Before We Were

60. I Know What You Did Last Summer

CHAPTER 60

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

NORA

The soft hum of the desk lamp mingles with the rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, creating a soothing symphony in my cozy corner. I inhale the familiar scent of paper and coffee, letting my eyes drift over the organized chaos Nate created for me—scattered notebooks, loose papers, and an empty mug that's more decorative than functional now. The space feels lived-in, like it was always meant to be an extension of my soul.

Leaning back, I rub my tired eyes and glance at the notebook beside me. Its pages overflow with scribbled notes about Alfie and Gracie. There's something magical about this room, as if the walls themselves coax the story from my fingertips.

I'm halfway through the final edits, and for the first time since Dad died, pride replaces the constant whisper of self-doubt.

The door's gentle creak breaks my reverie. Mom stands in the doorway, arms crossed, and head tilted in that knowing way only mothers can perfect. Her smile holds equal parts amusement and affection, warming the room.

"Hey, Mom," I say, quickly saving my work on the new laptop before spinning to face her.

She steps inside, her keen eyes taking in every detail of the space.

"Nate did a nice job here," she observes, nodding approvingly. "Looks like it's working for you."

"It is." A small smile tugs at my lips as warmth blooms in my chest. "I've written more in the last couple of weeks than I have in months."

"Speaking of progress… have you applied for that scholarship yet?"

"How do you even know about the scholarship?"

"Nothing gets past me, you should know that by now," she says, her smugness tempered by maternal warmth.

I laugh softly, but guilt coils in my chest like a thorny vine. "I was going to bring it up," I rush to explain. "But… I guess I was worried about how you'd feel. With everything going on and Ollie leaving for college soon…"

She pulls out the chair across from me and sits, her posture open, expression gentle.

"Nora, sweetheart, you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. This scholarship? It's your dream. And if your dad were here, he'd be the first to tell you to take every opportunity you can."

I look down at my hands, focusing on the beaded bracelet that's become more talisman than accessory—a reminder to take the risk or lose the chance.

"It's just… hard to think about leaving," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Things feel fragile sometimes."

Mom reaches across the desk, her hand covering mine. It's warm and steady, just as it's always been.

"Honey, I'm tougher than you think. And besides," she adds, her voice lifting playfully, "I know how to keep myself busy."

I smirk, grateful for the shift in mood. "Speaking of keeping busy, how did your date go last night?"

She laughs softly, leaning back. "It was going great until Nick got a call about a family emergency."

I arch an eyebrow, suspicion prickling at my skin. "Family emergency? Like, Alfie?"

She shakes her head, but something flickers across her face—a hesitation that makes my heart stutter.

"Actually, I saw Nick dropping Nate off late last night."

Her words hang heavy in the air, and my stomach knots. I search her face for clues, for anything that might explain what she's not saying. A cold wave washes through me as I remember Nate's text from last night claiming he was with Jay. The lie sits bitter on my tongue. Nate and his secrets—they're as much a part of him as his crooked smile or the scar above his eyebrow. Could I live with that? Could I make peace with the parts of him I'd never know?

"Nora?" Mom's voice pulls me back.

"Hmm?"

"Your phone's ringing."

I glance at the screen to see Camilla's name flashing.

"Shit," I mutter, grabbing it. "I totally forgot about the polo match today."

Mom laughs. "Lydia is dragging me to a luncheon with a few ladies this afternoon."

We share a laugh at the absurdity of our new lives—polo matches and upper-class gatherings so far removed from our old reality. For a moment, the weight of my thoughts about Nate lifts, replaced by the simple joy of sharing this moment with Mom.

She kisses the top of my head before turning to leave.

"Your dad would be really proud of both you and Ollie. I know I am."

Her words follow her out the door, settling into my heart like a warm embrace.

I smooth the pale blue fabric of my dress one final time, studying my reflection. Marcus outdid himself—the cut hugs my curves perfectly, the neckline striking a delicate balance between daring and elegant. My hair falls in soft waves, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel beautiful without having to convince myself.

"You've got this," I whisper to my reflection, forcing a smile that almost reaches my eyes.

