66. Name
CHAPTER 66
NAME
NORA
I'm still on the phone with Camilla when I hear footsteps in the kitchen.
"So, are you and Marcus coming tonight?" I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, the familiar nervous habit grounding me.
"Are you kidding?" Camilla's laugh crackles through the line, warm and bright. "Of course we are. There's no way we'd miss it. Let's just hope it's our first drama-free event of the summer."
"That we can both pray for." I step into the kitchen, my breath catching at the sight of Jake. "I'll see you there."
I hang up and pause, taking in Jake's presence by the counter. Steam rises from the mug in his hand, but his eyes are distant, lost in thought. The air between us feels thick with unspoken words, weeks of tension crystallized in this single moment. It's the first time we've been alone since the Fourth of July blow-up, and my heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
"Hey," I say softly, the word barely more than a whisper.
Jake looks up, and the shadows in his blue eyes make my chest ache. There's something different, something darker in them I haven't seen before. The Jake I knew—the one who could light up a room with his smile—seems buried beneath layers of hurt and uncertainty.
"Hey," he replies, his voice low and rough, like he's been carrying these words for too long.
The silence stretches between us, heavier than any argument we've ever had. I take a hesitant step closer, my fingers finding the back of a chair, needing something solid to hold onto.
"Jake, I hate this," I say, my voice cracking. "This… isn't us. When did things get so weird between us?"
He drops his gaze to the floor. "I don't know, Nora," he murmurs. The sadness in his voice cuts deeper than anger ever could.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to bridge the gap between us.
"Look, I'm sorry. About what happened the other day."
Jake exhales deeply, running a hand through his already messy hair. The gesture is so familiar it makes my heart hurt.
"I know. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said what I did. I was angry, and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair."
"No more secrets," I say firmly, stepping closer. I hold out my pinky like we used to do as kids, the gesture both a peace offering and a promise. Something shifts in his expression, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a faint smile tugs at his lips.
"No more secrets," he echoes, his voice softer now.
He hooks his pinky with mine, and for a moment, the tension eases. Relief washes over me. But Jake doesn't let go. His eyes stay fixed on our intertwined fingers, his voice barely above a whisper when he speaks again.
"Mom officially signed the papers. For the divorce."
My breath catches. "She did?"
"Yeah." He releases our pinkies and leans back slightly. His expression is heavy but calmer than I expected. "She actually sat me down and told me when it was done. I guess I thought… I don't know, maybe I thought this summer would feel like it used to. The four of us all together, my family could feel like a family again, you know? But it's been anything but that. Maybe we're not supposed to go back."
His words make me realize how much we've all been clinging to ghosts of the past. For Jake, it's been more than nostalgia—it's been a lifeline, something to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain.
"Maybe," I watch Jake's face carefully, "it's not about trying to recreate what was. Ever since Dad died, all I feel like I've been doing is chasing the ghost of him. Thinking if I could just do the same things, go to the same places, somehow, I'd feel closer to him. But all it did was remind me of what I'd lost." I pause, the truth of my own words hitting me. "The past is like a photo, it captures a moment perfectly, but you can't step back into it. Maybe healing isn't about trying to rebuild what broke. Maybe it's about taking those broken pieces and creating something new, something different but just as beautiful."
The words surprise me even as they leave my lips. I've been struggling so much with my own past, with the idea of moving forward. Maybe I needed to hear these words as much as Jake did.
He looks at me, and for the first time in weeks, the sadness in his eyes lifts just enough for hope to peek through.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "It just sucks that things are so fucked up."
"It's just a blip in time," I offer with a small, tentative smile. "Things won't stay like this forever."
But even as I say it, I know believing those words is a whole different challenge. For now, though, I hope they're enough.
Sonder pulses with life tonight. The crowd's chatter hums like electricity, glasses clinking a delicate symphony against the backdrop of laughter. Amber lighting bathes everything in a warm glow, catching on the polished wood and twinkling fairy lights that Nick and Nate have carefully curated. Every detail speaks of intention, of the heart they've poured into making this place feel like home.
My eyes find Nate immediately.
He stands to the side of the stage, guitar balanced against his hip as he tunes it with meditative focus. There's something different about him tonight—a quiet confidence that seems to radiate from within. His fitted black t-shirt follows the lines of his body like a shadow, and his dark hair falls in that perfectly imperfect way that makes my fingers itch to run through it. But it's more than his appearance that catches my breath, it's the way he holds himself, like he's finally stepping into who he's meant to be.
The real Nate.
The one who's always been there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be seen. This is the boy who, despite his scars, stands steady and true, with a heart so vast it seems infinite. He's been the constant thread woven through every chapter of my life, teaching me how to find light in the darkest moments. He's held pieces of me I didn't even know were missing, never trying to fix me because he never saw me as broken.
