CHAPTER 37 ONE STEP FORWARD, SIX STEPS BACK NATE
ONE STEP FORWARD, SIX STEPS BACK
NATE
I have to go back to LA.
Not "I want to." Not "I should."
Have to.
If I look at her right now, she'll see everything I'm trying to hold back.
"Okay," I say, and my voice comes out quieter than I intend. "When?"
"Tomorrow. Maybe the day after. I need to... there are things I need to handle—"
"Yeah. No, I get it."
I do get it. Logically, I understand.
She has responsibilities in LA. Things that can't just be abandoned because we spent one night together and I told her I loved her. But understanding doesn't make it hurt less.
"Nate—"
"It's fine, Nora. Really." I force myself to look at her, to keep my expression neutral. "You have to take care of your life. I get that."
She's watching me with those green eyes that see too much, and I can tell she knows I'm not fine. That I'm anything but fine.
"How long?" I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds. How defeated.
"I don't know. A few weeks? Maybe a month? I have to sort everything out, figure out what’s going to happen now that Wes and I are not together. Not just with the film but what I'm keeping, what I'm—"
"A month."
A month ago, I didn't know if I'd ever see her again. Didn't know if she'd come back to Eden, if we'd get another chance, if the door we'd closed seven years ago would ever open.
And now—now I've had her back. Had her in my arms, in my bed, telling me she was mine, her body wrapped around mine like she never wanted to let go.
And she's leaving.
My chest feels fucking hollow like something vital just got ripped out.
"Okay," I say again, because what else can I say?
Don't go?
Stay here with me?
We just found each other again and you're already leaving?
I can't say any of that. I can't make her choose between me and the life she's built. Can't be the reason she gives up everything she's worked for. Even if watching her leave might actually kill me this time.
"I'll come back," she says, and there's urgency in her voice now. Desperation. "Nate, I will. I'm not—this isn't like before. I'm not running. I just need to handle things, close that chapter properly, and then—"
"And then what?"
The question comes out harsher than I intend, and I see her flinch.
I soften my voice, try again.
"I'm not trying to—I just need to understand. You're going back to LA for a month to sort things out. And then what? You come back here? You go back there?”
"I know what I want," she says, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I want you. I want this. I want—"
"But you still have to leave.”
It's not an accusation, just a statement of fact. One that makes everything fucking hurt to the point where logic is screaming at me to not let her go, to do whatever it takes to make her stay.
But I can't.
Because I love her and loving her means letting her do what she needs to do.
"I told you I loved you," I say quietly, looking down at my hands. "For the first time in seven years, I told you I loved you. And now you're leaving, and I don't know when you're coming back or if you're coming back or if—"
My voice breaks.
I stop. Take a breath. Try to pull myself together before I say something I can't take back.
"I'm sorry," I manage finally. "That's not fair. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I just..."
I look up at her, and I don't try to hide any of it anymore.
The hurt. The fear. The bone-deep exhaustion of loving someone this much and still not being enough to make them stay.
"I thought I just got you back," I finish, and my voice is barely above a whisper now.
She steps closer, and her hands come up to cup my face with a gentleness that makes my chest ache even more.
"I will be back," she says, and there's certainty in her voice that I want desperately to believe. "I promise you, Nate. I will be back."
I close my eyes and lean into her touch, just for a moment letting myself have this before I have to let it go. I know better than anyone that hope is a dangerous thing to hold onto.
But right now, it's all I've got.
So I hold it anyway.
After she leaves, I stand in my empty cabin for a long time. Just breathing, just existing in the space she left behind.
Loving Nora was never the problem. It's the easiest thing I've ever done.
Letting her go—watching her walk away, knowing I might never get her back, that she might choose differently once she's had time and distance to think clearly—that's the part that's killing me.
But I'll do it anyway.
Because that's what love is when you strip away all the poetry and romance and bullshit that people use to make it sound prettier than it actually is.
It's choosing someone's happiness even when it costs you everything you have.
It's standing in the wreckage of your own heart and still believing they deserve the world, even if that world doesn't include you.
She'll get on a plane back to LA, and I'll be here.
Right where I've always been.
Waiting in the space between sometimes and maybe.
Hoping that this time—finally, after all these years—maybe will become always.