My phone buzzes, Camilla's text lighting up the screen with her characteristic enthusiasm.

Camilla:

We're out front!!!

I grab my bag and head for the door, but as I step into the hallway, I collide with a solid chest, one that sends electricity through my veins before I even look up. The scent hits me first—clean and woodsy with that hint of mint. My breath catches as his arms steady me. A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face as his gaze sweeps over me, igniting heat beneath my skin.

"You're beautiful," he says, as if it’s not an observation but an undeniable truth.

My stomach flips, his words settling over me like a caress. I study him carefully, relieved to see no fresh cuts or bruises on his face. But then I notice his hands—knuckles raw and angry—and Mom's words echo in my mind about Nick dropping him off last night.

"Where were you last night?" I ask, keeping my voice soft despite the anxiety churning in my gut.

He shrugs, too casual. "Sorry, I should've called. Jay and I hung out, lost track of time."

"What'd you guys do?"

"Nothing exciting," he says, but his tone is measured, careful—a red flag I'm learning to recognize.

I narrow my eyes, sensing the wall going up, but a car horn blares outside, shattering the moment.

"I have to go," I say reluctantly, motioning toward the stairs. "Will I see you at the polo match?"

He snorts. "I'd rather stick a fork in my eye."

I laugh despite myself. "Figured as much."

"Besides," he continues, "I should probably practice."

"Practice?" I blink, caught off guard. "Wait—you're playing?"

He shrugs, downplaying it in the way he does when something matters too much. "It's just a couple of cover songs. Nick helped me out a lot this summer. It was his one ask??—"

Before he can finish, I throw my arms around him.

"Nate! That's amazing!"

He chuckles, wrapping me in a hug. "It's not a big deal," he mutters, but the sparkle in his eyes betrays him.

I pull back just enough to cup his chin, making him meet my gaze. "It is a big deal. I'm proud of you."

A faint blush creeps up his neck—a rare sight that makes my heart skip.

"I'll see you later, okay?" I turn to head downstairs, but before I can take a step, Nate catches my wrist and pulls me back.

I gasp as I'm spun into him, my chest pressed against his. One hand cups my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone while the other rests low at my waist. The bruises on his knuckles catch my eye again, concern flickering through me.

"Nate—"

He silences me with a kiss that consumes everything—thought, breath, doubt. It's electric and demanding, setting every nerve ending alive. My hands find his chiseled jaw, and in moments like this, the world beyond us ceases to exist. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathless.

“I’ll see you later," he murmurs, his lips curving into that devastatingly familiar grin.

I nod, my cheeks flushed and heart racing. And just like that, Nate Sullivan has turned my entire world on its axis.

Again.

The distant honk of a car horn and my buzzing phone drag us back to reality.

"Call me if you need to bail early," he says, his voice rough but serious.

I kiss him one last time, still marveling at how we got here, before heading toward the stairs. Just as I reach the top, his voice follows me.

"Stay out of trouble, Leni."

I glance back with a grin. "I'll try."

The cool air outside feels sharp against my flushed cheeks as I slide into the waiting G-Wagon. Marcus sits at the wheel, and Camilla greets me with a knowing smile that makes me want to sink into the leather seats.

"What took you so long?" she teases, eyes dancing. "I thought you fell down the stairs or something. I was this close to calling an ambulance, or maybe the fire brigade."

I roll my eyes, but her gaze flicks to my lips, making me self-conscious of how swollen they must be from Nate's kiss.

"Ohhh," Camilla draws out the word like honey. "Guess it wasn't the stairs after all." She winks.

Heat floods my cheeks.

Marcus's grin is visible in the rearview mirror. "So, how are the boys getting there?"

"Nate's not coming," I say, focusing on the passing scenery to hide my disappointment. "Ollie and Jake left about twenty minutes ago."

Camilla's playful smile dims. "Jake still giving you the cold shoulder?"

I nod, a familiar ache settling in my chest. "He's been avoiding me like the plague."

Marcus hums thoughtfully. "He'll come around. Just give him time."

But the wall Jake's built between us feels more permanent than temporary, like a fortress I don't have the key to breach. The guilt of hurting him mingles with frustration. How do you fix something when the other person won't even look at you?

