62. Three Words, None Of Them I Love You
CHAPTER 62
THREE WORDS, NONE OF THEM I LOVE YOU
NORA
The air claws at my lungs, each breath shallower than the last. The fluorescent bathroom lights slice through my vision, too bright, too harsh against the growing darkness at the edges. My hands grip the sink like it's the only thing keeping me from drowning in the tide of panic rising in my chest.
Through the chaos of my thoughts, I hear his voice—the one sound that's always been able to reach me.
"Where is she?"
Nate's frantic tone cuts through the static in my head, and for a heartbeat, the suffocating feeling lifts. The door flies open, and there he is, filling the door frame with a presence that's both familiar and commanding. He crosses the space between us in three long strides, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Nora." His voice is steel wrapped in velvet.
The warmth of his hands on my shoulders sends electricity through my veins, a current strong enough to quiet the storm raging in my mind. He tilts my chin up, and I'm caught in his gaze.
"Hey, hey… look at me." His voice softens but holds firm. "Breathe with me."
"I… I can't—" The words scratch against my throat, brittle and broken.
"Yes, you can." His hands frame my face, leaving me nowhere to hide. "Look at me. I’m here."
My chest constricts tighter, and my knees threaten to buckle. Beyond our bubble, I hear the bathroom door open, voices murmuring, Camilla shooing people away. But Nate moves instinctively, pressing me against the wall, shielding me from prying eyes with his body.
"Listen to me," he murmurs, his voice low and steady. "We're going to do this together, okay? I need you to find three things to ground yourself. Start with my voice. Hear me?"
"Y-yes." The word is barely a whisper, but it's something.
"Good. Now feel my hands. You feel them on your shoulders?"
I nod, focusing on the steady pressure of his touch, the warmth that seeps through my skin.
"Last one," he says, leaning closer until his face fills my vision. "Keep your eyes on me. Don't look away, Leni."
The nickname hits me like a wave of nostalgia—summer days and secret hideouts, skinned knees and shared ice cream. Memories. Happy ones. My breath catches, but it's different now. Less panic, more recognition.
"Good," he whispers, and the pride in his voice wraps around me like a blanket. "You're doing good. Just keep going. Breathe."
Slowly, the world stops spinning. My vision clears, the dizziness ebbs, and my lungs remember their rhythm.
"Tell me what you need."
"I-I need to scream," I confess, the words ripping from somewhere deep and raw inside me.
His eyes soften, and he pulls me into his chest like he's trying to absorb my pain through osmosis.
"Okay," he murmurs, cradling my head against his heart. "Then scream. I've got you. Let it out."
Those three words—I've got you—echo through my bones. Not 'I love you', not empty promises or hollow comfort. This is Nate, showing me what he's proven all summer: he's here, he's real, and he won't let me fall.
The scream tears from my throat, years of buried pain finally finding release. It's muffled against his shirt, but it shakes through both of us. He doesn't flinch, just holds me tighter like he's daring my personal demons to try getting past him. His arms are an unbreakable fortress, steady even as I pour out everything I've been holding back. When the scream fractures into sobs, he keeps me upright, one hand threading through my hair while the other traces circles on my back. He creates a cocoon around us, just like the blanket forts of our childhood, where nothing bad could touch us.
"I got you," he whispers against my hair, his heartbeat steady under my ear. "Always."
I feel the truth of it in every touch, every breath we share. The tightness in my chest unravels, the sharp edges of my pain gradually smoothing under his careful hands. When my sobs quiet to hiccups, I pull back just enough to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes away a tear, so gentle it cracks open something new inside me—not destruction, but possibility.
"Hi," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my cheek.
"Hi," I breathe.
His eyes search mine, seeing past the mascara tracks and tear-stained cheeks to the truth I can't hide anymore. "Len, what happened?"
"She… she has them, Nate," I whisper, my voice raw.
"Who?" His brows furrow, but I see the storm gathering in his eyes.
"Farrah. She has the photos."
His body goes rigid, the tenderness in his expression hardening to steel.
"Stay here," he says, his voice careful but brooking no argument.
"Where are you going?" Panic flutters in my chest as he steps away.
"I'll be right back," he promises, his touch lingering on my cheek before he strides past Camilla and through the door.
Camilla catches my eye and shrugs. We both know there's no stopping Nate when he's like this.
I slide down to the floor, exhaustion tugging at my bones. But even as the weight of everything threatens to pull me under again, I hold onto the one truth I know: Nate has me. In every way that matters, in all the ways that count, he has me.