Before We Were

53. A Very Unhappy Fourth Of July

CHAPTER 53

A VERY UNHAPPY FOURTH OF JULY

NATE

PRESENT DAY

The morning is a blur of tables, chairs, and Ollie's non-stop chatter. Fourth of July at the Sullivans is always chaos, and Mom thrives on it. It's her thing. She runs the show, and the rest of us just follow orders. Ollie and I haul another set of chairs onto the lawn. The July sun beats down mercilessly, while sweat trickles down my back and humidity wrap around us like a suffocating blanket.

"So," I say, wiping my hands on my shorts, fighting for casual. "You and Mia? What happened while we were gone?"

Ollie's signature smirk appears as he adjusts the chairs. "I don't kiss and tell, pal."

"Come on," I prod, leaning against the table. "You're walking around on cloud nine right now. What’s the deal?”

He straightens, and something shifts in his expression—a rare moment of genuine vulnerability that catches me off guard.

“Fine. I really like her, man. Like, wife, kids, the whole deal kind of like her."

I bark out a laugh, but his expression doesn't waver. "Shit, you're serious."

"Dead serious, asshole." He folds his arms, but there's a lightness in his eyes. "Keep giving me shit, and you can kiss that Best Man title goodbye."

"Well, fuck me. Ollie-boy is going to beat us all to the altar."

"Shut up," he replies, throwing a cloth napkin at me, but I see it in his eyes—he's already picturing that future, and honestly? It suits him.

"For real though," I say, my voice softening. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks for your blessing," he says, and beneath the sarcasm, I hear genuine appreciation.

We continue pulling out chairs according to Mom's meticulous seating chart when Ollie clears his throat.

"Hey, uh, heads up about Jake," he adds, his tone shifting. "He came home late last night. Seemed pretty pissed about you and Nora at that concert. I told him it was a last-minute plan, for her birthday and all."

My muscles tense involuntarily. "Where is he?"

"Store run, I think." Ollie starts saying something else, but my attention scatters the moment I spot Nora. Everything else fades to white noise.

"I'll be back."

"You're not seriously leaving me to finish this, are you?" Ollie's voice follows me, but I'm already gone, drawn like a magnet to its pole.

Nora's in the kitchen, wearing a yellow dress that hug her curves in all the right places. It makes my blood surge hot. Her smile hits me like a physical fucking blow, threatening to knock me flat on my ass. Without thinking, I cross the room, grab her hand and pull her into the laundry room, door clicking shut behind us.

Her startled gasp mingles with my thundering pulse. Those wide eyes lock on mine, her chest rising in shallow breaths that match my own frantic rhythm.

I cradle her face, thumbs brushing velvet skin, and for one suspended heartbeat, we teeter on the edge of something inevitable. Then I break—lips crashing into hers with pent-up hunger that's been building for years. Not gentle—deep, consuming, desperate. She tastes like mint and something sweeter, something I could get drunk on forever.

"Hey," I rasp against her mouth.

She throws her arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer until there's nothing but heat and need between us.

“Hi,” She says, smile growing wider.

My hands dive into her hair, wrapping those silky strands around my fingers, tugging her head back to deepen the kiss. The noise she makes nearly ends me.

I push her up against the door harder than I meant to, some animal part of me roaring to life when her body cushions against the wood. Her hands are everywhere—chest, shoulders, waist—setting fires with every touch. When I trace those curves I've fantasized about for years, her gasp breaks against my mouth and I swallow it greedily.

My lips find her jaw, her throat, her pulse racing wild beneath my tongue. I want to mark her. Mine. Fucking mine.

"Nate," she whispers, and my name in that breathless voice makes my cock throb painfully.

She pulls back slightly. "Someone could catch??—"

"Let them," I growl, forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in. "I'm done pretending. I don't care what anyone thinks about us."

The blush that spreads down her neck makes me want to follow it with my tongue. Her lips—swollen from my kisses—part slightly, and I'm fighting not to take her right here with a houseful of people on the other side of this door. I find the hollow of her throat, sucking lightly, feeling her body arch into mine.

"You have no idea Nora,” I rasp, barely recognizing my own voice. “The fucking power you have over me.” I kiss her softly before saying into her mouth, “This dress..." My fingers dig into her hips, fighting the urge to tear the thin fabric like paper. “It’s dangerous, Leni."

Her laugh vibrates against my lips, her fingers yanking my hair just enough to make my eyes roll back.

"Dangerous?" she whispers, breath hot against my ear, and I'm so hard it hurts.