Camilla reaches over and squeezes my hand, her touch grounding. "Let's just have some drama-free fun today, okay?"

I nod, grateful for her optimism even as unease lingers beneath my skin. Taking a deep breath, I try to focus on the day ahead and hopefully no more surprises.

The buzz of the polo grounds snaps me back to reality. Summer-warmed air carries the mingled scents of freshly cut grass and expensive perfume, while excitement ripples through the crowd like electricity. The grounds stretch out before us like a scene from another world—pristine white tents gleaming under the golden afternoon sun, their peaks reaching toward a cloudless sky.

Luxury cars line up like soldiers on parade—Rolls-Royces, Aston Martins, and Bentleys reflecting the day's opulence in their polished surfaces. Men in tailored linen suits and women in flowing designer dresses drift across the manicured grass, champagne flutes catching the light like stars.

"God, it's like a Ralph Lauren catalog exploded in here," Camilla mutters, her gaze sweeping the scene with amused disdain.

My attention catches on Mia, already warming up on her horse. She's grace personified, her focus unshakable as she guides her mount through practice movements. The sight of her so in her element, so purely herself, brings a smile to my face. Whatever today holds, Mia deserves this moment to shine.

As we weave through the buzzing crowd, I spot Ollie standing off to the side, arms crossed, and attention fixed on Mia like she's gravity itself. There's a softness in his expression I rarely see anymore—a glimpse of the brother I knew before grief hardened his edges.

"I'll catch up with you later," I tell Camilla and Marcus, already moving toward him.

"Sure, we'll be by the bar trying to snatch the overpriced champagne," Camilla says with a wave before turning back to Marcus.

I make my way to Ollie, nudging his arm when I reach him. "Hey, Ol."

He glances down, his face breaking into that easy grin that makes him look so much like Dad.

"Well shit, you actually scrub up all right, Len."

"Shut up," I reply with another playful nudge. "Where's Jake?" I scan the crowd despite knowing it's probably futile.

"He decided to bail," Ollie replies, his tone casual but laden with unspoken concern. "I don't think crowds are his thing right now after, well, everything."

My stomach twists with familiar guilt. I want to press, to ask if he's okay, but Ollie's pressed lips tell me he's already walked that road and found it blocked. I swallow the questions burning my tongue—for now. We both turn back to watch Mia, who guides her horse across the field with the kind of effortless grace that comes from years of dedication.

"She's really good," I say softly.

"She's amazing," he replies, voice rich with quiet admiration.

I glance up at him, unable to resist teasing. "You like her."

He doesn't deny it. Instead, he lets out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it aches.

"I think I love her."

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at my heart. My tough big brother, finally letting someone past his walls.

"She's head over heels for you too, you know," I say gently. “Don’t tell her I said that."

He smiles faintly, nudging my shoulder in our old familiar way. The moment feels frozen in amber—precious and perfect.

We stand in comfortable silence until Ollie speaks again.

"I know about you and Nate.”

My head snaps up, startled. "What?"

He shrugs with deliberate casualness. "Relax, I already had the big brother talk with him. I gave him the green light."

The words leave me speechless. Nate talked to Ollie—about us. About whatever this electric, terrifying thing is between us. Heat crawls up my neck as I struggle to find words.

"Just don't let me catch you hooking up and shit because you're still my little sister and he's still my best friend. And also, eww."

If my face wasn't burning before, now it's on fire.

"Nate's always looked out for you," Ollie adds, his tone easy but weighted with meaning. "Even when you didn't know it."

I blink, thrown. "What do you mean?"

Ollie shifts his stance, crossing his arms in that protective way he picked up after Dad died. "Remember when Jackson Dalton made fun of your self-cut bangs that summer when you were eleven?"

"I try not to." The memory still makes me cringe—those uneven bangs I'd chopped off in a moment of misguided inspiration.

"Nate beat the living shit out of him and told him if he ever said anything about you again, he'd spill Jackson's secret."

"What secret?" Curiosity pricks at my skin.

Ollie's lips quirk into a knowing smirk. "Doesn't matter. Jackson never said another word about you."

