Chapter 21
GUILT IS A HELL OF A THING
NORA
The bathroom door clicks shut behind us, and I can't think. Can't breathe. There's just heat and want and the way Nate's looking at me like he's starving and I'm the only thing that can save him. My skin is already on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch.
He reaches for the shower knobs, and I watch the muscles in his back shift under his shirt.
I need him so badly it's making me dizzy.
"We really doing this?" His voice is rough, careful, but I can see the way his hands are shaking, the way he's fighting to maintain control.
I don't answer with words.
I can't.
My brain has completely short-circuited, reduced to pure instinct and this desperate, clawing hunger. I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, watching his pupils blow wide as his eyes rake over my skin.
The sound he makes—low and desperate and completely wrecked—goes straight through me.
I'm moving before I can think, pressing myself against him, my mouth finding his neck, tasting salt and heat.
His hands are everywhere, mapping every inch of exposed skin with reverent desperation, and I'm making sounds I've never made before—little gasps and whimpers that should probably embarrass me but don't because this is Nate, and with him I'm fearless.
This is what drowning feels like, I think distantly.
This overwhelming, all-consuming need that wipes out everything else.
When he lifts me, pressing me back against the cold tile, I wrap my legs around him instinctively, my body knowing what it wants even if my mind has gone completely blank.
The contrast—scalding water, freezing wall, burning skin—makes me arch against him, chasing friction, chasing relief from this ache that's building inside me like a storm.
"Nate," I breathe, and it comes out broken, desperate, like a prayer.
"Fuck, Len, I've never wanted anything so fucking badly in my life, the way I want you." His voice is wrecked, barely human, and it sends heat spiraling through me.
"Please, Nate—" I don't even know what I'm begging for, but he seems to understand.
His mouth crashes into mine and I'm drowning again, lost in the taste of him, the way he responds to every sound I make like it's music. I can feel myself getting close to something, something that's going to shatter me completely, when—
Knock knock knock.
"Nate?" Ollie's voice cuts through the steam like a blade. "Me and Jake are going out for food. You want to come?"
We freeze.
Hearts hammering.
Water still running.
I want to scream, want to sob from frustration because my entire body is wound so tight I feel like I might actually combust. Nate's forehead drops against mine, his breathing as ragged as mine, and I can see the same desperate need in his eyes.
"No," he calls back, his voice only slightly strained. Somehow managing to sound normal when I can barely remember how to breathe. "I'm busy."
"Alright, see you later then."
We wait, listening to Ollie's footsteps retreat down the hallway. The second I think we're safe, I'm pulling Nate's mouth back to mine, desperate to recapture what we'd lost.
But then Ollie's voice drifts through the door again.
"Oh and Nora? Mom's looking for you."
I want to die.
Actually cease to exist.
The mortification crashes over me like ice water, and I bury my face in Nate's shoulder, my whole body burning with embarrassment. Nate's chest shakes against me, and when I look up, he's biting his lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
"Well," he manages, his voice barely controlled, "if Ollie didn't know before, he definitely does now."
"Oh God." I want to disappear entirely. "I can never look him in the eye again."
"Hey." Nate tilts my chin up, his expression gentle despite the laughter still dancing in his eyes. "We're not doing anything wrong. And Ollie's not exactly the judgmental type."
I know he's right, but the spell is broken.
The moment we'd been building toward has dissolved into awkwardness and interrupted intimacy. Nate seems to sense it too, because he reaches over to turn off the water, then grabs a towel to wrap around me with careful tenderness.
"Alright, get dressed," he says, pressing a soft kiss to my temple that makes me want to drag him right back under the water. "We're going for a drive."
I nod, my body still thrumming with unfulfilled need, already missing the weight of him against me.
It’s not the drive I thought we’d be going on. Seeing the deterioration as we’re driving through South Side is shocking. It’s like someone took an entire neighborhood and drained all the life out of it.
Boarded windows stare back at us like empty eye sockets. Yards that probably once held gardens are now patches of brown grass scattered with debris. Some houses stand completely abandoned, their front doors hanging open like mouths frozen mid-scream.
