Chapter 31
At the back of the bookstore, the event is already underway. Rows of neatly arranged chairs are filled, and there are several people rounding the edges of the space. The audience is listening to a voice I recognize, rapt by what he’s saying.
Nate. Brody and I are part of the standing room at the back, so I can’t see him yet, but I’d recognize that voice anywhere—low, warm, familiar.
Suddenly, I’m somewhere else. The heat of a fire as dancers spin their torches, a wobbly jet ski where I grip Nate for dear life, the waterfall where it’s his turn to hold me close.
The words on a beach that undid it all.
I glance at Brody, my nails digging into my palm. “Are you sure about this?”
He’s pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt in a lame attempt to hide his identity, but I can still see his judging frown. The one that used to drive me crazy, and not always in a good way. “Nate has something he needs to say; something you need to hear. We can’t do that from back here.”
“What? It’s a packed event.” More packed than Nate made his prior events sound.
Brody nods toward the front. “There are two seats in the first row reserved for us.” He nudges me forward even though we can’t see the chairs.
I don’t move.
“Go on,” Brody whispers. “Just walk to the front and sit down. Let him be the one to sweat it this time.”
The idea shifts something inside me, and my legs carry me through the gathering of standing fans to the beginning of the aisle.
That’s when I see him, and my breath snags.
Nate’s at the podium, one hand gripping the ledge.
His book lies open in front of him as his voice carries through the space, smooth and deliberate.
I should hear his words, but my pulse drowns them out, pounding louder with every second that brings me closer when he’ll look up and see me here—watching him tell our story to a room full of strangers who don’t know these characters don’t have a happy ending in real life.
A few people turn as I make my way down the aisle, but their murmurs barely register. Brody is right behind me, but my vision tunnels on Nate as he flips to the next page. His posture is tense as his eyes flick to the empty chairs.
Then, as if he feels me before he sees me, his gaze lifts. His voice falters as he trips over his own writing, and he stops mid-sentence. It’s like the man who’s paid to have all the right words is suddenly speechless.
I should look away. Leave. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left behind.
But for the first time since Fiji, Nate’s the one who looks like he’s afraid of losing something.
Behind me, Brody leans forward to whisper in my ear. “Told you. Now, break the man. You’ve earned it.”
I twist to jab him in the side, earning an “ow,” even though his ribs have fully healed, and he’s back to the workout regime that’s ensured his sculpted torso for years.
By the time I’m facing front again, Nate’s attention is back on his book, though he remains silent. More audience members are looking at Brody and me. Great.
I hurry to the reserved seats, collapsing into one. Brody sits next to me, his hood still shielding his face.
Silence stretches while Nate studies the novel in front of him.
Then, he shuts it and steps forward, the reading forgotten.
“As many of you may have guessed, this isn’t the book I initially set out to write.
” He holds up the novel. “It’s…different from anything I’ve published before.
So different, my publisher and agent didn’t want to risk it. ”
There are a few quiet laughs from the audience. A single hearty cough.
“It’s a romance,” he continues, as if that weren’t obvious to every person in attendance. “But I couldn’t bring myself to write or think about anything else, so I put it out there myself.”
His chest rises and falls, unsteady. “It’s about love, but it’s about more than that. It’s about bravery and choices. The ones that shape us, the ones that haunt us, and the ones we’re terrified of making.”
His voice is steady, but his hand grips the novel so tightly his knuckles are white.
“Some choices seem easy until they’re not.
Some are impossible. Then one day, they’re the only thing that makes sense.
And some…some you regret the second you make them, and you desperately hope you can course-correct later.
More often than not though, it’s already too late to choose again. To choose differently.”
A ripple of confusion spreads through the audience, but I understand exactly what Nate is talking about.
My fingers curl into fists. I shouldn’t let him do this. Not at this event with the biggest audience he’s ever had and a new novel at stake. But I can’t stop him even if I wanted to.
Nate rolls his shoulders back, as if he’s pushing through a sea of nerves to get the words out. “I’ve made one of those choices. Regretted it instantly. For months, I’ve lived with the weight of it.”