I stare at him, mind racing through years of memories, searching for signs I might have missed. "He didn't have to do that."

"Nate was the only one allowed to pick on you," Ollie says with a laugh. "Remember Justin Kemp?"

The name sounds familiar, but I can’t recall. "The guy from Nate's football team?"

"One summer, during a scrimmage, Justin saw a photo of you and said something. Something I, as your brother, refuse to repeat."

Heat creeps up my neck. "It was about my boobs, wasn't it?"

"Gross. Don't say that," Ollie groans, shuddering like the twelve-year-old boy he used to be. "Nate ripped off Justin's helmet and pretty much rammed him to the ground. Told him if he ever said another word about you—or any part of you—he'd cut his you know what off and make him swallow it."

I gape at him, my heart doing a complicated dance in my chest. "He really said that?"

Ollie nods, grinning. "Pretty sure Justin still has his you-know-what, so he never tested Nate again."

The revelation settles over me and something in my chest tightens.

"I hate that you all feel like you need to stick up for me."

Ollie steps closer, resting one arm around my shoulders. His expression mirrors Dad's so perfectly it steals my breath—the same intense focus when he needed me to really listen.

"Whether you like it or not, you're always going to have people looking out for you. That’s what family does."

"Yeah but—” I mutter.

“That's what older brothers are for,” he says, pulling me into a hug that smells like his cologne and childhood memories.

I wrap my arms around his waist, holding tight. "Dad would be proud of you, Ol."

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and for a moment, I see the boy he was and the man he's becoming.

"He'd be proud of us both."

The horses are magnificent in the afternoon sun—sleek, powerful creatures with coats that gleam like silk. Players in crisp white polos guide them with practiced ease, their mallets swinging in graceful arcs as the game unfolds. The thudding of hooves against turf mingles with polite applause, creating a rhythm that feels surreal after the weight of Ollie's revelations about Nate.

"Go you fucking absolute queen!" Camilla screams from beside me, making several well-dressed spectators jump.

Marcus and I share an amused look at our friend's complete disregard for polo etiquette.

"Great," Camilla drawls suddenly, tipping her glass toward the far tent. "Look who decided to grace us with their obnoxious presence."

Following her gaze, I spot Connor, Farrah, and their usual entourage lounging like they own the place. Farrah's draped in a slinky white dress, laughing at something Connor is saying while he basks in the attention. But it's not them that makes my stomach turn.

It's Evan.

He's lingering at the edge of their group, taking periodic pulls from a flask he's not bothering to hide. The sight of him sends ice through my veins, but it's not just his presence, it's his condition. His lip is split and swollen, dark sunglasses failing to hide the violent purple bruising under his left eye. There's a stiffness in his movements that suggests bruised or broken ribs.

My breath catches as my mind immediately goes to Nate.

Those raw knuckles from this morning flash in my memory like a warning signal—fresh, angry bruises he'd barely tried to hide when we'd spoken. The cold dread pooling in my stomach deepens.

Camilla follows my gaze and lets out a sharp laugh. "Looks like Abercrombie got what was coming to him."

"What do you mean?" I try to keep my voice casual, but it comes out tight.

"Apparently," she draws out the word with relish, "there was some kind of drug deal that went sideways at Connor's party. Rumor has it, Evan tried to screw someone over and got his head kicked in for his trouble."

Marcus raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, sipping his champagne with practiced indifference.

My heart hammers against my ribs.

A drug deal gone wrong.

Someone kicked Evan's head in.

That someone could only be one person, and the thought makes me dizzy.

"Do they know who did it?" I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

Camilla shrugs, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "I'm guessing whoever it was sent a pretty clear message, considering the state of him." She glances at me, her smile fading slightly. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I force a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I need to use the bathroom."

The world feels like it's tilting as I make my way across the grounds. This has Nate written all over it—the bruised knuckles, the vague explanations, the tension in his shoulders this morning when I'd asked where he was.

A drug deal gone wrong?

No. This feels personal. And Nate doesn't get involved unless it's personal.