“Mhm. I’m gonna ruin it later," I murmur, nipping her earlobe. "It and you." I take her mouth again, catching her bottom lip between my teeth, wanting to devour her whole. “Can't wait to rip it off... watch it fall to the floor."

The moan that tears from her throat nearly shatters my control. Her head falls back, throat exposed—trusting me completely when she shouldn't.

"Like that idea?" I whisper against her collarbone, tasting salt and sweetness. "You'd let me tear it right off you before I devour you."

"Nate," she gasps, body pressing closer as my hands slide under her dress, finding bare thighs that scorch my palms. "You can't say things like??—“

I pull back, chest heaving like I've run miles. "Why not? Not pretending anymore, remember?"

The way she looks at me—fuck—like I hung the moon and stars. It peels me open, leaves me bleeding and raw and terrified and invincible all at once.

"We're not," she whispers without a trace of doubt.

"Good," I growl, eliminating every molecule of space between us. "Because, Len, you're mine."

Her gasp vanishes as I claim her mouth again, unleashing everything I've held back. She matches me beat for beat, like she always does—the only person who's ever kept up. My hands roam everywhere, greedy for more. The fabric bunches in my fists as I pin her hips against the door, fighting the urge to grind against her like a horny teenager.

I break away, lungs burning.

My fucking undoing.

I groan. My hands grip her thighs, lifting her until her legs wrap around my waist. The heat of her core against my stomach makes my vision blur at the edges. I'm gonna embarrass myself like I'm sixteen again if she keeps looking at me like that.

"Nate..." Her fingers trail down my chest, each touch burning through my shirt.

I kiss her harder, desperate to taste more, to memorize every inch of her. My lips find her jaw, her neck, feeling her shiver against me like she's coming apart.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this," I confess against her skin, truth tearing out of me before I can stop it. “You make me want to lose control and it fucking terrifies me."

Her fingers yank my head back until our eyes meet. I see everything there—vulnerability, desire, trust I don't deserve.

"Then lose it," she whispers, and those two words nearly break me.

A sound tears from my throat—half growl, half groan—as I crush my mouth to hers again. My hands slide higher, feeling the damp heat through her panties.

Fuuuuck.

Her whimper against my lips sends lightning down my spine.

Then she says it: "I am yours, Nate, and I want you to be the one to take it. All of it."

I freeze, blood roaring in my ears. Searching her face for any hesitation, any doubt. There's none—just those eyes that see right through every wall I've ever built.

"Nora," I manage, something protective and fierce clawing at my chest. "That wasn't what I meant when??—"

She cuts me off with that soft laugh that makes me feel ten feet tall. "I know. But I'm asking you to. I want it to be you.”

Something cracks open inside me—something raw and vulnerable I didn't know existed. I kiss her again, slower this time, trying to pour everything I can't say into it.

"We should probably go back," she whispers, not sounding convinced.

My fingers tease the edge of her panties, feeling slick heat that makes my head spin. "Just a couple more minutes. I missed you."

"You saw me this morning. In bed, no less."

The memory slams into me—her beneath me, gasping my name, nails drawing blood down my back—and I groan, adjusting myself painfully.

"Fuck, Nora. I don't know how I'm supposed to make it through this party when you do this to me."

Her giggle makes my chest ache with something I never knew I could feel.

"Tonight," she promises, eyes dark. "Just don't actually ruin the dress. It's my favorite."

I pull her against me one last time, kissing her hard before whispering, "I'll buy you a closet full if it means I can keep ruining them whenever you wear them."

She laughs. "You're crazy."

"For you? Entirely." And nothing has ever been more true.

We slip out of the laundry room, her hand brushing mine as we move back toward the chaos of party prep. The distant hum of chatter and laughter filters through the walls, grounding us back in reality. Each step feels like we're emerging from our own private world into one that's suddenly too bright, too loud.

Nora's cheeks are flushed, her hair slightly tousled, and she looks at me from under her lashes, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. Her fingertips touch her neck where my lips were moments ago, and the gesture sends heat coursing through me all over again. I catch her glance and wink, sealing our private moment between us.

"Try not to stare too much, will you?" she teases, smoothing down her dress with trembling fingers.

"I'll try, but I'm not making any promises." To her surprise, and maybe to prove a point about being done with hiding, I plant a kiss on her lips right there in the open. "Later though, I'm keeping all my promises."

"You're trouble, Nathaniel," she whispers, but her eyes spark with something that makes me want to drag her right back to that laundry room.

"Likewise, Lenora." I say with a wink.

