Before We Were

67. Did We Just Become Best Friends?

CHAPTER 67

DID WE JUST BECOME BEST FRIENDS?

NATE

I’ve been buzzing all day from last night's grand opening of Sonder. Things are slowly starting to feel as if they're looking up. That brief surge of optimism fades when I spot Jake at the dock, his back to me, looking out onto the water just like when we were kids. Back then, we'd sit for hours watching the sunset while the sky changed colour, sharing secrets and plans for impossible adventures. Now the ten feet between us might as well be miles.

The dock creaks under my feet. Each step I take now feels like crossing a minefield of memories. His silhouette cuts against the water like shattered glass, all rigid angles in the golden afternoon light. He doesn't turn when I call his name, but I catch the tension rippling through him—shoulders locking, hands curling into fists at his sides. My chest aches with the wrongness of it.

"Jake." I keep my voice steady even as the air between us crackles with unspoken accusations. "Can we talk?"

He turns just enough to show his profile, jaw clenched like he's fighting back venom. I search for traces of my little brother in that hardened face—the kid who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms, who wore my old football jersey’s like badges of honor.

"What's there to talk about?" His words slice through the space between us.

I close the distance between us, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. There's nothing but ice in his tone where warmth used to live.

"A lot, actually."

A bitter laugh tears from his throat. "Fine. Let's talk, Nate."

The way he spits my name—the same name he once shouted across football fields with pride, the name he'd call when nightmares woke him—makes it clear this conversation is already derailed, but I have to try. I settle beside him, hoping the calm water might steady us both. The proximity is physically close but emotionally distant, like sitting next to a stranger wearing my brother's face.

I need to tell him about Nora, about these feelings I've been suffocating. I know my little brother better than he thinks. I've seen the way he looks at her, even if he hasn't figured it out himself yet. And it's killing me that the person I would have once trusted with every secret is now the one person I can't confide in about the heaviest thing on my heart.

"Look, I'm sorry about everything that's happened lately??—"

"Fuck your sorry." Jake whips around, face contorted with a rage that feels too familiar, too much like our father's. "My entire fucking life, I've lived in your shadow. At school, at home, everywhere I went, I was just 'Nate's little brother'. Then you go and fuck up your life, and somehow I'm left scrubbing clean the mess you made of our family name."

Anger pulses hot in my veins. I dig my nails into my palms until the pain numbs the anger in me, anything to keep from saying something I can't take back. Jake springs to his feet, pacing like a caged animal, like he's got poison he needs to spit out.

Go ahead.

I can take it.

I'm the one who always takes the hits—verbal, physical.

They all leave the same scars now.

"And the one goddamn time I finally feel like I'm finding my feet, when everything's finally falling into place, you show up and wreck it all. Like you always do."

His words slice straight for the throat, but I force myself to stay calm.

"Jake, that's not what this is about??—"

"Isn't it?" He spins to face me, and the hatred in his eyes hits harder than any physical blow. "I'm done cleaning up after you, done with your self-destructive bullshit. You're nothing but a selfish prick who??—"

I'm on my feet before I register moving, going toe-to-toe with him. His venom catches me off guard, but the fury in my voice makes him flinch.

"No one's stopping you from doing whatever you want. You created this rivalry in your head. Not me. You're the one living in a fucking fantasy world, pointing fingers when shit doesn't go your way. Welcome to reality, little brother." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "But while you're busy letting everyone else poison your mind, you're missing what's right in front of you. I'm not your enemy."

Maybe someday you'll understand why I did everything I did.

Maybe someday you'll know what it cost me to keep you safe.

He takes a step closer, his jaw set like stone. "And what you keep failing to see is I'm not a fucking child anymore. Something both you and Mom can't seem to understand."

Not a child anymore.

If you only knew what that means in this family.

I snap.

"This is what you've been keeping pent up inside all this time?"

His voice rises like a storm. "Dad never noticed anything I did because he was too busy watching you. The golden boy. Nate and his football career. Nate and his scholarships. Then you go and blow that up, and suddenly both Mom and Dad are focusing on trying to keep you out of jail and off the fucking streets."

Watching me.

Yeah, he was always watching me.

Waiting for me to slip up, to give him a reason.

