43. Seventeen
CHAPTER 43
SEVENTEEN
NORA
Seventeen feels different than I expected—there's a strange ache, both comforting and terrifying. Before dawn breaks, I'm pounding the pavement, each footfall echoing the rhythm of my racing thoughts. The cool morning air bites at my exposed skin, but I barely notice. I can't shake him. Thoughts of last night circle around me, pressing heavily against my chest.
I kissed Nate.
And he kissed me back.
That memory flickers like a spark in the darkness. The taste of him lingers—sharp and intoxicating—a ghost of sensation that makes my heart race even now. I crave the closeness again, that intense connection that felt like coming home and falling apart all at once.
Yesterday spiraled from disaster into something unexpectedly magical. Scott's presence cast a shadow over everything as it always does. He's not just Nate's father; he's the origin of every hidden scar, every deep-seated pain Nate endures. Watching Nate stiffen under his father's scrutinizing gaze, every part of me wanted to shield him from that familiar darkness.
I found him in the boatshed with the dim light filtering through dusty windows. He stood hunched over a table, his hands clenched as he stared down at the small bags that seemed like both escape and chains. They bound him to everything he'd been trying to flee. I'd whispered his name, barely able to breathe.
He wouldn't look at me but I saw it—the war waging inside him, the way he fought against everything he didn't want to be. I understood more than he'd ever know. It was like staring at a mirror, seeing my own broken pieces reflected in his silence, in the shadows he carried. Then he looked at me, eyes raw and wild, and I saw his pain so clearly it became my own. For a moment, all the walls we'd built around ourselves crumbled. The only thing left was our shared need to hold each other, to find something steady and real in this storm of emotions.
The kiss was wild, fierce. Every emotion we'd buried came flooding out at once—fear, frustration, longing. There was nothing gentle about it. Every nerve in my body was alive, ignited by him, by the unspoken need between us that couldn't be denied anymore. And underneath it all, there was this ache—a bittersweet tenderness. Because this was the boy I'd known forever, who carried his scars with such quiet strength. The boy who'd suffered more than anyone deserves.
But even now, I'm afraid.
Afraid to let him see all the broken parts of me I hide, and the trauma I carry in silence. There's a darkness in my story that I can't bear to share, even with him.
What if he saw me differently?
What if all he saw from that point on was damaged goods?
The beach comes into view, and I slow my pace, letting my feet sink into the sand. The ocean stretches before me, endless and gray in the early morning light. I stare out at the waves, letting them swallow my thoughts. In these moments of stillness, Dad's absence hits hardest. This is the second birthday he's missed, and it feels like it will never get easier. Grief is a hollow space in my chest, the unspent love that has nowhere to go, it's just a constant ache that reminds me of everything he's missing.
I stand with eyes closed, listening to the waves crash against the shore, letting the tears come freely. The salt air mingles with the taste of salt on my lips, and I don't bother wiping them away. Sometimes the most important lessons come in these quiet moments, like how grief is just love with no place to go, and this morning, it's more than I can hold in.
When I finally make it back to the lake house, my legs feel like I've run a half marathon at record pace. The moment I step into the living room, I'm greeted by a burst of color and sound. Balloons and streamers fill the space as Mom, Lydia, Jake, and Ollie all scream, "Happy birthday!"
This has Lydia written all over it—confirmed by her bright, excited energy that fills the room. Jake grins as he gives me a hug. I can feel the tension in his body that's still lingering from yesterday. It makes the hug feel awkward and we've never felt awkward around each other.
Ollie steps up next, ruffling my hair like he always does.
"Happy birthday, Len," he says with his trademark lopsided grin before pulling me into another bear hug and kissing the top of my head.
"Thanks, Ol," I say, playfully swatting him away, though the familiar gesture brings comfort I didn't know I needed.
Mom waits for her turn, a soft smile on her face though worry lingers in her eyes.
"Happy birthday, my love." Her hug threatens to cut off my airways, but after this morning, it's exactly what I need. "My God, I can't believe you're seventeen."
The celebrations continue, but I can't help noticing Nate's absence. I try to hide my disappointment, wondering if like me, he needed space to process everything. Or maybe he was second-guessing it all. The uncertainty sits heavy in my stomach, even as I smile and laugh with everyone else.
