68. Dancing In The Dark
CHAPTER 68
DANCING IN THE DARK
NORA
The air hangs thick with humidity, saltwater lapping against the dock that stretches into the lake like a wooden finger reaching for infinity. The familiar creak of weathered planks beneath me feels like home as I dangle my legs over the edge, letting the cool night air kiss my skin.
"Wonderwall" plays softly from my iPod, its familiar melody wrapping around me like muscle memory. Above, stars scatter across the vast darkness—nature's own light show against velvet black. I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the night air, and that's when I feel it—the shift in the atmosphere that always signals his presence.
My body knows before my mind does, responding to him like a compass finding true north. The air itself seems to rearrange around him, molecules dancing to accommodate his presence. It sends my heart into a familiar spiral of beats I can't control.
He's always felt like this—both known and new, like a song I've had memorized since before I first heard it. His absence leaves me hollow, an echo chamber waiting for sound. His presence lights up every nerve ending until I'm almost dizzy with awareness. Sometimes I think it's dangerous to need someone this much, to love with an intensity that borders on physical pain.
"Sorry," he says, voice rough. "Didn't mean to creep up on you."
When he steps closer, my stomach drops. His lip is swollen, his cheekbone painted in violent shades of purple and blue. He's favoring his left side, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. The sight of him—broken but still standing—fractures something inside me.
"Oh, my God, Nate," I whisper, scrambling to my feet as my heart pounds against my ribcage. "What happened to you?"
He shakes his head and eases himself down beside me, swallowing back a groan that makes my chest ache. I sink down next to him, fighting the urge to reach out, to try to piece him back together with my bare hands.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he mutters, staring out at the lake where moonlight plays across the water like scattered diamonds.
"Do you need—" The word 'hospital' dies on my tongue as he cuts me off.
"What I need is to just be here with you right now. Please, Nor." His voice is a plea wrapped in pain and something darker that makes my soul ache.
I've learned not to push when he's like this. Sometimes love means being still while someone weathers their own storm, offering shelter rather than solutions. But my heart rebels against the helplessness, thundering so hard I swear he must hear it echoing across the water. My fingers itch to trace his wounds, to heal more than just the physical damage.
His eyes meet mine, they’re guarded, but there's a vulnerability in them that pulls at something deep in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I lean in. When my lips meet his, I taste copper and pain—sharp and raw. The metallic tang of his blood lingers between us, but it only makes me hold him tighter, as if I could absorb his hurt through touch alone.
His hand slides to my neck, grip desperate like I might dissolve into thin air. The intensity of his need mirrors my own, making my pulse race beneath his fingers.
I shift onto his lap, straddling him, feeling heat radiate between us like a living thing. His hands find my waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress as if memorizing the shape of me. Our heartbeats sync and still it's not enough. I want to crawl inside his soul and wash away years of hurt with nothing but love.
When his eyes lock with mine, they're raw amber, flecked with gold. There's something unguarded there that steals my breath—pure, unfiltered truth that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"This has to stop, Nate," I whisper, my voice trembling but certain. "I know you think you deserve this pain, but you don't."
His forehead rests against mine, breath warm and ragged against my skin.
"I don't know anymore, Nora," he argues, but hope bleeds through his words.
"Nate," I brush my lips over his again, "I'm here. I’m not going anywhere."
I press closer, wishing I could pour every ounce of warmth I possess into his wounded soul. His grip tightens, pulling me in until there's nothing between us but shared breath and need. The world beyond the dock fades away—no pain, no past, no bruises or scars. Just us, two souls holding onto each other like we're the only real thing in this vast universe.
"If you won't go to the hospital, at least tell me what happened," I plead, fingers ghosting over his bruises. "Please don't lie to me."
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before meeting my gaze. His eyes are dark wells of exhaustion, heavy with secrets that weigh on his shoulders like concrete.
"I don't want to lie to you. Ever," he says quietly.
"So don't."
A sigh escapes him, and I watch the internal battle play across his features.
“Scott owes money to a dealer I used to run with. They wanted to send a message." His jaw tightens. "Well, you're looking at the message."
My hand flies to my mouth, chest constricting until breathing becomes a conscious effort.
"Nate, please, you need to go to a hospital??—"
"No," he cuts me off, firm but gentle. His fingers find mine in the darkness. "I just… I can't deal with any of that right now. I just want to be here. With you."
Moonlight shapes him from shadow, carving out broad shoulders and wild dark hair. His eyes are like windows to a universe he rarely lets anyone see, offering glimpses of his soul in fragments and flashes.
"Where do you go when you do that?" I ask.
"Do what?"
"That faraway stare, like you're here but somewhere else entirely." I watch him the way he's studied me all summer—with curiosity and something deeper, like trying to decode a mystery.
He tilts his head skyward, a small smile playing at his lips that makes my heart flutter.
"Did you know some of the greatest philosophers had this theory that music wasn't just sound, but something celestial? That it traveled through the cosmos, carried by stars and planets, connecting us in ways we'd never be able to even comprehend?" His voice drops, almost reverent.
"There's geometry in the humming of the strings; there's music in the spacing of the spheres." The words settle between us. "Pythagoras said that," he adds with a soft smile.
"Do you secretly study astronomy in your spare time?" I tease.
His laugh rumbles through his chest, rich and warm where I'm pressed against him.
"I think about things most people don't notice. Like how small we are in the grand scheme." His gaze drifts to the lake, where moonlight dances on rippling water. "Sometimes it makes existing easier. To think, in a hundred years, no one will remember us."
"Unless you make it matter," I counter, conviction burning in my chest.
His smile reaches his eyes this time, making my pulse skip. "It's freeing, either way. Just depends on how you choose to see it."