My hands start to shake, and I shove them deeper into my pockets. "That's not??—"

"What? Not fair?" He barks out a laugh that sounds like broken glass. "You wanna talk about 'fair'? Let's talk about how when you started losing your shit—quitting football, partying, spiraling—Mom stayed up all night worrying about you. You! Dad was pissed at the world because of you! And me? I'm the one getting shipped off to fucking camps for months at a time to stay out of the way. Because God forbid I add to their stress, right?"

Mom wasn't up worrying about me. She was worrying about you.

She was up hiding bruises, while I was planning escapes we'd never take.

And those camps… they were the only nights we could sleep knowing you were safe.

I clench my fists so hard my nails break skin, copper-scent mixing with the salt air. There's nothing I can say right now to make him see the bigger picture. Anything I do say, he won't believe anyway. I stay silent, letting him drain his poison.

"Doesn't matter anyway in the end," he snaps, voice raw. "Because just when I think maybe things can't get worse, you and Mom start keeping your own secrets. Did you ever think I deserved to know that our parents were getting a divorce? Or was that on a need-to-know basis, and I didn't fucking qualify?"

My breath catches like barbed wire in my throat.

Tell him.

Tell him why Mom finally left.

Tell him about the hospital visits that never happened, the police reports that were never filed, the nights I stood guard outside his door.

"It wasn't like that??—"

"It wasn't like what? Like I didn't deserve to know the truth about what goes on in my own fucking family? Do you know what that was like for me? Hearing it in front of an entire audience at a fucking party?"

The truth would break you, little brother.

"Jake—"

"No, Nate. You don't get to talk your way out of this. Not this time." His voice trembles, anger spilling into something rawer, deeper. "You've been screwing up for years, and the rest of us are the ones paying the price. Mom's breaking her back trying to keep you afloat, and Dad's been bailing your ass out of shit left right and center."

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. The mention of our father sends bile rising in my throat.

Bailing me out? Is that what he told you?

What about the night he put me through the mirror in the bathroom?

About the time he "helped" me down the stairs?

Of all the things he's said, the way he defends our father like he's some kind of hero burns me the most. My hands tremble with the effort of holding back fifteen years of truth.

I take a shaky breath, trying to push back the rage rising in my chest. "Jake, listen to me. Whatever Dad's feeding you, it's not the truth. He's manipulating you. That's what he does. He makes you think you need him, but you don't. You don't."

Just like he did with Mom.

Just like he did with me.

Until we were nothing but shells of ourselves.

Jake's laugh is hollow, his shoulders stiffening like armor.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't see what he's doing? But here's the thing, Nate, at least he's paying attention to me now. At least I'm not invisible anymore."

No, no, no . This is exactly what I tried to prevent.

"That's not attention, Jake. That's fucking control," I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut. "This is what he does. He uses you, manipulates you, and slowly takes away everything you love until you're under his thumb. If you paid attention, you might start to see things a lot clearer. But you don't. You just blame the world for everything that happens to you."

Jake's eyes flash with something dangerous, his voice a low growl. "Fuck you, Nate. Seriously, fuck you."

"You need to demonize me to fit your narrative, fine." I take a step forward, chest heaving. "You want to make me the villain in your story so you feel better? To justify running off and saying fuck you to me, to Mom? Okay. But don't you ever say I didn't care about you. My entire fucking life, all I've ever done is care about you. About Mom."

He opens his mouth to respond, but it's my turn to cut him off, my voice rising with years of buried truth fighting to break free.

"Every single fucking decision I've made over the last four years has been so you and Mom could??—"

Don't.

Don't break.

Don't tell him how Dad used to wait until he was asleep.

Don't tell him about the sound-proofed basement.

Don't tell him why you really quit the team and school.

I stop myself, jaw clenching as I look away. The morning sun catches on the water, blinding. When I open my mouth again, my voice is quieter, almost broken.

"Forget it. Hate me. Villainize me. Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

I'm about to walk away when his voice hardens again, cutting through the air like a blade.

"You'll break her heart, and you know it. It's not a matter of if, but when."

His words hit me like a physical blow to the chest. I know exactly who he's talking about. I open my mouth to argue, but no sound comes out. He shakes his head, his anger simmering just below the surface, and turns to leave.

And just like that, I'm left standing on the dock, the gravity of his words dragging me down like an anchor. The morning sun feels too bright, too exposing, highlighting every crack in the armor I've spent years building.