We part ways and Ollie spots me the second I step back outside, his arms crossed, and a single eyebrow raised. "Oh, perfect timing, Nate. Really. Now that I've folded approximately forty napkins, rearranged tables twice, and listened to Lydia lecture me about floral symmetry, you've decided to grace us with your presence?"

I shrug, slapping him on the back as I pass, still riding high on the lingering taste of Nora's lips. "You're killing it, Ol. Keep up the good work."

He scoffs, leaning dramatically on the counter like he's about to pass out. "I am killing it, thanks for noticing. But you know what would be great? Some help from my brother-in-law."

I freeze mid-step, turning to glare at him. "You want to run that by me again?"

Ollie grins, waggling his eyebrows. "You think I didn't notice you slipping off with my sister? You're not exactly stealthy. And she came back looking like she just ran a marathon in a wind tunnel. I've got eyes, you know."

"Eyes and a death wish," I mutter, grabbing a tray of drinks to hide my mixed emotions. Part of me wants to deny it, another part wants to shout from the rooftops that she's mine.

"Relax," he says, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not going to say anything. But if you disappear again, I'm telling Lydia and letting her assign you to napkin duty. And trust me, she's ruthless."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small laugh that escapes. "You're such a pain in the ass."

"That's what I'm here for," Ollie says cheerfully, grabbing a bowl of chips and heading toward the yard. But then he pauses, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Hey." He turns back to look at me, all traces of teasing gone. "Don't hurt her, yeah?"

The simple request hits me like a punch to the gut. There's trust in those words—trust I'm not sure I deserve but desperately want to earn. I nod, a lump forming in my throat, and watch him walk off. For all his teasing and big-brother antics, Ollie's always had Nora's back. Seeing him now, giving me a quiet warning but still trusting me with his little sister, hits differently.

I've always known Ollie as the jokester, the one who doesn't take anything too seriously, but when it comes to Nora, he's different. Protective, but not suffocating. He's letting me in, even though I know it can't be easy for him to see his little sister and his best friend together like this. I respect the hell out of him for it. For trusting me not to screw this up, for giving me a chance to prove I'm the guy who's going to take care of her heart, not break it.

Guests start trickling in not long after, filling the backyard with the familiar mix of neighbors, family friends, and the odd straggler who always manages to find their way to a Sullivan party. Laughter spills out from every corner, kids chase each other across the lawn, and the scent of barbecue wafts through the air. Mom is in her element, effortlessly charming everyone as she floats from group to group, ensuring drinks are topped off and plates are full. It's chaos, but it's her brand of chaos, the kind that makes everyone feel like they belong.

I'm hauling another bag of ice inside when I spot Nick making his way through the door. He's casual as ever, hands shoved in his pockets, that signature smirk plastered across his face like he doesn't have a care in the world. Somehow, he always manages to look like he belongs, no matter where he is.

"Your mom invited me," he says in lieu of a hello, grinning as he claps me on the shoulder.

I snort, handing him a beer from the fridge without him even asking. "Surprised it wasn't Kat."

Nick chuckles, twisting off the cap. "You're funny."

We settle into an easy rhythm of conversation, catching up on nothing and everything. When I bring up the concert, I fish the key to his apartment out of my pocket and hand it back.

"Thanks again for letting us crash," I say.

Nick waves it off like it's nothing. "Anytime. It's yours whenever you need it."

For a moment, I just look at him, taking in the casual confidence, the way he's always been there when I needed him, whether I realized it at the time or not. Nick's not just a friend; he's become something more. A mentor, maybe, or the older brother I didn't know I needed. He's steady in a way I envy, a grounding force in a life that's felt like it's been spiraling for as long as I can remember.

"So, how're things with Nora?" he asks, the question casual but weighted with more meaning than his tone lets on.

I don't have to scan the crowd to find her. I never do. She's standing near the pool, laughing at something Camilla said, her hair catching the glow of the sun overhead. She's magnetic, effortlessly drawing people in. And me? I'm utterly and hopelessly caught.

"I think things are looking up," I say, my voice softer than I intended.

Nick glances at me, his smile subtle but knowing. He claps me on the shoulder again, the gesture saying more than words ever could. Approval. Encouragement. A quiet reminder that I've got someone in my corner. He doesn't linger, leaving me with my thoughts as he wanders off to join a group by the grill. I look back toward Nora, watching the way she lights up the space around her, and I want this feeling to last forever.

That's when Jake's voice cuts through the yard, clear and loud, like he's announcing some grand prize.

"I brought an addition to the party," he calls out, and the grin in his tone is unmistakable.