He looks at me. Just me. His gaze is drowning in regret and something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s a little like hope, even though he has no right to hope for me anymore.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continues, “the selfless thing, by walking away from someone I was developing feelings for because I didn’t want to hurt my brother.”
Nate’s attention flicks to Brody, then back to me. “I was wrong. I made the wrong choice and ended up hurting everyone involved. Most importantly, I hurt someone I care about deeply. Someone I should have never let go.”
The air in the room has gone thin, and I struggle to inhale a sufficient amount. These are the words I’ve wanted. The confession I’ve dreamed about hearing since the beach. Instead of relief, something bitter rises inside me.
Because it’s not enough to regret letting me go when he was the one who let me leave. The one who pushed me away and kept me further than arm’s length since.
I gave him my trust. Chose him over everything, even his brother. Let myself fall for Nate—with him, though I was apparently falling alone.
And Nate let me walk away because he was scared of losing Brody, which I get. I just wish Nate had also been scared to lose me.
The anger I buried over the past months flares back to life, hot and sharp.
Nate steps forward as if he can sense it, his gaze pleading. “I’m sorry, Abigail, so sorry. I?—”
The sound of his voice saying my name nearly undoes me. I don’t know what I’m doing until I hear the chair scrape against the floor. Dozens of eyes are on me as I stand.
Someone whispers, “That’s Abigail?” Another asks, “Is this part of the event?”
For one agonizing moment, I consider what to do next. Then Brody stands next to me. There, as promised, to support me no matter what I decide. This time, the choice very much is mine.
And I know what to do.
I need to put myself first. Keep choosing me.
I scoot out of our row and head for the exit. Brody hesitates but doesn’t stop me. He just follows in silence several steps behind.
From the front of the event, Nate’s voice cracks as he says my name again.
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound desperate.
There’s a collective intake of breath from the audience, and then the sound of something dropping—a book—followed by a rush of movement behind me. A “hey man” from Brody as someone pushes past him. A hand wrapping around my wrist. Not tight, just enough to make me stop in the middle of the aisle.
I whip around, audience be damned. “Nate, don’t.” My voice shakes. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to stand up there and make some big, dramatic speech and expect it to fix everything.”
His face twists with pain. “I know.”
“Do you?”
He drags a hand through his loose hair. His other remains linked to my wrist, creating a ring of warmth on my skin. “You think I don’t know how badly I screwed up?” His voice is rough and low.
My stomach tightens. “I don’t know, Nate. Did I miss a bunch a phone calls from you? Leave all your messages on read?”
“No,” he says softly, knowing what I’m getting at. “I didn’t reach out. What could I say? I chose wrong, and I’ve been beating myself up ever since.”
“You could have said that.”
“I tried. I must have picked up the phone a dozen times.”
“You left the phone alone plenty more.” Chose not to reach out more often. My words are bitter, but I understand what it’s like to want to reach out but also to be strong enough to not. To stand by a decision because it should be right, even though it feels wrong.
Nate doesn’t argue with my assessment, just exhales loudly.
“I kept playing the scene out in my mind: me reaching out with a text or a call that goes ignored. Trying several more times and still not saying the things that so desperately need saying. Or you answering to announce you’ve found someone new, something easier.
That you were done before I could say what I should’ve said countless times over.
” He takes a deep breath and releases it.
“I was scared I’d hear the end in your voice before we ever really had our beginning, and I wouldn’t survive it. ”
A knot builds in my throat. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to tell him I was done. I had to be. He left me no choice.
I don’t say any of that. I don’t say anything.
“If I’m being honest,” Nate continues, “I’m not sure I deserve another chance. I’ve been…miserable doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve been. Empty, maybe. Deprived. Then Brody?—”
My eyes narrow on Nate as I prepare to hear how he’s putting his brother before me again. “What about Brody?”
“He said—” Nate starts, but Brody interrupts.