Maybe one day you'll understand, little brother.

Maybe one day you'll forgive me for keeping you in the dark.

But I'd rather have you hate me than know the truth about the monster you call Dad.

The fight with Jake leaves ash in my mouth.

My knuckles ache from holding back, and his words pound against my skull like a hammer. His face haunts me—twisted with anger, hurt, betrayal. I thought I could save him, pull him back before Dad dragged him under completely. But to Jake, I'm not his protector anymore. I'm the villain, the convenient target for everything wrong in his life.

I need a drink.

And I need the one person who's seen me at my worst and stayed anyway.

Jay picks up on the second ring, his voice casual but threaded with that familiar concern that always steadies something inside me. "To what do I owe the pleasure this time, Nathaniel?"

The use of my full name almost makes me laugh. Almost.

"Want to hang out?" My voice sounds hollow even to me.

"Does this version of hanging out involve kidnapping or stealing a car?"

"You're funny."

"Well, the last time we hung out, you beat the shit out of a guy right before I dropped you off at the police station, so I just need to know what I'm in for this time." There's no judgment in his tone, just that unwavering acceptance he's always shown me.

Jay's silent for a moment, and I can practically see him weighing his next words. "You good man?"

"No." The honesty surprises even me. "I just… I don't want to be alone right now."

"Where are we going?"

"Meet me at Furlo's? That bar just outside town?"

"The sketchy one by the old gas station?" There's no judgment in his voice, just that unwavering acceptance he's always shown me. "See you there."

Hours later, I push through the heavy door of Furlo's. The bar is a study in shadows and secrets, dimly lit and heavy with the kind of silence that swallows confessions whole. A jukebox in the corner bleeds old country songs into the stale air. It's the kind of place where people come to disappear, and tonight, that suits me just fine.

I slide onto a stool, nodding at the bartender. The worn wood beneath my fingers feels like every bad decision I've ever made.

"What can I get for ya?"

Any other time, I would've drowned the anxiety with whatever I could get my hands on. Cocaine would've been my first choice—that familiar rush, the way it made everything sharper, brighter, more manageable. The craving hits me like phantom pain, my fingers drumming against the bar in a rhythm my body remembers too well.

One call. That's all it would take.

The numbers are still carved into my brain like scars.

But I can't do everything right now.

Jay has helped me keep that unspoken promise through countless late-night calls and impromptu drives. Through the shakes, the cravings, the moments when the walls of my bedroom felt like they were closing in and the only escape I could think of was chemical. He'd let me show up without question, sometimes just to sit in silence, sometimes to drive aimlessly until the sun came up and the need subsided.

But it's Nora's eyes that haunt me the most.

Every time the craving hits hard enough to make me consider breaking, I see them. I remember the fear that lived in them the night on the beach when she saw me high, fueled with anger. I hit thirty days clean last week and didn't tell a soul, too afraid that speaking it might break whatever fragile progress I've made. Of all the uncertainties in my life right now, there's one thing I know for certain: I never want to see that fear in her eyes again.

“Scotch,” I tell the bartender, even as every nerve ending in my body screams for something stronger.

The bartender places the glass in front of me, then leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. "You just missed your old man."

My hand freezes mid-reach, ice sliding down my spine. "What?"

"You're Sullivan's kid, right?" In a town like Eden, there's no escaping who you are.

"Yeah, he was here with his lady friend." The bartender smirks like we're sharing some private joke.

The divorce papers aren't even cold and he's already found his next victim. My throat tightens as I think about Mom, how many "lady friends" there must have been while she was at home, trying to hold our family together with bloody hands and broken bones.

"Wait, does he come here often?"

The bartender shrugs, his rag making lazy circles on the polished wood. "Lately, yeah. Been in here a fair bit the past week. Tips well, too."

Of course he fucking does.

It's hush money, just like everything else with Scott—buying silence, crafting his image, making sure everyone sees exactly what he wants them to see. But what eats at me more is why he's still in Eden.

Then the pieces click into place like a gun being loaded. Jake's whereabouts during the day. The way he's been disappearing for hours, giving vague answers about where he's been. The subtle changes in his behavior, the new edge to his anger, the way he's started parroting Scott's words like they're gospel.

Fuck.

Every time Jake went M.I.A., every time we couldn't reach him, every time Mom's calls went straight to voicemail—he was with Scott.