The bathroom is a stark contrast to the bustling polo grounds—all marble surfaces and echoing silence, perfumed air heavy with whispered conversations and the click of designer heels. I let out a shaky breath as I wash my hands, studying my reflection. My cheeks are flushed from earlier, lipstick slightly faded like a secret I can't quite hide.

Keep it together

The air shifts, growing thick and suffocating. Through the mirror, Farrah appears behind me like a perfectly coiffed demon, her red lips curved in a smirk that doesn't reach her cold eyes.

"Well, if it isn't Eden's little train wrecker," she sneers, her voice bouncing off the marble walls.

My spine stiffens.

"Farrah." I keep my voice steady despite my racing heart.

She moves closer, claiming space like it's her birthright. Her manicured nails tap against the counter—click, click, click—each sound a tiny needle under my skin.

"You've been getting around quite a bit since you got here. Haven't you?" Her voice drips sweet poison.

I turn to face her, hands clenched to hide their trembling. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Her laugh cuts like broken glass. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." She pulls out her phone like drawing a weapon. "First Evan, then Jake, now Nate. Have you fucked both brothers yet?"

The words hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath.

"I know what you did last summer." Her eyes glitter with malice. "I didn't think you had it in you to put out like that."

She turns her phone around and there they are—the photos that have haunted my nightmares for a year, now weaponized in the hands of my worst enemy.

My stomach lurches.

She steps closer, the scent of her expensive perfume choking me. "Has Nate seen them too? Or maybe he doesn’t know about how easily you spread your legs for strangers." Another step forward, then a sharp shove that makes me stumble.

Her voice turns to ice. "You're so pathetic."

Tears burn behind my eyes, and her smile grows sharper.

"You going to cry?" she mocks. "You going to run and hide behind Nate every time things get tough?"

"Farrah, stop," I manage, hating how my voice trembles.

"Stop? Why?" Her laugh echoes off the walls. "You think Nate is yours to claim? He's not. And deep down, you know it. You've been nothing but a problem since you got here. And now? Now I'm going to fix it." She jabs a perfectly manicured finger into my chest, forcing me back. "You think this little damsel in distress act isn't going to get tiresome? As if Nate needs more drama in his already fucked up life. You're nothing but a little slut who can't handle reality."

The words slice through old wounds, dredging up Evan's cruel voice, the way he'd sneered those same words before everything shattered.

My breath catches on a sob.

Farrah's grin turns feral.

"Poor little Nora, so fragile." She leans in close, her breath hot against my ear. "Pa-thetic."

Then comes the final blow—she spits in my face.

I freeze, humiliation and fury warring in my chest. Before I can move, a voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

"Back the fuck away." Camilla's voice rings with steel.

Farrah barely turns before Camilla strides in, her heels striking the floor like war drums. Her eyes blaze with protective fury, her smile promising violence.

"Unless you want me to rip out each one of your fake eyelashes and those bargain-bin Barbie extensions, I suggest you turn around and get the fuck out of here," Camilla says, voice low and dangerous.

Farrah's confidence cracks, her smirk slipping. "Stay out of this, Camilla. This doesn't concern you."

“When it comes to my friends, everything concerns me." Camilla's arms cross, her stance ready for battle. "But then again, you wouldn't know what it's like to have actual friends now, would you? Fuck off before I show you how far my foot can travel up your ass."

Farrah glares, but after a tense moment, she backs down.

"Slut," she mutters as she storms out.

The second she's gone, my legs give out. I sink to the cold floor as the walls close in, each breath a struggle. The world feels distant, underwater, everything muffled except the roar of blood in my ears. Camilla kneels beside me, her hands steady on my shoulders.

"Nora, it's okay," she says firmly. "You're okay."

But I can't focus. Can't breathe. Can't think past Farrah's words echoing in my head.

"Nora," Camilla says again, softer now. "Do you want me to call Nate?"

I nod weakly, unable to form words. Through the fog, I hear her on the phone, her voice sharp and commanding as she tells Nate what happened. But all I can think about is Farrah's truth—the one I've been trying to deny.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I am the problem.

Tears spill over as the weight of everything crashes down, and for once, I don't try to hold them back.