“I said—” Brody steps forward, lowering the hood of his sweatshirt.
There are more whispers through the audience, including a swoon “He’s a twin?” followed by a different audience member announcing, “OMG, that’s Brody Bannam from Rush.”
Brody ignores the comments and starts again. “I said he’s an idiot. Always been one.”
“I wasn’t going to say that part.” Nate shoots a glare over his shoulder at his brother, who simply shrugs.
“She knows you’ve been an idiot, Nate. Now we all do.” Brody gestures to the surrounding audience, who are waiting quietly. Their eyes volley between the three of us as they try to figure out what will happen next and if this is somehow intended to promote Nate’s novel.
Then Brody’s gaze levels on me. “The point is, I’ve watched Nate beat himself up for months.
I may not have liked that you two got together or the timing, but I hated what it did to all of us in the aftermath.
So, I told Nate he’d be an even bigger idiot if he let another moment pass him by.
That just because he and I are fractured doesn’t mean I want you two to be.
” He pauses, then adds, “None of us are a hundred percent yet, and we can’t pretend things didn’t happen. We can decide what happens next.”
Tears sting the back of my eyes. Brody doesn’t have to say this, yet here he is. The guy who was once the biggest obstacle for us both is showing us a way through instead.
“Personally,” Brody continues, “I think a phone call would have been a great place to start, but Nate insisted that wouldn’t be enough.”
“Enough for what?” I ask.
Nate speaks before Brody can. “To even begin to make it up to you. To prove I’m choosing you, Abigail, in front of whoever will listen.” He gestures to the room around us. “To do something as brave as you did when you chose me.”
Heat radiates from where his other hand remains linked around my wrist. Nate selected his most popular book event to say the words that have been overdue for months in front of everyone. The least I can do is hear him out.
“Listen, I’m not trying to win anyone back,” Nate continues.
Brody steps forward. “You sure about where you’re going with this speech?” he whispers. The nearest audience members stifle laughs at his question.
Nate shakes all of them off, his attention entirely on me.
“I’m not trying to win you back because we weren’t each other’s yet.
Not really. But I am asking for a shot. A real one in the real world.
If you give me another chance—just one—I swear I’ll never make you feel like you’re anything less than my first choice. My only choice.”
The weight of strangers’ eyes presses against my spine. I can feel their breath. The unspoken what is she going to do? hanging in the air.
Every rational, self-protective instinct is screaming at me to run out the door and never look back. But I don’t.
Because this isn’t just regret or correcting a wrong choice. Beneath the public performance, Nate’s novel, and his emotional plea, I see something I didn’t see in Fiji.
I see effort. It’s not perfect or easy, but it’s real.
I look over Nate’s shoulder at Brody. He gives me the smallest nod, his eyes tired but not angry. Resigned, maybe even accepting.
The three of us have worked hard. We may not have fixed everything yet, but we’ve sat with what’s broken and didn’t let it define us. We started the necessary repairs, and now we need to figure out what comes next.
“I don’t expect you to say yes,” Nate hurries to say, his voice wavering. “I just didn’t want to stay silent and wonder forever. I didn’t want to make the choice for you. For us.”
He releases my wrist.
Everyone waits.
Nate watches me, hopeful and wrecked, like we’re standing on the edge once more. While he won’t be the one to push me, he’s hoping I’ll take the plunge with him and risk it all again.
The air between us crackles with something aching and unfinished. Another choice to be made, but my heart—my stupid, reckless heart—has already decided.
It’s the same choice I made in Fiji.
The one I’d been fighting ever since.
With Nate standing here begging for another chance, it’s impossible to pretend I want anything other than another shot with him. A real one this time.
I let out a slow breath. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I close the space between us, grabbing Nate’s shirt and pulling him down into a kiss.
Nate moans, low and hungry. Then his hands are on my waist, sliding up to cup my face as he kisses me back like he never thought he’d get to again.
The crowd erupts into applause, cheers, and a few scandalized gasps. But all I can think is finally.
We’re taking this jump.
Together.