My grip tightens on the glass until I'm afraid it might shatter. While I've been trying to keep Jake away from Scott's influence, the bastard's been working his way in through the back door, poisoning my little brother's mind one " father-son " moment at a time. The same way he did with me, before I learned the truth about what kind of man he really was. Before I understood that his attention always came with a price. That his love was just another weapon in his arsenal.

I'm halfway through contemplating whether smashing the glass against the bar would be cathartic or just messy when Jay walks in—hood up despite the heat, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes sweep the room once before locking on mine, and he heads over with that easy, no-nonsense stride.

"You look like shit," he says, sliding onto the stool next to me. No preamble, no bullshit—just Jay being Jay.

"I look better than I feel," I mutter, taking another sip of my drink, wishing it was strong enough to dull the frustration gnawing at my chest.

He gestures to the bartender for a Coke, then leans back. His body language is casual, but his eyes scan me the way they did that night. He found me bloody-knuckled in a parking lot—the night everything changed between us.

"All right, you gonna tell me what's going on, or are we playing twenty questions?"

I huff out a laugh, low and humorless.

"Same shit, different day. Jake blew up at me before I came here. Scott is pulling his strings like a pro all while fucking around with any woman under twenty-five. Guess the only good thing that's happened as of late is Mom finally signed the divorce papers." I swirl the liquid in my glass, watching it dance.

Jay lets out a slow whistle. "Hell of a week."

"That was just today."

He takes a long pull of his beer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a tilt of his head, he says, "For someone who acts like he doesn't give a shit, you've got a real talent for helping people who don't deserve it."

I glance at him, brow furrowing.

Jay shifts in his seat, setting his bottle down with a soft clink. His eyes hold mine, heavy with a sincerity that makes my chest tight.

"Like me and my mom. That time we couldn't afford her meds, and you showed up outta nowhere with a solution. You didn't have to do that."

The memory hits, uninvited but clear. The desperation in his voice when he called at 3 AM, the way his hands shook as he tried to count out change at the pharmacy. The look in his eyes when I handed over the cash, like he couldn't decide whether to punch me or hug me.

I shrug, the gesture feeling heavier than it should. "You would've done the same for me."

Jay snorts, the sound almost bitter. "Doesn't change the fact that you did it when you hardly knew me."

I wave him off, uncomfortable under the weight of his gratitude. Some debts don't need to be acknowledged between brothers, and that's what we are, even if neither of us says it out loud.

"You deserve someone looking out for you."

His lips twitch into a smirk, breaking the tension. "Glad we're such good acquaintances or whatever the fuck we are."

The laugh that escapes me is genuine this time, if only for a second. It's the first real one I've had since everything went to shit with Jake.

"No one's had my back like you have. I'd say we're better than just acquaintances."

He quirks an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Wait, did we just become best friends?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"It’s a lie anyway. Your girl has had your back longer than I ever have."

The mention of Nora as "my girl" makes my chest tighten, a pang of something raw threading through me. I keep my face neutral, even though Jay can probably see right through it.

"She's not my girl," I say, but it's not entirely a lie.

A girl like Nora doesn't belong to anyone. But if anyone tried to claim her as theirs, I'd probably gauge their eyes out.

"You keep telling yourself that, pal," Jay drawls, his grin morphing into something knowing. "You'd have to be blind to not see the way you two are around each other. It's cute and shit." He pauses, then adds with practiced casualness, "Speaking of girls, what's the deal with Camilla? She seeing anyone?"

A real grin spreads across my face, grateful for the change in subject. "Why?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you always answer with a question or yes she's single?"

"Yes to both."

"Well in that case, I think you should put in a good word for me, friend.”

My brow arches. "You do realize she could kick your ass in a heartbeat, right?"

He laughs, raising his beer in a mock toast. "That's what I like about her."

Shaking my head, I smirk. It feels good to talk about something normal for once, to pretend for a moment that we're just two guys shooting the shit about girls, not two broken kids trying to piece themselves back together.

"I'll see what I can do, but no promises."

"Good lad." Jay's expression softens, his tone dipping. "You good, though? For real?"

I pause, the words sticking in my throat. Even if I'm not right now, I don't need him to know it.

"I will be." I say it with more confidence than I feel, but the truth lingers unspoken between us like smoke.

