54. Like A Bull In A China Shop
CHAPTER 54
LIKE A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP
NORA
Nate's voice slices through the air as cold as ever.
"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."
Jake's response erupts, raw and jagged. "I never needed you to protect me from shit!"
My heart stutters in my chest. I've seen Jake angry before—storming off after fights with Nate—but this feels different. This anger has teeth, deep-rooted and poisonous, like something that's been festering beneath the surface for years.
I stand frozen, anxiety crawling up my throat like thorns. Every muscle in my body screams to move, to do something, but I'm paralyzed in this familiar space—the no-man's land between two brothers tearing each other apart. It's killing me watching the people I love most turn into strangers before my eyes.
"Jake, please—" My voice comes out soft, pleading, as I step toward him.
He doesn't look at me. "Not now, Nora."
The words crack like a whip before he storms into the house, leaving me standing there with Nate, the summer night suddenly cold against my skin. I glance at Nate—his expression thunderous—but Jake's retreating figure pulls me after him like gravity. I follow him into the kitchen, only to stop dead at the sound of hushed voices.
"Does Jake know about the divorce yet?" Mom asks, voice careful and low.
"No," Lydia replies, barely a whisper. "We haven't told him yet. We were waiting for the right time."
My blood turns to ice.
Jake's voice cuts through the tension like shattered glass. "You're getting a fucking divorce?"
I peek around the corner to see him standing there, color draining from his face, betrayal etched into every line of his body. Lydia reaches for him, but he recoils like her touch might burn.
"Jake," she begins, voice trembling. "We were going to tell you??—"
"When?!" The word explodes from him, raw and bleeding. "Jesus Christ, does everyone in this family love keeping secrets from me?"
Lydia flinches, tears welling in her eyes. "We thought we were protecting you??—"
"You and Nate just love throwing that in my face, don't you?" His laugh is hollow, echoing off the kitchen tiles. "Protecting me from what? The truth? Because apparently I'm the last person here who deserves it."
"Jake, please," she tries again, desperation threading through her words.
"Don't." The word falls flat and lifeless. "Just… don't."
"We thought we were doing what was best," Lydia pleads, tears streaming down her face.
"We?" Contempt drips from his voice. "Who's 'we'? Because the only person who actually seems honest with me anymore is Dad. He said you were good at keeping secrets."
Lydia's face drains of color, her composure shattering completely.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until Jake breaks it by grabbing his keys off the counter. The metal jingles discordantly as he heads for the door, his movements sharp and jerky. My stomach drops—he's in no condition to drive.
"Jake, wait!" I chase after him, panic rising in my chest. "Please, just—wait."
I catch him on the porch, but he's already halfway down the steps. That's when I notice the sleek Mercedes idling at the end of the driveway, bass-heavy music pulsing through the night air. Farrah leans against the passenger door, her friends watching us like vultures circling prey.
“Don't do this," I plead, moving closer.
He turns, and the storm in his eyes makes me step back. “Did you know?” His voice drops low, dangerous.
I falter, heart pounding. “Know what?"
“About the divorce?” He snaps, the words cracking like thunder. “Did you know and not say anything?”
The word falls from my lips like a stone. "I—I didn't know about the divorce."
"Don't fucking lie to me, Nora. Not you." His eyes search mine, looking for deception.
"Jake, I swear, I had no idea." I reach for his arm but he pulls away.
I swallow hard, guilt turning my tongue to lead. “Look, Nate wanted to talk to you about every??—"
"Un-fucking-believable." He cuts me off with a sharp laugh that holds no humor. "I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other?” His voice cracks. "You're just as bad as they are."
The accusation hits like a physical blow, stealing my breath. "Jake, I wasn't trying to take sides??—"
"Of course, you weren't," he says, bitterness dripping from every word. "You never take sides. Unless Nate's involved."
"That's not fair??—"
"Let me ask you something." He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that pins me in place. "If it were Nate in my place, would you have kept any of this from him?"
The silence stretches between us like a chasm. My hesitation speaks volumes.
Jake's bitter laugh cuts through the night air. "That's what I thought."
He turns toward Farrah's car, raising his voice. "Got room for one more?"
Farrah's triumphant grin gleams in the darkness. "For you? Of course."
Jake tosses his keys at me without looking back. "Guess I won't be needing these."
I catch them reflexively, the metal biting into my palm as I watch him climb into the car. The door slams with a finality that echoes in my chest, and seconds later, the Mercedes peels out of the driveway, taillights bleeding into the late afternoon glow like fresh wounds.
I stand frozen, clutching his keys until my knuckles turn white. This isn't just about the divorce or the secrets. It's everything—years of feeling second-best, of buried hurt and unspoken words, all erupting at once like a volcano we should have seen coming.
And I don't know how to fix it.
I don't even know if I can.
When I head back inside, I find Nate sprawled on the couch, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers like a lifeline. The party continues outside, but here, time seems suspended. He stares at the ceiling, shoulders rigid with tension, looking more defeated than I've ever seen him.
"Jake just left," I say, the keys still cutting into my palm. "He got in a car with Farrah and a group of people."
Nate barely glances at me, taking a long pull from his drink before responding. "Let him go."
"Are you serious?" My voice rises sharply, but his detached gaze remains steady. "He's angry, Nate. He's not thinking straight."
"And you think I am?" He raises the bottle in a mock toast. "He's a big boy. Let him make his own mistakes."
"That's not fair, and you know it." I step closer, anger and fear warring in my chest. "He's spiraling. I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing."
He lets out a harsh laugh that sounds more like pain than humor. "What do you want me to do? Drag him back by his ear? He doesn't want my help. He doesn't want yours. Let him go."