I've caught him playing before—stolen moments in his room or on the back porch when he thought he was alone. It always felt like witnessing something sacred, watching him unfold parts of himself usually kept hidden. Music isn't just something Nate does—it's the language his soul speaks in.
Standing here now, watching him, the feeling hits me so hard it steals my breath.
I love him.
Completely, inevitably, like we were always meant to exist together.
He adjusts the mic stand, his fingers moving with the same gentle precision I've felt in every touch. When his eyes lift, scanning the room before finding mine, I realize I'm completely lost in him.
I slide into a booth near the stage, finding the perfect vantage point. Across the room, I catch sight of my mom and Nick. She's laughing, head tilted back in genuine joy, while Nick watches her with undisguised adoration. It's been so long since I've seen her this light, this free.
"She looks happy, huh?" Ollie slides in beside me, following my gaze.
"She does," I say softly, unable to suppress my smile.
Ollie shifts, studying me with that perceptive look he's mastered. "What about you? Are you happy?"
I glance back at Nate as he settles onto the stool center stage, guitar balanced with easy grace across his knee. He looks like he belongs there, as if the spotlight has been waiting for him all along. The crowd hushes as he leans into the mic, fingers poised to play.
"I think I am, Ol," I whisper.
Then Nate starts to play, and time stops.
The opening chords of "Name" by The Goo Goo Dolls ripple through the room. Each note falls with deliberate precision, creating something hauntingly beautiful. It's a confession wrapped in melody, truth dressed in sound.
Memories flood in, vivid and overwhelming. Us in our pillow fort, safe in our own world. The night he fell asleep with his head in my lap, music playing softly through my old Discman, his face peaceful in sleep. Now, with each note, I'm transported back there. Just us, in our sanctuary built of blankets and trust.
His fingers dance across the strings with fluid grace, like the guitar is simply an extension of his soul. When his voice joins in, low and rich with emotion, the air itself seems to hold its breath. His voice carries something raw and honest, the kind of sound that reaches past your ears and straight into your heart.
The lyrics take on new meaning as I truly hear them for the first time—each word sinking deep into my bones. They speak of hidden truths and the yearning to be understood completely. That's what we've always been—an unspoken truth, a bond that defies explanation.
The fort, the late-night drives and conversations, the moments no one else witnessed—they existed in our own private universe.
This isn't just a cover of a song—it's a declaration.
It speaks of searching for connection in a world that often feels too big, too empty. Of being truly seen by someone who knows every shadow of your soul. And as he sings, I understand with startling clarity that he isn't performing for the room.
He's singing for me.
For us.
Nate's expression shifts as he loses himself in the music, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes closed as if he's diving deep into something only he can see. Every word feels purposeful, like he's offering pieces of his soul to the room, but in my heart, I know this is ours.
The song builds, his voice rising with it, and I feel every note resonating in my chest, tightening my throat and sending shivers down my spine. The room fades away until there's nothing left but him—just a boy brave enough to pour his heart into sound.
Suddenly, it's too much.
The intensity of the moment, of him and the memories, start crashing over me. My chest constricts as the song reaches its crescendo, and I can't seem to catch my breath.
I need air.
"I'll be back," I mumble to Ollie, not waiting for his response as I push myself out of the booth.
With the bathroom line stretching halfway across the room, I duck into a small utility closet instead, pressing my back against the cool wall. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. My hands tremble as echoes of his voice linger in my mind, and I press my palm against my chest, willing my racing heart to slow before I pass out. A minute or two passes by and I hear the crowd clapping and cheering uncontrollably.
It's interrupted by the door creaking open, forcing me forward. Nate fills the doorframe, his presence making the small space feel even smaller. The scent of his cologne wraps around me, making my head spin.
"Well, this is cozy," he says, leaning against the door as he closes it. His grin is pure mischief, but there's something softer in his eyes. "Why are you hiding in a broom closet?"
"I just needed a second," I mumble, crossing my arms. The air feels electric with him here, and I'm already regretting my ridiculous choice of hiding spot.
He tilts his head, those bold hazel eyes reading me like a book he's memorized.
"Are we playing hide-and-seek now?"
I hesitate, thoughts tumbling over each other, before blurting out, "Why didn't you tell me about Jackson?"
Nate frowns, confusion crossing his features. "Jackson? Who's—" Understanding dawns in his eyes.
"Ollie told me you… beat the shit out of him back when we were kids. Because he teased me about my bangs." The words sound absurd now that I'm saying them out loud. My cheeks burn as I realize how nonsensical I sound.
Nate's low chuckle fills the small space, warm and teasing.
"Wait, are you seriously mad because I beat up some kid for making fun of your bangs—what—ten years ago?"
"I'm not mad!" I throw my hands up, flustered. "I'm… I don't know what I am! It's frustrating and confusing… I feel everything all at once, and I don't know what to do about any of it!"
