55. The Responsible Adult
CHAPTER 55
THE RESPONSIBLE ADULT
NATE
The music hits like a thunderclap the second we step inside Shay and Harlow's house, bass reverberating through my bones. Bodies pack the space wall-to-wall, the air heavy with sweat and cheap beer. By the keg, guys chant like they're summoning ancient spirits, while couples press against walls as if the world might end tomorrow. Some kid I half-recognize lies unconscious on the couch, fingers wrapped around an empty bottle like it's keeping him alive. A classic Eden elitist party—nothing subtle about it, nothing genuine either.
The crowd surges around me like a living creature, hungry and suffocating. People slap my back, shouting my name as if we share some deep connection, treating me like their hometown hero. It sets my teeth on edge. They're clueless about what's really at stake tonight, and I don't have patience for their manufactured friendship.
I push through the mass of bodies, a single question burning in my throat: "Have you seen Jake?"
Most just shrug, eyes glazed and distant, too far gone to care. Others can't even hear me over the music that rattles the windows like an approaching storm.
"Nate!" Jay's voice slices through the chaos. He leans against the kitchen counter, joint dangling from his fingers like a red flag, wearing that perpetual smirk that seems permanently etched on his face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, tension coiling in my muscles.
He exhales smoke in lazy spirals, unbothered as always.
"Got some buyers here. Came to make a quick deal." His eyes flick over me, calculating. "Didn't expect to see you. Thought this wasn't your scene."
"It's not." My gaze drifts to the writhing mass of bad decisions behind me. "I'm looking for my brother. Have you seen him?"
Jay takes another drag, the gesture as loose as his ethics. "By the firepit. Guy looks pretty cooked."
Of course he is.
My fingers curl into fists, knuckles whitening as familiar guilt twists in my chest. Jake drinking himself stupid with people who couldn't care less about him. Maybe I've been wrong all these years, trying to shield him from the truth like some misguided guardian angel—it's done more harm than good. Maybe the lies I told to protect him, pretending everything was fine while our world crumbled, make me no better than our parents. Just another person in his life dealing in beautiful deceptions.
"Let's go," I say, voice hard as steel as I turn toward the backyard.
Jay falls in step beside me as we navigate the human labyrinth. Outside mirrors the chaos—more bodies, more noise, weed smoke hanging thick as fog. The firepit blazes like a warning signal, surrounded by guys laughing too loud, bottles glinting dangerously in their hands.
And there he is.
Jake sways on his feet, beer clutched like armor, drunker than when he stormed out earlier. He spots me before I can speak, throwing his arms wide like he's center stage in his own tragedy.
"Well, look who it is!" His voice cuts through the night like shattered glass, sharp with something darker than alcohol. "The prodigal son! You just don't quit, do you?" He turns to the girl beside him, who clings to his waist like she's afraid he'll dissolve into smoke. "Kelsie, you know my brother Nate? I'm sure you've probably hooked up at some point, right?"
The girl shrinks away from his venomous words.
I clench my jaw until metal floods my mouth but keep my voice steady as still water. "Let's go. We're leaving."
He barks out a laugh that sounds nothing like my brother, lifting his beer in mock salute.
"Nah, I'm good right here, thanks."
He drains the bottle in one go, throat working like he's trying to swallow more than just alcohol, and someone hands him a fresh one like feeding kindling to a fire.
"Jake, I'm fucking serious. Let's go."
He stumbles closer, firelight dancing in his glassy eyes like fever dreams.
"Why are you even here, Nate? I don't need you to babysit or protect me anymore."
Frustration tangles in my chest like barbed wire. He doesn't understand—everything I've done, my whole life, has been about shielding him from the pain that's haunted our family like a curse. But I swallow the words. He wouldn't hear them anyway, not through the walls of alcohol and anger he's built around himself.
"Nora was worried about you," I offer instead, truth extended like an olive branch.
His smirk turns sharp as a blade. "Sure she was." He pauses, voice cutting deeper than any knife. "Tell me, have you fuck??—"
"I'm going to stop you right now before you say something you'll really regret." My words sharpen to a razor's edge, warning wrapped in steel. "You're drunk and need to get your ass home."
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm saying." He steps closer, beer sloshing like blood as he points at me with unsteady precision. "I should have known she'd always choose you. No matter how fucked up you are, no matter what it costs, she'll always choose you. And that's what will destroy her someday. You can't be stupid enough not to see that."