The words barely register before a familiar voice follows, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"Hi, everyone!"

Farrah.

My grip on my drink falters, and for a split second, I'm sure it's going to hit the ground. Fury bubbles up hot and immediate as I glance toward the patio. There she is in her designer shoes and perfectly curated casual look, standing like she fucking owns the place. Jake, either oblivious or deliberately reckless, stands next to her, looking far too pleased with himself.

The question burns in my mind: Is this his way of getting back at me?

The air in my lungs feels sharp, like broken glass as I scan the yard. My eyes land on Nora, who's sitting with Mia and Camilla at a table. She's mid-laugh until her gaze shifts, catching sight of Farrah. Her shoulders stiffen, the light in her expression dimming as she tugs at the hem of her dress—a nervous tic I know all too well. The sight is like a knife to the gut.

The boiling anger in me shifts, sharpening into something primal and protective. Every muscle in my body coils tight as I stride across the yard. By the time I reach Farrah, I'm barely holding it together.

She turns at the sound of my footsteps, lips curving into that saccharine smile I've grown to hate.

"Nate," she coos, and I recognize the fake sweetness in her tone.

"Inside. Now," I grit out, my voice low and controlled, barely.

Her brows lift in mock surprise. "Aren't you happy to see me?" She reaches out to stroke my hair like she used to, the gesture calculated to provoke.

I jerk away from her touch, my glare cutting like a blade. She tilts her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. She's enjoying this. She always did thrive on drama.

"Inside," I repeat, my voice like steel.

Rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair, she lets me steer her toward the house. As soon as the door shuts behind us, I round on her, my hands braced on the counter as I fight to keep my voice level.

"What the actual fuck is your problem, Farrah?"

She crosses her arms, the picture of indignation. "My problem? You're the one dragging me in here like some overbearing asshole."

"We're done, remember?" I snap. "Done. What part of that didn't you get?"

"Your brother invited me, asshole," she interrupts with a smirk that sets my teeth on edge.

Her words reignite the fury burning in my chest.

"And you just had to accept, didn't you?"

Her smile widens as she steps closer, pressing against boundaries she knows damn well exist.

"Come on, Nate." She starts tracing a hand down my chest. "You and I both know we're never really done."

I grab her wrist, holding it firm enough to stop her but not hurt her. "Don't touch me."

She pulls back, her eyes narrowing as her sweet facade crumbles. "Is this seriously because of her ?" she spits, venom dripping from every word.

"Watch your mouth, Farrah," I warn, my voice dangerously low. The thought of her even speaking Nora's name makes my blood boil.

She presses on, undeterred. "Do you love her, Nate? Or is she just another distraction from your fucked-up little life?"

Her words hit a nerve, raw and exposed, but I don't back down. I step closer, my gaze locking with hers.

"You don't get to talk about her, period. Because she's…" I pause, the truth clawing its way to the surface.

She's everything you could never be.

Her face twists in anger before she sneers, "What? A fragile little whore who needs you to fight her battles for her?"

Something snaps inside me.

Before I can stop myself, I've pinned her against the counter, my rage a barely controlled inferno.

"I told you to watch your fucking mouth," I growl, my voice shaking with intensity. "I won't say it again. Understand?"

Her eyes widen, a flash of fear flickering before she masks it with defiance. Before the tension can escalate further, the door creaks open and Mom steps in. The timing is almost too perfect, like she has a sixth sense for damage control. I step back, putting distance between us.

"Everything okay here?" she asks, her sharp gaze flicking between us.

Farrah's smile returns instantly, syrupy sweet. "Of course. I was just grabbing a salad bowl to take outside."

I watch, incredulous, as she picks up the nearest bowl and walks out, her exit as graceful as ever. The smell of her perfume lingers, cloying and artificial, so different from Nora's subtle, sweet scent.

Mom raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Just so you know, I never liked her."

I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through my hair. The anger is still there, simmering under my skin, but Mom's presence helps ground me.

"To be fair, I'm not sure I ever really did either."

Mom folds her arms, concern etching lines around her eyes. "Jake invited her?"

I nod, frustration bleeding into my voice. "We're not—I don't know why he did."

Her gaze softens, but there's worry there too. "Have you spoken to him yet? About??—"

"No," I cut in. "You need to though. Sooner the better."

"I know, Nate. Just… not today. Please. We've got guests, and the last thing I want is a scene." The irony of saying this after what just happened with Farrah isn't lost on me.

"Fine," I say softly, though the word tastes bitter.