At breakfast, Mom notices something's off—she always does. We rarely get moments like this anymore, just the two of us. Usually, we only cross paths at Ollie's games or briefly in the mornings as we rush in opposite directions.
"You okay?" she asks, her hand resting over mine. There's so much love there, so much patience, and I feel this rush of gratitude that almost brings tears back to my eyes.
"Yeah," I whisper, but the word feels hollow.
I wish I could tell her everything. But every time I try, it's like standing on a cliff edge overlooking a dark abyss. The words burn inside, a searing mix of shame and guilt, each memory sharpened to painful clarity. My heart pounds furiously, echoing in my ears like thunder.
Mom has been healing from Dad's loss for over a year now. I tried to keep it together, not wanting to add another worry to her life, but all it's done is chip away at me, piece by piece.
"You can talk to me, Nora. I know you're getting older now, but I'm always going to be here whether you're seventeen or forty-seven."
"I know, Mom." I offer her a small smile and take a sip of orange juice, letting the darkness win again.
"So how does it feel to be another year older?"
I stare across the café table at Mom, sunlight streaming through the window catching the light strands in her hair.
"How am I feeling?" A small laugh escapes me. "Well, I'm not sure I feel any wiser now that I'm another year older."
She laughs softly, warmth in her eyes.
"You're wise beyond your years. Just like your father." A flicker of pain crosses her expression, quickly replaced with pride. "He'd be proud of the woman you are. There was never a day that went by that he wasn't proud of you."
The words hit like a physical blow. I'm not sure that's true anymore. The memory of our last interaction burns—slamming the door in his face, telling him to leave me alone, that he didn't understand. All the words I wish I could take back but know I can't. I was angry and I took it out on him.
Then he was gone.
"Nora?" Mom's voice pulls me back.
"Hmm?"
"Where did you go just now?"
I take a breath, the next question slipping out before I can stop it. "Mom, how did you know Dad was the one?"
A tender smile spreads across her face, carrying a lifetime of memories.
"It's simple, really," she says, her gaze growing distant yet soft. "He was my best friend." She speaks with the breathless enthusiasm of a teenager remembering first love, describing what it was like to fall for the person she knew would be forever.
"I think that's how you know someone's meant to be in your life forever. They're the person you feel safest with, the one who can see through every crack and still look at you like you could do no wrong." She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "It's about finding someone who feels like home. Your dad, he was my home."
He was my home.
A familiar pair of hazel eyes flickers in my mind, and my heart skips.
I know someone who feels a little like that.
But he's also the storm, and I'm afraid that if I let him in, he'll pull me into depths I'm not sure I can handle.
Mom squeezes my hand again, bringing me back to the present.
"Your dad understood me in a way no one else did. It was like that from the start. Maybe that's what a soulmate really is—someone who sees you, even the parts you don't fully understand yet. And instead of telling you, they simply guide you to uncover those parts yourself when you're ready."
Her words follow me through the drive home, wrapping around me like one of Dad's old sweaters—warm and comforting despite the holes.
Jake's Range Rover is parked crookedly, taking up more space than necessary—so typical of him. I make my way up the porch steps, the wood creaking beneath my feet the way it always has. Inside, I can hear the faint sound of his music pulsing behind closed doors. He's been keeping his distance, even after the half-hearted "happy birthday" this morning. That's just him though, bottling everything up until it spills over.
I pause outside his door, fist hovering before I finally knock.
"Come in," he calls, voice low.
He's sprawled out on his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. His wary eyes flicker up at me for a second before dropping back down. I sit on the edge of his bed, nudging his shoulder.
"Hey," I say softly.
"Hey," he mumbles, not looking up. His tone is flat, and it stings more than I want to admit.
I take a deep breath, words tumbling out. "Are you still mad at me?"
His eyes finally meet mine, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Nora, I wouldn't know how to stay mad at you even if I tried." He props himself up on one elbow, and I notice how much he's changed—how much muscle he's put on since last year. He smirks, voice lighter now. "Besides, it's your birthday. I'd be a pretty shitty person to be mad at you today."
I laugh despite myself, and he squeezes my hand, expression softening.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday. That wasn't cool. It's just… hard. When Dad and Nate are at each other's throats, and I'm stuck in the middle of it all."
I nod, heart aching because I get it. I want the same thing he does—to feel like a family again. But life's not that kind, and wanting doesn't always make things better.