Each word slices into wounds I've been trying to ignore, reopening them with surgical accuracy. Would she always choose me? And if she did, was that salvation or damnation? Was I toxic for her, dragging her into my darkness in ways I refused to acknowledge?
Before I can respond, Jake gets in my face, anger radiating off him in waves hot enough to rival the fire. But before things can escalate into something irreparable, Ollie appears with Mia and Camilla trailing behind like shadows.
"All right, that's enough," Ollie says, voice calm but solid as bedrock. His eyes move between us, assessing the situation like a bomb tech. "Nate, take Nora home. I'll look after our boy here."
Jake snorts, turning away like we're beneath his notice.
Ollie leans closer to me, voice low. "Go find my sister and make sure she's okay. I'll bring Jake back."
I hesitate, eyes lingering on Jake, who's already laughing with strangers like nothing happened, like he hasn't just torn open wounds that might never heal.
Finally, I nod, the weight of everything unsaid heavy as lead. "Thanks."
Ollie grips my shoulder, the gesture grounding. "Just get her home safe, yeah?"
I don't need to be told twice.
Some fires you can't extinguish—you can only watch them burn and try to salvage what remains.
Jay and I push back through the crowd, bass pounding like war drums in my chest. Jake's words echo in my head, but I force them down like bitter medicine. Right now, I need to find Nora and get her out of here.
"You good, man?" Jay asks, voice low as grave dirt.
Before I can answer, my entire body locks up like I've been struck by lightning.
I see her.
And I see him .
That motherfucker has his hands on her waist, fingers digging into her flesh like he's marking territory. He's leaning in, whispering something that makes her face go pale, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal searching for escape. She looks terrified, and something primal inside me snaps like a steel cable under tension.
"Oh, fuck," Jay mutters beside me, voice taut as a bowstring.
I don't hear the rest. The world narrows to a tunnel, red bleeding into the edges of my vision. Pure, unfiltered rage surges through my veins like liquid fire, and before I can think, I'm moving through the crowd like a bullet finding its target.
Evan barely has time to look up before I rip him away from her. He stumbles back, expensive shoes squeaking on polished floor, and I don't give him a chance to recover. My fist connects with his face with a sickening crack that reverberates up my arm, the impact sending shockwaves through both our bodies.
"You have some fucking nerve touching her," I growl, voice low and lethal as a blade against throat. Blood drips from his split lip, staining his perfect white teeth as he staggers.
"Touch her again," my voice drops even lower, promising violence, "and I'll break every fucking bone in your body, twice."
Instead of backing down, he smirks through the blood. "Enjoy my seconds, Sullivan. She's a little too soft for my taste, but still fun."
The words barely register before everything goes red. My fist finds his jaw again, harder this time, bone meeting bone with a sound like thunder. He stumbles into a group of people, sending drinks and shouts flying, but nothing exists except him and the rage burning through my veins like acid.
"Nate, don’t!" Nora's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife, desperate and shaky as autumn leaves, but I can't stop.
I tackle him through the coffee table and glass shatters beneath us. He groans as we hit the ground, shards tinkling like broken wind chimes around us. I pin him down, each punch fueled by the fear I saw in Nora's eyes and his smug expression I want to permanently erase. His hands flail uselessly against me, but I'm relentless. One punch after another, each impact sending jolts through my knuckles that I barely register.
"Stop it!" Nora's voice pierces through the red haze, but it barely reaches through the roar of blood in my ears.
A hand yanks me back and I twist, ready to swing. A punch lands on my jaw, sending me stumbling, copper flooding my mouth.
Fucking Connor.
The sight of him reignites the fire in my veins. He throws another punch that cuts through air like a blade. I duck, feeling it whistle past, then counter with a shot to his ribs. He doubles over, grunting, before charging again.
The crowd erupts around us, a chaotic blur of shouts pulsing with the music, but it's all background noise. My focus locks on Connor, everything else fading to shadows as adrenaline narrows my world to fists and fury.
"Nate!" Jay's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife through fog. He steps between us, hands against my chest like trying to hold back a storm. Connor seizes the moment, swinging past Jay's guard. The punch lands with a sickening thud, and Jay stumbles back, blood trickling from his mouth.
“Son of a—” Jay spits red onto the floor, shaking his head. His eyes darken like storm clouds. "Oh, you're fucked now, Country Club."