Kat strolls into the kitchen, her eyes bright with mischief. "What'd I miss?"

The second I step outside, I zero in on Jake.

He's leaning against the table, drink in hand, talking to Ollie, looking far too casual for someone who just lit a goddamn fuse.

"Jake," I snap, striding over to him. The sun beats down mercilessly, but the heat in my blood burns hotter.

He looks up, feigning surprise with practiced ease. "What?"

"Why did you invite her?" I demand, keeping my voice low enough not to draw attention. My fists clench at my sides, the sharp edge in my voice could cut through steel.

He shrugs, his calculated nonchalance lighting a fire under my already boiling blood. "Guess it must really suck to be out of the loop when things are happening."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" I growl, tension crackling between us like static before a storm.

"Relax, man. Jesus." He takes a slow sip of his drink, as if he's got all the time in the world. The casualness is practiced, deliberate, designed to get under my skin.

"I saw her at the store. She didn't have anything on, so I invited her. You'd think you'd be happy to see your??—"

"She's not my girlfriend," I bite out, cutting him off. The words taste like acid. "She never was."

"Oh, that's right," he says, his tone laced with bitterness that runs deeper than this moment. "She's just your side piece"

What the hell is he so mad about? Mom hasn't told him about the divorce yet, but does he already know? Or is this about Nora? The questions swirl in my mind, each possibility more maddening than the last.

"I don't know what's going on with you," I say, my voice dangerously low, each word measured and precise. "But that—" I point toward where Farrah disappeared, the gesture sharp and accusatory— "was really un-fucking-called for."

I turn to walk away, trying to rein in the fury simmering beneath my skin, but Jake's casual jab pushes me past my breaking point. I whirl back around, words spilling out before I can stop them.

"And honestly, consider yourself lucky for being out of the loop. Must be nice living a life with such ease."

His eyes narrow, and the easygoing facade he was wearing shatters. "What’s that supposed to mean?" His voice rises, loud enough to draw eyes from across the yard.

"Okay, how about we all just take a nice, long, deep breath," Ollie interjects, stepping between us like a human barrier. The tension in his shoulders betrays his light tone—he knows this is more than just brotherly bickering.

But Jake isn't backing down. Something's shifted in him, like a dam breaking.

"You know what? I'm so tired of your cryptic bullshit, Nate." The words burst out of him, raw and accusatory. "That's half your problem. You expect everyone to just know what you're going through, but you never actually talk about any of it. Dad was right. We're all just supposed to walk around on eggshells because God forbid we say the wrong thing and send you down on another one of your??—"

"Enough!" Mom's voice slices through the noise, sharp and commanding.

The word echoes in my head as I look at Jake, my little brother, still living in his bubble of ignorance. He still thinks Scott's innocent, and part of me envies that luxury. I wish I could believe that. I wish I could simmer in denial and imagine a version of our father that wasn't the monster I knew him to be. Bile burns in my throat while nausea churns in my gut. The urge to destroy something—anything—claws at my insides. I want to pound my fists against a wall until my knuckles crack and bleed. I want to scream until my throat is shredded, raw and blistered.

Until I can't speak.

If I can't speak, I can't lie.

And if I can't lie, I won't have to live in this version of purgatory, caught between protecting him and destroying his world.

The yard falls silent, every pair of eyes burns into us. I feel like most of my life I've been living in a zoo anyway, so this seems fitting. The anger that's been brewing for years boils over, impossible to contain any longer.

"Open your fucking eyes, Jake."

The words hang heavy in the humid air, and for a moment, confusion flickers across his expression. It's like he doesn't want to hear what I'm saying, doesn't want to acknowledge the cracks in the perfect picture he's painted of our father. The willful blindness in his eyes just feeds the fire in my chest.

"If you think he actually gives two fucks about you, you're setting yourself up for heartache," I continue, my voice low but firm. Each word feels like glass in my throat. "You're a pawn in his game, and the second you cross him, he'll forget you're his blood."

Jake's face hardens, his jaw tightening as anger flashes in his eyes. "Wow. You really do have your head so far up your own ass you can't hear the shit you're spitting out."

"Paint me as the villain all you want," I say, stepping closer, the weight of years of secrets pressing against my chest like a stone. "But you're making a bed with the devil, so you better be ready to sleep in it, because I'm done protecting you from him."

"I never needed you protecting me from shit!" he yells, his voice cutting through the buzz of the party like a knife.

The hardest part?

He has no idea how wrong he is. But he'll learn.

He has to.

Even if watching that realization break him breaks me, too.