"So, about that list?" I say, standing up and yanking a pillow out from under him. "Let's go tick a few things off—just you and me."
His grin spreads as he catches the pillow mid-swat. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I grab the pillow back and swat him again, laughing. "Hurry up before I change my mind."
"All right, all right," he says, chuckling as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Let me get dressed."
We head out together, the tension dissolving into familiar comfort. At the bookstore, I clutch my manuscript draft under my arm, nervous flutter in my stomach as I prepare to share it with Alfie. Jake's brow furrows in surprise.
"Wait, you finished it? When were you planning to tell me?"
I fumble with the pages, "I… uh, wanted Alfie's feedback first. Maybe you can read it after him?"
There's a flicker of hurt in his eyes—I used to share everything with him first. He brushes it off with a casual nod. "Sure, whenever you're ready."
At the beach with our frozen yogurt, Jake finally breaks the silence, frustration clear in his voice.
"I just don't get it. Why can't Nate and Dad be in the same room without going to war? There's Nate's side, Dad's side, and Mom, although she seems to only take Nate's side anyway. I'm stuck in the middle. It's exhausting."
The secrets Nate entrusted to me weigh heavy—secrets that could upend everything if Jake knew. I choose my words carefully. "Maybe Nate has his reasons. And your mom, too. Sometimes, people keep things to themselves because it's their way of protecting others and themselves."
Jake narrows his eyes. "Like how you didn't tell Ollie about what happened at school last summer?"
His question catches me off guard and I freeze. "How… how did you know about that?"
What he knows—or doesn't—suddenly feels like the most important mystery in the world.
He shrugs. "Your mom mentioned it. Said you were having trouble with some girls, and I noticed none of your friends came to the funeral."
The memory stings, but I push it down. "That's just your typical high school girls being girls. I don't really think about it."
It's all I think about.
Before I can suggest heading to another location, my phone buzzes with a message from Camilla.
Camilla
HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY GIRLFRIEND!!!
What are you doing now?
Come to my place. We're all here swimming.
By we, I mean Marcus and Mia. Ollie's on his way (Mia invited him).
Nate's coming too.
Get your ass down here so I can squeeze you and wish you a proper happy birthday xxxx
Jake reads over my shoulder, and I feel his body tense as soon as he sees Nate's name.
He lets out a sigh. "You should go."
"You don't want to come?"
He shakes his head. "I told Mom I'd help her with something."
"You sure?"
He nods, forcing a smile. "Go. Enjoy the rest of your birthday, yeah?"
The moment I arrive at Camilla's, she throws her arms around me with enough force to nearly knock me backward. Her perfume surrounds me, sweet and slightly overpowering, just like her energy.
"Happy birthday!" she beams, holding my shoulders. "I am so excited you're here!"
I smile back, her enthusiasm infectious. "For such a tiny human, you have some serious strength."
"It's all the pilates I've started doing. Did Jake come with you?"
"No. He had to help his mom with something."
She waves that off. "We'll manage without him! I take it you don't have a change of clothes?"
I hesitate. "I actually didn't think about it, but I can text Ollie to bring something over from home."
"Don't be ridiculous." Camilla grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. "Come raid my closet. I've got more clothes than I know what to do with."
In her bedroom, which could rival a small department store, she pulls out a yellow bikini. "Here, wear this. It's brand new, tags still on. And yellow is your color, trust me."
I hold it up, heat flashing up my neck. "Where's the rest of it?"
"It's a bikini, not a wetsuit. You cannot tell me you're self-conscious with a body that looks like a Sports Illustrated model."
The compliment makes me uncomfortable. Ever since my body had been exposed and exploited, I'd felt uneasy baring my skin to anyone. Sensing my discomfort, Camilla walks over to another drawer and hands me a throw-over crochet dress.
"This looks expensive," I say, holding up the dress.
"Oh it is, but it was also a 'mom trying to buy my love' gift so I don't care if you cut it up and used it as a dish cloth."
I sense the hurt beneath the joke. Camilla has a hard exterior but like most of us, there's an underlying amount of pain that she doesn't let the world see.
"Where is your family, by the way?"
"They flew back to Beijing yesterday. Some big business deal or some shit that Dad is trying to close." She shrugs, pretending it's no big deal, but I can see the faint disappointment in her expression. "So, the whole house is mine. Well now, it's ours! I don't even know when they'll be back. If they even come back this summer."