Jay watches me carefully before nodding. "All right. Well, just know I'm here. Anytime." He stands, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Should we, like, hug or some shit now?"

I snort, shoving his arm away. "Get the fuck out of here."

He chuckles, stepping back. "Gotta check on my mom anyway."

"How's she doing?"

Jay hesitates, his hand resting on the edge of the bar.

"Not getting better. But not getting worse. It's like she's got one foot in and one foot out. Some days she fights, other days…" He trails off, shaking his head. "Anyway, don't forget about Camilla."

"Got it."

When he's gone, I stare at my drink, the condensation dripping down the sides like slow-moving tears. Jay's right. I do have people who have had my back even when I didn't deserve it. But Nora—she's different. She's never stopped believing in me, even in moments when I couldn't believe in myself. Even when I gave her every reason to walk away, she stayed and fought for me.

Happiness isn't something I trust—not fully. Every time I let it in, it slips through my fingers, leaving behind nothing but regret. My phone feels heavy as I pull it from my pocket. My thumb hovers over her name before I shove it away again. The truth is, I don't want to be half in, half out with her anymore. I'm done waiting, done letting fear hold me back, done pretending she isn't everything I've ever wanted but never thought I deserved.

If she goes to London, I'll wait for her. She won't want me to, but secretly, I will. If she stays, I'll stay by her side. Either way, I'm hers—completely, irrevocably, with every broken piece of myself that she somehow makes feel whole.

I'm about to take a sip of my untouched drink, then decide against it. It's time to stop running from the best thing that's ever happened to me and start running toward it instead. It's time to tell Nora exactly what she means to me—that she's not just the reason I'm still breathing, but the reason I want to keep breathing.

That loving her isn't just a choice anymore—it's as natural as my heartbeat, as necessary as air.

The parking lot unfolds before me like a concrete wasteland, empty except for the electric hum of streetlights that paint everything in sickly yellow. My car sits in the shadows where the light doesn't reach, and that's when I see them. Monty and his crew, their Harleys gleaming dull under the fluorescents, passing a cigarette between them like some twisted communion.

Monty looks like hell—eyes bloodshot and hollow, face gaunt with days of sleeplessness, movements jerky like a puppet with cut strings. His entire being radiates the kind of dangerous desperation that makes my muscles tense for a fight. But I walk toward them anyway. There's no point in running. Nora's voice echoes in my head, pleading with me to be careful. The memory of her fingers brushing against my cheek this morning sends a knife through my chest. I should have told her then.

"Nice night isn't it, Preppy?" Monty's voice drips with mockery as he crushes his cigarette under his boot. "Noticed your daddy's been busy."

I stop just out of swinging distance, face blank. "You got your money, Monty. I'm out."

Monty steps closer, and I catch the faint stench of whiskey and desperation on him.

"You're out when I say you're out. See, now my fucking problem is your old man. He's been throwing around all these threats. Running his mouth, trying to drive out my business and take over this part of town." His voice slows to a taunting drawl. "But Scott Sullivan owes me some money too. And instead, he's spending it on cheap hookers. What's with you rich folk anyway? You have all the money in the fucking world and you settle for cheap trash?"

I don't flinch, don't let my surprise show.

Of course my father would choose the one dealer in the whole fucking state who I'm trying to get out of my life. The inevitability of it would be laughable if it wasn't so goddamn tragic.

"Not my problem," I say evenly.

Monty's laugh cuts through the night air like broken glass. "Not your problem? No kid, see if he screws up, you're going to pay the price. An eye for an eye."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "You think he cares what you do to me?"

His grin turns cold, predatory. "Oh, I know him well enough. Your old man has been sniffing around my turf, waving cops and lawsuits in my face. Thought he could scare me off." He steps closer, breath hot with bourbon. "But I don't scare easily."

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

The words hang in the air for a heartbeat before his fist slams into my stomach. Pain erupts like a bomb inside my ribs, and I stagger back, lungs desperate for air that won't come. Before I can straighten, a boot crashes into my side, sending me sprawling onto the gravel. I curl in on myself instinctively, arms shielding my face, but it doesn't stop them.

Fists and boots rain down—sharp, brutal, unrelenting. A kick catches my ribs, and I swear I feel something crack. The pain is blinding, but through it all, I see her face, like every other time I've danced along the edge of death.

God, I need to make it through this.

