CHAPTER 15
HALF A LIFE
NATE
I don't know why I said it. Why I offered her the studio cabin. I don't even know why I thought it was a good idea.
She looked off. Sad. And if there is one thing I hate, it's seeing sadness in Lenora Wells' eyes.
She was talking to someone on the phone when I found her at the dock—her fiancé, I'm guessing.
If I didn’t like the guy before, I definitely don’t like him now. Not after her entire demeanour shifted as soon as she got off the phone.
I noticed she wasn't wearing her ring either. Weird, if you just got engaged. Don't women post that shit all over their social media as soon as the guy has proposed?
Then again, that level of attention has never been Nora's thing. I can’t imagine what it would have felt like having your engagement announced all over every media platform known to man.
But the worst part was the way she looked at me after the call ended. Like the light in her eyes had dimmed and I was seeing the person she became when I wasn't there anymore.
That wasn't her fault. I don't think it's mine either.
And against my better judgement, I still offered her a place to stay. Like I was supposed to fix something that doesn't belong to me, like I haven't spent seven years learning that you can't save people who don't ask to be saved.
What the fuck did I just do?
I run my hands over the edge of the desk. Somehow it becomes a small comfort in a day that's felt anything but.
The door opens and Nick steps in. He doesn't knock, just leans casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyes soft but assessing, scanning the studio like he always does—checking that I'm still here.
"You alright?" he asks. Voice even, but not probing. Just present.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"
He smiles faintly. "I'm good."
"I'm glad to hear that. And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
The corner of my mouth twitches. Old habits die hard, especially the ones about deflecting concern with humor.
"Did you talk to Nora yesterday?"
My shoulders tense as I shift in my chair.
"Yeah, briefly.”
"And?"
I consider lying. I consider saying we're good, everything is good, and locking myself back in spreadsheets and soundproof booths where emotions can't reach me.
But Nick has always had this way of seeing right through me. It's one of the things that makes him both invaluable and occasionally infuriating.
"And I don't know what to tell you," I admit. "We talked. It was fine."
"Heard you offered her a place to stay?"
I hesitate. "The cabin. Yeah."
Nick exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh. "Of course you did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're exactly who you've always been, Nate. You’re a fixer. Or solver, whatever you want to call it.” He pauses.
"I'm not trying to fix anything," I say, but it sounds weak even to my own ears. "You know how my Mom gets when she's in planning mode and that lake house, with Ollie and Mia staying there is going to get crowded real qu—"
“I think it’s good and a nice gesture too.” There’s a smirk and an undertone of sarcasm in his voice.
“I was just trying to be helpful, that’s all.”
"Do you still love her?"
He says it gently, without heat.
"Jesus, going straight for the jugular.”
"Well, there's no point beating around the bush when you're a no bullshit kind of guy." He smirks. "So, are you?"
I run my hand through my hair, buying time I don't have. My jaw tightens.
"She's engaged. I'm—I'm not the person she knew before either.”
"True, but that's not what I asked." His voice is steady, patient. The same tone he used when I was fresh out of rehab and couldn't string two honest sentences together. "I asked if you still love her. Not if it's complicated. Not if it makes sense. Just—are you?"
The words stick in my throat.
Admitting it feels like opening a door I've kept locked for good reason.
But Nick's looking at me with those eyes that have seen me at my worst and stayed anyway, and lying feels more exhausting than the truth.
"Does it matter?" I say finally.
"Kind of, yeah."
"There will always be a part of me that loves her. But how are you supposed to know the difference between loving someone and loving who they were to you?"
Nick nods slowly, like he's been waiting for exactly that admission.
“And besides, what am I supposed to do?" I ask, and I hate how lost I sound. “When she's engaged to someone else. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?"
"You're supposed to be honest," Nick says simply. "With yourself first, then with her if it comes to that."
He leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"Listen, I'm not saying declare your undying love and expect her to run away with you. But Nate—you've spent years being the guy who faces shit head-on instead of running from it. Don't start running now just because it scares you."
"It doesn't scare me," I lie.
"Bullshit. It terrifies you," he corrects.
I hate that he's right.
The thought of Nora leaving again, of watching her choose someone else with full knowledge of how I feel, is worse than wondering. At least wondering leaves room for possibility.
My chest tightens. I look away.
“You know, Alfie used to always say," Nick continues, voice softer now. "'Never live half a life. Half-hearted, half-wanted, half-committed—it leaves you hollow even if you think you're okay.'"
He pauses.
"He said it to me when Kat and I were dancing around each other for months, both too scared to admit what we wanted. You know what happened when I finally told her the truth?"
"She said yes."
"She said yes," Nick confirms. "But that's not the point. The point is I stopped living in the maybe. I stopped torturing myself with what-ifs. Whether she'd said yes or no, at least I'd have known. At least I'd have been honest about what I wanted instead of pretending I didn't want it."
The weight of it settles in my chest.
"And if the truth makes everything worse?"
"Then at least you know," Nick says. "And you can finally stop carrying her around like unfinished business."
He stands, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
"You've done a good job here though. With this studio. With Thatch and the boys. The Row is something special. You've built something real. Something that's going to outlive you. And you're sober, present, alive. Not everyone makes it that far from where you were. You're doing more than okay."
The words settle uncomfortably. I don't know how to accept praise without immediately cataloging everything I'm still getting wrong.
“Yeah but Tommy—"
"Tommy's carrying too much," Nick interrupts gently.
"You know it. And he's lucky you see it, that you're paying attention.
But sometimes, Nate, you can't do it all.
You can't fix people who aren't ready to be fixed.
You just need to trust that they'll come around when they're ready, or they won't. Either way, it's not your failure. "
He squeezes my shoulder once.
"Same goes for Nora. You can't fix whatever's broken in her life. You can only be honest about what you want and let her decide what to do with that information."
"And if Wes is what she wants?"
"Then you let her go," Nick says. "Really let her go this time. Not the half-assed version where you spend seven years wondering. The full version where you wish her well and mean it."
He pauses.
"But if she's not happy—if that ring is sitting in a drawer instead of on her finger for a reason—then maybe she deserves to know she has options. That someone still sees her."
He gives me one more look—something between encouragement and warning—then heads for the door.
Before he leaves, he turns back.
"You know what the difference is between you at twenty-two and you now?"
I shake my head.
"At twenty-two, you were drowning. You had nothing solid to offer anyone, least of all yourself. Now?" He gestures around the studio. "You've built a life. You've got something real to give. Don't discount that just because you're scared of the answer."
He pauses.
"And Nate? Whatever you decide—be brave enough to mean it. Half-measures never worked for you."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with his words echoing in the quiet studio.
I exhale, turning back to the mixing console, pretending I have work to do when really I'm just trying not to think about Nora.