46. Fresh Paint Over Old Cracks
CHAPTER 46
FRESH PAINT OVER OLD CRACKS
NATE
I'm more than an idiot—I'm the world's biggest asshole, especially after seeing the raw hurt flash across her face. It was like watching something precious shatter, knowing I'm the one who dropped it.
Pretend it didn’t happen.
That’s not what I want.
Not even fucking close.
But there's a gulf between desire and necessity. My life is a minefield of broken pieces barely held together by determination and denial. Yet despite everything I told her, one truth remains: I can't lose her.
Which is why, trudging toward Sonder, I finally let myself consider Nick's offer. The thought of performing on opening night makes my stomach twist like I'm facing a firing squad, but her words echo in my head, clear as day: "You sell yourself short, Nate."
She said it like a fundamental truth, like she could see past all my barriers. And maybe she does.
The instant I push through Sonder's doors, fresh paint fumes assault my senses. It's an oddly comforting mix—citrus cleaner mingling with the earthiness of the restored hardwood floors Nick insisted on keeping. We've been pouring ourselves into this place, every spare moment spent painting walls, hauling furniture, rewiring ancient sound systems. It's exhausting work, but it's been my lifeline. Something about the meditation of painting, the burn of moving heavy equipment, silences the chaos in my head. Right now, that silence is exactly what I need—anything to drown out the replay of Nora's hurt expression.
Nick's already here, methodically stacking chairs, and his knowing grin when he spots me sets my teeth on edge.
"Wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours."
"Thought I'd get ahead," I mutter, snagging a paint roller and beelining for the back wall.
"Yeah? Or are you working off whatever's eating you alive?" His perception is razor-sharp, but mercifully, he doesn't push.
I focus on the wall, watching fresh paint cover old scars. If only fixing myself were this simple—just keep rolling until the cracks disappear beneath a fresh coat. But I know better. Some damage runs too deep for quick fixes.
When Nick catches my eye again, his expression shifts to something lighter.
"Hey, got something for you." He produces an envelope from behind the counter, sliding it over with barely contained excitement.
Two tickets spill into my palm. Jimmy Eat World at the Summer Sounds Music Festival—a show that sold out months ago.
"You're kidding."
"Nope." His casual shrug can't hide his pleased expression. "Figured you might need an excuse to get out of town. Maybe bring a certain someone?"
My fingers trace the tickets' edges as guilt twists in my gut. "Not sure that's smart. Nora and I… we talked."
His grin falters. "And?"
"I told her we should be friends and pretend nothing happened between us."
"And is that what you actually want?" The disappointment in Nick's voice cuts deep.
"What else can I do?" The words scrape out of my throat. "I've got enough baggage to sink the Titanic, twice. She doesn't deserve that shit."
"That wasn't my question." Nick studies me with that infuriating patience of his. "What's the real fear here, Nate? What are you running from?"
My chest constricts as the truth claws its way up. I release a shaky breath. "Are you ever afraid of becoming someone you hate? Like it's written in your DNA?"
"You're afraid you'll become like your dad." He states simply, not a question.
Hearing him mention dad makes my shoulders tense. "Sometimes it feels inevitable. Like one day I'll wake up and see his face in the mirror. The anger, the destruction—it's already there, waiting."
Nick's expression softens. "Do you honestly believe that? That you could be him?"
My silence speaks volumes.
"Nate, you were a kid forced to be an adult, trying to protect your mom. That level of responsibility would break most people, let alone a child. Sure, it left scars. But you're not him. The fact that you're terrified of becoming him proves it."
His words crack something open inside me, letting light leak through.
"You can't keep pushing people away because you think you're broken. And you don't get to decide how other people feel toward you. That's up to them. Life's messy, Nate, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve someone who sees through the shit. Someone who accepts you as is—not as a project, but as a person."
The raw honesty makes me want to run, but I force myself to stay.
"You're running from ghosts," Nick continues, sliding the tickets back across the counter with a set of keys. "Stop hiding from what hasn't happened. Make choices the man you want to be would make. If you need a place to crash, my apartment in Brookville is yours."
I finger the keys, trying to lighten the moment. "Sure you're not a secret billionaire dressed as a hillbilly?"
He chuckles. "Nah. Just someone who believes in good people." His gaze pins me. "I see the good in you. Maybe it's time you did too."
Nora's in the kitchen when I get back, lost in a book while stirring her coffee. The domestic scene makes my heart stutter.
I clear my throat. "Free tomorrow night?"
She looks up, curiosity flickering across her face. "Why?"
I produce the tickets, aiming for casual. "Interested in Jimmy Eat World?"
Her eyes widen. "Those shows have been sold out forever! How??—?"
"Nick's connections. Thought you might want to go."
She tilts her head, guard rising. "As friends?"
"Yeah." I force lightness into my tone. "We're still friends, right?"
Ollie crashes our moment, fresh from the shower. His eyes dart between us. "Where are we going?"
I smirk. "I'm taking your sister to Jimmy Eat World tomorrow."
"What!? What about me? Your best friend, remember?" His dramatic pout almost makes me laugh.
"I'm sure you can make plans with Mia. Or Jake."
"Jake's gone," Ollie mutters. "Some swim meet or some shit. Left this morning."
Something about that doesn't sit right. A swim meet during summer break? Jake never mentioned it, and he tells Ollie and Nora everything. But I file that worry away for later.
Instead, I watch Nora examine the tickets, catching her subtle tells—the way she worries her bottom lip, how her fingers fidget with her book's pages. She's weighing this, probably remembering yesterday's disaster. The doubt in her eyes makes me question everything, but Nick's words echo: stop running from what hasn't happened yet .
"Wait—these are VIP?" Her eyebrows shoot up as she studies the tickets.
I shrug. "Nick has got pull. So? Or should I take him?" I gesture to Ollie, who's massacring a cookie.
A smile tugs at her lips. "Fine. I'm in." She hands back the tickets and heads for the hall.
Once she's gone, Ollie turns his exaggerated disappointment on me. "For real? You're not taking me? You know I love them."
I toss him the Mustang keys. "I'll make sure your birthday gets special treatment. Don't scratch it."
His pout transforms into a grin. He points at me, suddenly serious. "Take care of my sister, yeah?"
"Always," I answer without hesitation, the word carrying more weight than he knows.