61. Restoring Whats Broken
CHAPTER 61
RESTORING WHAT'S brOKEN
NATE
Sonder is finally coming together. The bar stands like a copper-wrapped beacon, its surface catching the amber glow of overhead lights until it seems to pulse with its own heartbeat. Above, a canopy of carefully strung greenery transforms the space into something alive and breathing. Lanterns nestle in the leaves like fireflies caught in mid-dance, their light painting stories across the walls.
Nick's woodwork grounds the space—dark, polished mahogany that begs to be touched, to have fingers trace the stories carved in its grain. Modern meets timeless here, sleek edges softened by lived-in comfort. His vision breathes through every corner, but my fingerprints are here too, subtle signatures in the details that make this place ours.
Standing here now, pride mingles with something deeper—a recognition of what transformation really means. We didn't just build a restaurant bar; we wrote a testament to second chances. Every crack we filled, every surface we restored, whispers the same truth: broken things don't have to stay broken. They can become something new, something that holds both their history and their hope.
The work should be a welcome distraction like it usually is, but today every task feels heavy while I'm trying not to think about Nora in that blue dress, the way her hair caught the light like liquid copper, or how she smiled before heading to the Polo event. It's all I can see, playing on repeat behind my eyes. The broom in my hands moves mechanically while my mind races toward all the things I wanted to do to her before she left.
Nick's hand on my shoulder startles me back to reality. "You've swept the same spot for fifteen minutes, I don’t think it’s getting any cleaner. If you want to hang around and practice, go for it."
My eyes drift to the guitar waiting against the wall, patient as an old friend. "Yeah, maybe I will."
The moment I pick it up, something in my chest unclenches. The guitar feels more like home than any place I've ever lived. My fingers find their place on the strings without thought, muscle memory deeper than conscious choice. The first notes vibrate through wood and bone, and suddenly, I'm breathing easier than I have all day.
Music fills the empty bar like water filling cracks, seeping into every shadow and corner. Each chord pulls me deeper into myself, into that quiet place where everything makes sense. Time loses its grip here—there's only the rhythm, the melody, the conversation between strings and silence.
Until my phone shatters the peace with Nora's ringtone.
"Hey, you," I answer, voice rough with unspoken words.
"Nate?" Camilla's voice crackles through, sharp with panic. "Nora needs you. She's freaking out—you need to come and get her, like right fucking now."
I'm on my feet before she finishes speaking, adrenaline flooding my system like ice water. "What happened?"
"Fucking Farrah happened," she spits, a story in those three words that makes my stomach drop.
The guitar finds its resting place as I snatch my keys. "I'm on my way."
I end the call, and my feet carry me toward the door, every heartbeat hammering out Nora's name.
Nick appears in my path, concern etched across his features. "Everything okay?"
"I don't know." The words taste like fear. "I need to go. Nora??—"
He steps aside without hesitation. "Go."
The engine roars to life under my hands, a reflection of the storm building in my chest. As I tear out of the lot, memories of the last time Nora needed me—and I wasn't there—claw at the edges of my mind. I made a promise then, written in the scars of regret: never again.
This time would be different.
This time, I'd be there.
Even if I'm rushing blindly into whatever chaos awaits.