"Oh my god, what happened here?" I ask, pressing my hand against the passenger window.
This level of decay doesn't happen overnight.
Nate's jaw tightens, his knuckles white where he grips the steering wheel. "Scott Sullivan happened."
I've known Scott was involved in shady business dealings all my life, but seeing the evidence laid out in broken homes and displaced families makes it real in a way that financial documents never could.
"He's been forcing people out of their homes," Nate continues, his voice flat with controlled anger. "Buying properties for nothing after families have been pushed out. Then he'll tear it all down and build his estates and grow his empire on top of their lives."
"Does Jake know about this?"
"I don’t think Jake realizes what he's a part of.
" Nate turns onto another street, this one even worse than the last. "I met real evil when I was a kid, Nora.
Jake hasn't seen the full extent of it yet.
He still thinks Scott is just a hardworking, successful businessman who makes tough choices for the greater good. "
A figure catches my eye, spray-painting something on the side of a house where an elderly woman sits on her front porch, watching helplessly.
"Stop the car," I say.
"What—"
"Please. Just for a second."
Nate pulls over, and I watch as the man steps back from his work. Fresh red letters spell out "CONDEMNED" across the woman's front door.
She's crying now, her hands shaking as she tries to wipe the paint away with a dish towel.
"We need to go," Nate says suddenly, his voice sharp with urgency. "Now."
"But—"
He's already putting the car in drive, pulling away from the curb with more speed than necessary.
"That guy—his name is Monty.”
“Who is he?” I ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.
“He was my dealer and the reason I overdosed last year."
My blood goes cold. "Your dealer?"
"He was supplying Scott with drugs last summer too." Nate's voice is clipped, like he's trying to distance himself from the words. "Guess Scott’s keeping his hands clean by getting people like Monty to do his dirty work."
The pieces click together in my mind, forming a picture so ugly I almost can't bear to look at it. Scott Sullivan isn't just corrupt—he's destroying an entire community, using the same man who nearly killed his son to do it.
"So let me get this straight," I say, testing the words to make sure I understand. "He's using your dealer to terrorize families out of their homes and is also the one probably supplying narcotics to people throughout town?"
Nate nods.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, both processing what we've just witnessed. Nate pulls up outside Camilla's house, but I don't immediately get out.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking out the windshield instead of at me.
"For what?"
His shoulders hunch, and I can see the guilt settling over him like a familiar coat.
"For all of it. For what he's doing. For who I'm related to."
"Nate, you need to stop doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Taking the blame for everything Scott does." I reach over, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "You are not responsible for his actions."
He leans into my touch like he's starving for it, but I can see the doubt in his eyes.
"Can I ask, where are you going?" I ask when he starts to shift back.
"I need to stop by and see Jay." He leans over to kiss me, but it's distracted, his mind already moving toward whatever conversation he’s about to have about what we just saw.
"Be careful, please."
He nods, and I get out of the car. As he drives away, there's this sick feeling in my stomach—like something's shifting, like we're standing on the edge of something that's going to change everything, again.
The intimacy from earlier feels like a lifetime ago, replaced by this growing dread that I can't shake.
Camilla takes one look at my face when she opens the door and immediately pulls me inside.
"What's happened?"
I collapse onto her couch, suddenly exhausted. The whiplash from this afternoon—from the desperate intimacy with Nate to the horror of South Side—has left me feeling emotionally raw.
"Are you not sleeping again?" she asks, settling beside me with that careful way she has when she's genuinely worried.
"It's not that."
I can’t keep all this in anymore. So I tell her about what we saw, about Monty and the woman crying on her porch. Camilla listens without interrupting, her expression growing more horrified with each detail.
"Shit, Nora. That's..." She shakes her head. "That's actually fucked up."
"There's something else I need to tell you. It’s about the accident." The words taste like metal in my mouth. I can see Camilla shift closer, giving me her full attention. "It was Scott. He was the one driving."
Camilla goes very still. "Wait, what?"
"That motherfucker! I swear to God if I ever see that smug piece of shit—" She stands and starts pacing the room. "Wait, what did Nate say when he—"
"I haven't told Nate yet. I don't know how."