Silence stretches between us, alive with possibility—like gravity itself holds its breath in the space between heartbeats. These stolen moments feel infinite, as if the universe pauses just for us.
"Have you ever heard of Pluto Square?"
I shake my head no.
"It's a reckoning, a time for breaking patterns and choosing new paths." His fingers trace abstract patterns on the weathered wood. "That's why I wanted to play music. Maybe if I leave something that matters, even to one person, it'll feel worth it."
His laugh is gentle—the same one I remember from childhood, when he'd lose himself at the piano and the world couldn't touch him.
I fidget with my iPod, switching songs. "Stop Crying Your Heart Out" by Oasis weaves through the night air like incense.
"What about you?" he asks.
"What about me?"
"What's on your mind?"
"Just thinking." I shrug, trying to make light of the storm in my head.
"Sounds dangerous."
"You don't want to be up here." I tap my temple, forcing a smile. "Trust me. It's chaos."
Nate watches me with those eyes that see too much. He shifts, wincing, and I try to move off his lap, but his hands keep me still.
"I like you here," he smirks, making my heart somersault. "Seriously, though. What were you thinking about before I showed up?"
I hesitate, twisting my sleeve between my fingers like I'm wringing out the words.
"It's nothing,” I whisper. "You've had such a horrible night, and my problems feel small now??—"
“Tell me, please." He interrupts, cradling my face like I'm made of stardust.
My gaze drifts to the stars that watch us with ancient eyes.
"I was thinking about Dad," I say softly, words catching like thorns. "When I look at the stars, I talk to them. It feels… it's the closest I can get to him now."
Nate's jaw tightens, his gaze dropping to the dark water below.
"You know, your dad came to see me," he says finally. "After everything with the scholarship and expulsion. I was in a bad place, so I called him after Scott…" His voice breaks on memories too sharp to touch. "He flew in the next day and sat with me in the park eating burgers."
My breath catches, pieces of the past clicking into place.
"He said it was a teaching conference," I whisper, truth unspooling in my chest. "What did you talk about?"
His eyes drift away, heavy with unspoken words. "He told me I wasn't my mistakes. That I could choose better if I wanted better."
"And do you?" The question slips out before I can catch it. "Want better?"
"Yeah, I think I do." He nods, eyes glassy in the moonlight. "Your dad was more of a father to me than Scott ever was." His voice breaks like waves on rocks.
I cup his face, thumb brushing the bruise on his cheek with reverence. "Dad loved you like his own, Nate," I murmur, pouring truth into every syllable. "He was so proud of you. I know he still is."
His lips part, stunned silent. I press on, needing him to understand.
"He kept every newspaper clipping about you, even made your mom send him your school newsletters. He was proud of the boy you were and the man you're becoming, despite everything. Maybe even because of everything."
Nate's gaze dips to the iPod beside me, and I follow his line of sight.
"You know, this song…" I begin saying, lifting it.
A smirk tugs at his lips. "Let me guess, it's your favorite?"
"How'd you know?" I tease, tilting my head.
"Because I know you." His quiet certainty sends ripples through my soul. When his hand covers mine, warmth radiates from the touch, and my heart stumbles to keep pace with the shifting air between us.
"You know what this song reminds me of?" he asks, voice intimate as a secret.
"What?"
"That time we danced on the dock under the night sky."
Before I can question him, Nate shifts beneath me. With careful grace, he pushes himself up, bracing against his bruised ribs. Even injured, there's a fluid strength to him that makes my pulse flutter. He reaches for the iPod, but I snatch it first. Rising slowly, he masks his pain with determination that tugs at something deep inside me. Standing tall, he extends his hand—a silent invitation that speaks volumes.
"Dance with me."
I laugh softly. "This is becoming a thing now."
"Yeah, but it's our thing." His smile unfolds slowly, the kind that makes time pause, that turns everything else to background noise.
The opening notes of "You and Me" by Lifehouse drift from the earbuds. Nate places one in my ear, the other in his—an intimate gesture that sends butterflies through my chest. He tucks the iPod into his pocket and pulls me close, his grip steady against my back. Cool evening air mingles with the warmth of his body as we move together, finding our rhythm in the space between heartbeats. The world quiets, holding its breath as we dance in the dark.
His forehead touches mine, breath soft on my face as I rest my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat drums beneath my ear, steady and strong—a rhythm I could lose myself in forever. When he sings the chorus, low and gravelly, my lips curl into an involuntary smile, the kind that breaks through like sunshine after rain. I look up, and the light in his eyes steals my breath.
"You know what's messed up?" he murmurs, thumb tracing circles on my back.
"What?"
"There are over a billion words in hundreds of languages, and none of them could describe how you make me feel," he says, each word weighted with truth.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat.
"Maybe that's because some feelings aren't meant for words. They're just meant to be felt."
His fingers tighten around mine, gaze burning into me like he's committing every detail to memory.
"I want this," he says, voice thick with emotion. "I want us. You and me. But…" He closes his eyes briefly before meeting mine again, raw vulnerability in his expression. "I'm scared I'll fuck it up because… because my life is such a wreck."
"Right now," I whisper, touching his bruised face, "I just want this moment."
He pulls me closer, and we look at each other like this cosmic dance we've been doing all along was finally bringing us home. And so, we hold on to this fragment of time, fleeting and infinite all at once.
The universe began in a single moment.
A cosmic explosion that birthed stars, planets, and the very matter that makes us who we are. Before it, there was nothing. Then everything. Moments like this remind me of that—a blip in the vastness of existence, but no less profound. Like stars being born, some moments burn so bright they leave their mark on eternity.
But moments are always destined to become memories, precious and fragile, even as they shape who we become.