"No," I say, planting my feet. "Someone has to look out for him, and if you won't, then I will."
He sets the drink down with a sharp crack, leaning forward with intensity burning in his eyes. "I've spent my whole life looking out for him. Maybe he's right. Maybe it's time he sees how fucked up things really are."
"Fine." I cross my arms, steel in my spine. "Then I'll go after him myself."
He stares at me, frustration and something deeper etched into his features. Before he can argue, voices spill in from the hallway. Ollie, Mia, Camilla, and Marcus burst into the room, their laughter dying as they read the tension crackling in the air.
"Where's Jake?" Ollie asks, his grin fading as he takes in our expressions.
Nate leans back, voice flat as desert sand. "He left. Apparently, Farrah's more fun than we are."
Marcus perks up. "Shay and Harlow are throwing something tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where they were heading."
"Well looks like we’re going to a party then," Ollie says, already moving toward the door. "I'll drive!"
"No, you won't," Mia cuts in, planting herself in his path. "You've had too much already."
"I'm fine," Ollie protests, but Mia's stern look silences him.
"I'll drive," she declares, gesturing to Marcus and Camilla. "You three are coming with me."
"You two okay to ride together?" Camilla asks, glancing between Nate and me with knowing concern.
"I'm driving," I say quickly, before Nate can object.
He groans, rubbing his face. "Fine."
Mia shepherds her group out, and Nate pushes off the couch with deliberate slowness, like every movement costs him. At the door, he pauses and looks back. "Don't get your hopes up."
I don't reply because hope isn't what's driving me anymore. It's fear—fear of what Jake might do, fear of losing him, fear of everything falling apart.
The late afternoon air bites at my exposed skin as Nate unlocks the Range Rover and slides into the passenger seat. I start the engine, the dashboard casting an eerie glow across his face. He looks exhausted. I pull out of the driveway, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.
What the hell are we about to walk into?
The party hits me like a wall of chaos—pure, unfiltered teenage rebellion ripped straight from a movie screen. Music thunders through the walls, making my ribcage vibrate. Bodies pack every corner like sardines, the air thick with the sickly-sweet smell of spilled beer and stale smoke. Red cups litter every surface, and the kitchen's a warzone of scattered liquor bottles and sticky counters. A couple is tangled against the wall in the living room, lost in their own world. A whoop echoes from upstairs, and I force my mind away from what that might mean.
This is not my world. I feel like an imposter as I navigate through the crowd, searching for Jake's familiar face. People greet Nate like he's returned royalty, but his expression remains distant, focused. His hand hovers protectively over my lower back as he guides me through the chaos, his broad frame carving a path through the sea of bodies.
He leans down, his breath warm against my ear. "I'm gonna check out back. You good here?"
I nod quickly, trying to project confidence I don't feel. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He studies me for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but heads toward the sliding glass doors, leaving me to navigate this maze alone. I walk aimlessly around for a few minutes. The bass-heavy music pulses through my chest as I squeeze past sweating bodies, muttering apologies. The air feels thick, almost unbreathable, and my eyes dart frantically, searching for Jake.
Instead, I collide with someone else entirely.
"Sorry," I mumble, looking up, and my world stops spinning.
Time freezes, the music fading to white noise.
Evan.
His predatory eyes rake over me like hot coals, and my stomach lurches. Ice floods my veins.
"Well, well," he drawls, lips curling into that familiar, sinister smile. "Look who it is."
I want to run, to scream, to shove past him, but my body betrays me, locking up as terror coils around my throat like a snake.
"You've been avoiding me," he says, stepping closer, his voice a poisonous whisper. "Starting to think you were doing it on purpose."
"Leave me alone," I manage, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.
But he doesn't. He leans in, his breath hot and suffocating against my skin.
"Remember what I told you, Nora? Open your mouth and those sexy little videos go viral. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
My chest constricts painfully, bile rising in my throat. His hand brushes my waist, and memories of his touch flash through my mind like shards of broken glass.
I'm frozen, sick, helpless all over again.
"God, I missed how you tasted," he murmurs, his grip tightening as he leans closer.
And then suddenly, he's gone.
Yanked backward with such force that I stumble. Before I can process what's happening, Nate's fist connects with Evan's jaw with a sickening crack that echoes over the music. The room seems to hold its breath.
"You have some fucking nerve touching her," Nate growls, his voice like gravel dragged over steel.
Evan stumbles, laughing bitterly as blood trickles from his split lip.
Nate doesn't flinch. His hand fists in Evan's shirt, eyes blazing with murderous fury. "Touch her again," he says, voice low and lethal, "and I'll break every fucking bone in your body, twice."
"Enjoy my seconds, Sullivan," he spits venomously. "She's a little too soft for my taste, but still fun."
I see the exact moment Nate snaps—his eyes darkening to obsidian, his body coiling like a spring loaded with violence. Fear stabs through me, sharp and cold.
"Nate, don't—" I choke out, but it's too late.
In a heartbeat, Nate tackles Evan, driving him through the coffee table with a thunderous crash. The room erupts—gasps and shouts mixing with the sound of shattering glass. Nate pins Evan down, his fists flying with a brutality that turns my stomach. Evan thrashes beneath him, swinging wildly, but Nate's rage is unstoppable, a force of nature unleashed.
"Stop it!" I scream, but my voice drowns in the chaos.
Connor bursts through the crowd like a bull, grabbing Nate and wrenching him back. Before anyone can react, Connor's fist catches Nate's jaw with a sound that makes me flinch. Nate staggers but recovers instantly, the fury in his eyes burning brighter as he launches himself at Connor, turning the fight into a savage brawl.