Jay launches forward like a spring uncoiling, fist connecting with Connor's face. The impact sounds like thunder, sending Connor reeling into the crowd.
"Nora, wait!" Camilla's voice slices through the noise, pulling me from the red haze. My fists drop instantly as I glare at Connor and Evan through sweat and blood.
"Nate, Nora's leaving!" Camilla calls again, desperation threading through her voice.
I turn just in time to see Nora pushing through the crowd like a ghost, dark hair disappearing into the sea of bodies.
Connor sneers from the wall, wiping blood from his split lip. "Get the fuck out of here, Sullivan," he spits, crimson staining his teeth.
But I'm already moving, focused on Nora, everything else falling away. The fight, the pain, the rage—none of it matters anymore. Only she does.
"Nora!" I call after her, my voice cracking in the cold night air like ice breaking.
She doesn't stop, shoulders shaking visibly as she walks faster, pushing past people like she's trying to outrun something darker than just this night. The distance between us stretches like an endless chasm, and for the first time tonight, I feel real fear—not of fists or blood, but of losing her in ways that can't be fixed with violence.
By the time I catch up, she's leaning against the car, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she's holding something broken together. The streetlamp casts harsh shadows across her face, making her look fragile. She won't look at me, but her trembling makes my heart ache like someone's carved out something vital.
"Nora," I say again, softer now, trying to steady my breath. Adrenaline still courses through me making my bloodied hands shake, but I force myself to move slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded bird.
When I reach for her wrist, she flinches away sharply like my touch burns. It stops me cold, her reaction cutting deeper than any punch tonight, deeper than glass or bone could reach.
"Don't—" she starts, voice trembling like leaves in a storm. She finally turns, and the light illuminates her tear-streaked face like rain on glass. The sight guts me worse than any hit I've taken. Her eyes look to my face, expression twisting with something complex and painful.
Fear? Guilt? Pain? All of them tangled together like thorny vines.
"You're hurt," she whispers, the words falling between us like broken pieces of something we can't put back together.
"It's nothing," I say quickly, even as my jaw throbs like a second heartbeat and my knuckles sting. Blood dries on my skin like war paint, but none of that matters.
"Are you okay?" The question feels inadequate for what I see raging behind her eyes.
She shakes her head, tears falling faster now like stars breaking free.
"I can't do this, Nate," she says, voice breaking like glass under pressure. "I can't??—"
Her words dissolve into a choked sob that sounds torn from somewhere deep and wounded. I step closer, hands hovering in the space between us.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, "I didn't want you to see that, but he—" I stop, running a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt clashing inside me. "I couldn't watch him touch you like that."
Her eyes glisten in the dim light, full of emotions I can't unravel, like looking into a kaleidoscope of pain.
"Why do you always have to fix everything?" she asks, tone raw and accusing, but there's no anger—just bone-deep exhaustion.
I step closer, careful as if approaching the edge of a cliff.
"Because even though you don't need anyone saving you, where I can, I'll always try," I say simply, words rough but honest as an open wound.
Her breath hitches and I watch her defenses crumble like a castle made of sand. Her face collapses as she lets out a shaky breath that sounds like surrender, arms still hugging herself.
"Hey," I whisper, reaching for her again. This time, she doesn't pull away when my hands cradle her face, touch gentle despite split knuckles. My thumbs brush away her tears as I lean down to catch her eyes, trying to keep her in this moment with me.
"Don't cry. Please. I'm here."
She shatters completely and falls into me, clutching my shirt in her fists. I wrap my arms around her frame, holding her tightly against me, feeling her heartbeat race against my chest as I rest my chin against her hair. She shakes in my hold and I try to be the shelter she needs.
"I found Jake," I murmur, voice low and steady as I can make it, trying to give her something solid to hold onto. "Ollie's staying back to make sure he gets home."
She nods against my chest, breaths still uneven as waves, but relaxes slightly in my arms, tension easing fraction by fraction. My hand strokes her back in slow circles, trying to ground her, to remind her she's safe now, even as my own heart thunders with everything.
"I'm taking you home," I tell her softly, lips brushing her temple.
And in this moment, with her trembling in my arms and my blood still singing with violence, I know I'd burn down the whole fucking world to keep that promise—to keep her safe, even if it means protecting her from myself.