangerous, addictive. But addiction is a monster that lurks in darkness, waiting to strike. This girl is more potent than any drug I've known, because nothing else comes close to the high of being near her. Like any addict, I can't resist the urge to stay close, to let her touch quiet the chaos inside me.
When she tightens her hold and whispers, "Stay," I know I shouldn't.
She's an addiction I can't kick, one I'm not sure I want to. Every cell in my body craves her presence. I settle beside her, holding her close, pretending this moment won't have to end.
"I'm here, Nate," she whispers into the darkness.
For the first time in forever, I let myself believe it.