There's so much I haven't told her.

Gravel bites into my palms and cheek as I try to roll away, but it's useless. They're everywhere, surrounding me like wolves on a kill. Each impact sends shockwaves of agony through my body, but I cling to thoughts of her like a lifeline.

The warmth of her laugh. The way she curls into me in the mornings when I wake up next to her.

"Stay down, Preppy," Monty growls, his voice dark with venom. Another kick lands square in my stomach.

I convulse, dry heaving as I gasp for air that won't come. Blood fills my mouth, copper-bright and sickeningly warm.

"Fucking hell," one of them mutters somewhere above me. "He's still moving."

A sharp blow to my back makes my vision blur, and a boot slams into the back of my knee, forcing me flat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the agony and humiliation. It's like being broken down piece by piece, every kick driving home what I am—just another pawn in Scott Sullivan's endless games.

But through the pain, through the darkness creeping at the edges of my consciousness, I hold onto her. My anchor. My reason.

I love you, I think, as another blow lands.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

When the hits finally stop, I don't move. I can't.

Blood trickles down my lip, warm and metallic, pooling on the gravel beneath me. The coppery taste fills my mouth, but I let out a low, ragged laugh anyway. It's harsh and broken, but it's all I have left.

Monty crouches next to me, grabbing a fistful of my shirt and yanking me up. His breath stinks of whiskey and smoke, and his eyes burn with an anger that's been simmering too long. My head spins, and for a moment, I see Nora's face instead—the way she looked at me this morning, worry creasing her forehead as she traced the dark circles under my eyes.

"You think he cares about this being a message?" I rasp, my voice barely audible through the pain. "This is exactly what he wanted. Scott never gets his hands dirty. He leaves that to scum like you."

Monty's expression darkens, and his fist crashes into my jaw. Stars explode behind my eyes, and I taste more blood as my cheek hits gravel. The world tilts dangerously, but I stay conscious—barely. Monty grabs me again, hauling me up like a rag doll. My legs dangle uselessly, my body too wrecked to resist.

His sneer is inches from my face, his voice low and lethal. "One way or another, he's going to get a message." His grip tightens, fingers digging into bruised flesh. "And you're going to deliver it. You get me my money, or I'll take away everything."

His eyes glint with malicious understanding. "Come to think of it, maybe I went after the wrong son. Maybe your kid brother should be next." He leans in closer, bourbon-soaked breath hot against my face. "Or maybe I just go straight for that pretty little brunette with the nice legs you've been spending time with. She looks like she'd be a fun time."

Something inside me—something I didn't even know existed—snaps.

A surge of protective fury burns through me, stronger than the pain, stronger than fear. Despite the agony shooting through my battered body, I force myself to lift my head. My voice comes out low and deadly, each word carved from ice and steel.

"You go anywhere near my brother or dare to fucking touch her," I say, "and I'll kill you myself."

It's not a threat—it's a promise.

Monty's grin widens, cruel and amused. "Struck a nerve, huh? Rule number one, kid: don't fall for tits and an ass. They'll get you killed. And family doesn't mean shit. They're only good for stabbing you in the back anyway. But I think you've learned that lesson by now."

He shoves me back down, letting me crumple to the gravel. His crew laughs as they mount their bikes, the roar of their engines slicing through the night like thunder. The sound of their departure echoes off the buildings, matching the pounding in my head.

I lie there, bloodied and broken, staring up at the stars. They seem too peaceful, too distant from this hell. My chest burns with each breath, every inhale a sharp reminder of my fractured ribs.

Monty knows about Nora now.

That thought alone twists deeper than any blow they landed. She's no longer just my secret, my safe harbor—she's become a target. The realization sits like lead in my stomach, heavier than all my injuries combined. I try to move, but my body screams in protest. Blood drips steadily from my split lip, marking the gravel like morse code—a desperate message to no one.

The night air grows colder, or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, I know with absolute certainty that everything has changed. This isn't just about surviving anymore—it's about protecting what matters. The only pure thing left in my dark, twisted world.

I close my eyes, seeing Nora's face behind my eyelids. The way she looks when she's reading, completely lost in another world. The small crease between her eyebrows when she's worried. The sound of her laugh, how it makes everything else fade away. I have to keep her safe, even if it means pushing her away.

Even if it means breaking both our hearts.

Whatever it takes.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.