His grin widens into that infuriatingly charming smirk only he can pull off. He steps closer, eliminating what little space remained between us.
"If I kiss you right now, will it make things better or worse?" His tone walks the line between daring and tender, his eyes dancing with both amusement and something deeper.
My breath catches, my mind going blank. "I… I don't know."
"Well," he murmurs, leaning closer until I can feel his breath on my skin, "can I test the theory?"
The intensity in his gaze is devastating—raw and unguarded, like he's finally letting me see everything he's been holding back.
"All this time?" I whisper, the words barely audible.
"Yes, Leni. All this time," he says softly, the words carrying the weight of years. "All this time, it's been you and only you for me."
The space between us hums with tension, an invisible pull impossible to resist. His lips curve into another smirk as he adds, "You're real cute when you're flustered, you know."
"And you're infuriating when you think you're being charming," I retort, but my voice wavers despite my attempted glare.
I turn to step past him, but his hand catches my wrist, gently spinning me back. He leans in, his eyes darkening with an intensity that sends heat coursing through me.
"The last time we were in a closet together," he murmurs, voice rough, "it was our first kiss."
I blink, confused, then laugh.
"I'd hardly call the spin the bottle kiss a kiss. We were twelve and you missed my mouth. And we weren’t even in a closet."
He laughs, the sound rich and knowing, like he's holding onto a secret. "I'm not talking about that one."
His expression softens, and the change steals my breath. "I'm talking about the one on my seventh birthday. When you kissed me."
My heart stumbles, a long-buried memory crashing into me. "You… you remember that?"
His lips curve into a softer, more intimate smile as his thumb traces gentle circles on my wrist. The touch sends electricity through my veins, igniting something primal in the space between us.
"I told you," he murmurs, his voice deep and deliberate. "I remember everything when it comes to you."
He leans closer, and that intoxicating scent of his fills my lungs, simultaneously dizzying and grounding. His face hovers inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips, and when he speaks again, his voice is a low rasp that makes my stomach flip.
"And from now on, I'll make sure I never miss."
Then his lips find mine.
The kiss starts gentle, like he's asking permission. But within seconds, it transforms into something raw and consuming. His mouth claims mine with years of pent-up longing, and I'm lost to it—the taste of him, the feel of his hands sliding around my waist, pulling me closer until there's nothing between us but heat. Every nerve ending comes alive as his fingers trail up my back, his touch certain and reverent, like he's mapping territory he's dreamed of exploring.
My hands find their way into his hair, tugging slightly, and the sound that rumbles from his chest is pure satisfaction. We're seconds away from crossing a line there's no coming back from in this tiny, airless utility closet.
And then there’s a knock on the door.
"Uh, sorry to interrupt." Nick's voice cuts through the fog of desire, and I jerk away from Nate, my heart thundering against my ribs. "But the crowd's asking for more, Nate."
Nate steps back reluctantly, his lips curving into a knowing, almost smug smile.
"One day, we’re not going to be getting interrupted. But right now, duty calls," he says, throwing me a wink before turning toward the door.
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath, my cheeks burning, but the door doesn't close. When I look up, Nate's walking back to me with purposeful strides, his eyes dark and intense. Before I can speak, his hands cup my face, touch firm but tender, and his lips crash into mine once more.
This kiss is different. It's not just desire—it's everything. It's every unspoken word, every lingering look, every moment we've held back suddenly breaking free. His lips move against mine like they've been waiting lifetimes for this moment, and I feel myself unraveling, melting into him.
A soft laugh vibrates through his chest, and he presses the lightest kiss to the tip of my nose.
"I'm glad I found you again."
I blink up at him, still dazed. "What do you mean again?"
His thumb strokes the curve of my cheek, and though his expression is unreadable, his voice—his voice is low and certain, sending shivers down my spine.
"I don't just mean in this lifetime, Leni."
My breath catches in my throat. He looks at me like he sees beyond skin and bone, like he's glimpsing something eternal.
"I mean in every single one before this one."
It's in these unguarded moments, the ones he doesn't even realize he's giving me, that I fall deeper than I ever thought possible.
He pulls me into his arms, holding me against his chest, and the world beyond this closet ceases to exist. Warmth blooms in my chest, steady and sure, like a truth I've always known but am only now understanding. I know with bone-deep certainty, we are two souls who have been finding each other through time and space, lifetime after lifetime.
"I never want to forget this moment," I whisper, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the rough scratch of his stubble keeping me tethered to reality.
He stares at me, his perfect lips curving into the kind of smile that will haunt my dreams.
God, I am so in love with you.
It's as if he hears the unspoken thought, because he leans in, his lips brushing mine, our breath mingling, his voice barely above a whisper—raw and reverent.
"I could never forget the second time I fell in love with the first girl I ever loved."