It's on the tip of my tongue to say I'm sorry, but I know Camilla wouldn't want that. She doesn't do pity or apologies. So instead, I shift the subject, clutching the swimsuit tighter under my arm.
"Thank you, Camilla. Really."
She nudges me with her shoulder, her smile warm and easy again. "Thank me after you open your present."
"What? No. I don't??—"
"Nora, open the damn present," she interrupts, shoving a ridiculously large box into my hands. "Technically, it's from Marcus, Mia, and me. But I will be taking all the credit for the idea."
"This is too much," I say, shaking my head.
"You don't even know what it is yet. Could be a pair of really ugly socks in a really big box."
It weighs more than socks. I raise an eyebrow at her before tearing into the wrapping. My heart lurches when I lift the lid and see it—a brand-new laptop.
"Camilla, this is…" My voice wavers, and the words get stuck in my throat.
"The best gift ever? Yeah, I know." She grins, crossing her arms. "Now you can write your next ten books on something that doesn't belong in a museum. You're welcome."
It's not the laptop itself that gets me, it's what it means. These people—practically strangers not long ago—have somehow become a family I didn't know I needed. A family who believes in me. Tears well up, spilling over before I can stop them.
"Whoa, are those happy tears?" Camilla asks, her grin softening.
I laugh through the lump in my throat. "They're 'how did I get so lucky' tears. Thank you. I don't think I've ever had a friend like you, Camilla."
"Best friend," she corrects, pulling me into a tight hug. I let her, leaning into the comfort of it. "And same, girlfriend. I'm glad I stalked you at that café and forced my way into your life."
"Me too," I whisper, meaning it with everything in me.
Camilla pulls back, her expression shifting, more serious now. "Okay, real talk, how are you feeling? Yesterday was a lot. Are you okay after everything that happened?"
I hesitate, swallowing hard. "Kind of. I mean, things got intense after we left. Nate and I went for a drive. And well, we kissed."
Camilla gasps, then squeals, practically bouncing on the spot. "Umm, sorry what!? How and why are you only telling me this now? But also, finally!" Her hands fly to her cheeks as her grin stretches impossibly wider. "So? How do you feel about it?"
I sigh, unsure how to put it into words.
"I don't know. We haven't seen or spoken to each other since, and now I'm kind of nervous to see him. For years, we've been stuck in this weird in-between place. Friends but maybe something more? I don't know how to move forward."
Camilla tilts her head, studying me with an expression that's all-knowing and smug. "Please, you two were made for each other."
I blink, caught off guard. "Why do you say that?"
"Because," she says with a shrug, "that boy looks at you like he's memorizing every freckle on your face."
The comment sends a flutter through my chest, and she's not done.
"You don't just look at each other with butterflies and sparkles. It's deeper. It's messy and complicated, kinda like a fairytale that hasn't been written yet, but one that's going to be worth the read."
Her observation hits me harder than I expected, and I let out a slow breath.
"It's just… different with Nate. Like I said, we've always had this… connection. But I don't know how to move forward."
Camilla grips my shoulders gently.
"Nora, you can't force chemistry where it doesn't exist, but you also can't deny it when it's there. Just talk to him. Lay it out. If he is what you want, then tell him that. Boys are dumb when it comes to what's blatantly obvious and standing right in front of them."
Her confidence gives me a tiny spark of courage. Maybe she's right. Maybe Nate and I have been waiting too long in this gray area.
She nudges me toward the bathroom. "Now go try that on and let me see how it looks."
When I step out in the bikini, Camilla whistles dramatically.
"Oh, my God! You look insane. Seriously, Nate's going to physically drop dead when he sees you. Not that his opinion matters or anything. But still, he will die."
I laugh, rolling my eyes. "You're ridiculous."
We head back downstairs, Camilla chattering about the party and who's bringing what. As we step outside, she spots Nate pulling up. She leans in, her voice low but firm, "Shoot your shot, girl. Don't wait."
Her words hang in the air, more truth than advice. She's right—waiting for life to hand you the perfect moment is a trap. Because life isn't meant to be lived halfway. You can't half love, half risk, or half believe in yourself. You have to go all in, even if it terrifies you. Especially if it terrifies you. I look down at the bracelet still on my wrist, the one Nate gave me.
Fearless.
I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and step forward, ready to prove I was exactly that.