Chapter 22
SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW
NATE
Today should be pure joy.
Should be.
But I can't shake what I saw when I drove through South Eden the other day with Nora, then again with Jay. The images keep flashing through my head—boarded-up houses, families packing their stuff into beat-up cars, that same hollow look in their eyes that I used to see in the mirror.
But that can wait another day because today's about Nick and Kat.
The thing is, if it were up to them, they would've just signed papers and called it done. But Mom went above and beyond for this.
The backyard transformed into something out of a magazine—white marquee stretching across the lawn, fairy lights twisted through every tree branch, flowers everywhere that probably cost more than my car. Tables draped in cream linen, crystal glasses catching the morning light.
It's lavish as hell, and I know exactly why she did it.
This is her fresh start.
Her chance to create something beautiful that has nothing to do with Scott, nothing to do with the shit he put us through. Every detail screams Lydia Sullivan—elegant, determined, rebuilding from the ashes of what that bastard burned down.
The second I think about Scott, rage boils over, hot and familiar. My hands clench into fists before I can stop them.
The thoughts pause when Nick walks into my room.
"You freaking out yet?" I ask, trying to shake off the darkness that follows any thought of Scott.
Nick laughs, straightening his tie in the mirror. "Not even close."
"Bullshit. Every groom freaks out."
"Maybe I'm broken then."
He turns to face me, and there's something different about him today. Calmer. More solid.
"Come here, your tie's a disaster."
I let him fix it, which is weird as fuck because I'm usually the one fixing everyone else's problems.
"You scrub up alright," I tell him, and I mean it.
The grey suit fits him perfectly, and he's got this glow about him that makes me think maybe some people really are meant to be together.
"Likewise."
He claps a hand on my shoulder before stepping back, checking his work.
"So, remember that idea you had about the studio in Eden?"
My heart stops. "Yeah?"
"I've got a couple of investor friends who love the concept. If your heart's really in it, Nate, I think you should pursue it."
"Serious?"
Nick nods, his expression dead serious.
"Let's get through this wedding with no hiccups, then we'll sit down and talk about it properly."
I stare at him, trying to process what he just said.
A music studio, in Eden.
A dream I hadn't even realized was a dream until my time in Malaga. Something that's mine, that I could build from the ground up, like Nick has with Sonder. I barely let myself think about it since being back, and he's talking about making it real.
"Nick, I—"
"There's nothing to thank me for," he cuts me off, but I shake my head.
"There's everything to thank you for."
His face softens.
“You know what one of the biggest lies is?” Nick says. “‘Blood makes you family.’ No. Blood makes you related. Loyalty, love, trust—that’s family. And you’ve been that to me for a long time. So don’t thank me for showing up when I already told you I always would.”
The words land hard.
Everything I spent years trying to claw out of Scott—validation, pride, anything—Nick just hands over without hesitation. Like it costs him nothing.
“I’m proud of you, Nate,” he says quietly. “Really fucking proud.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I don’t try to say anything back. Nick gives me a small nod, like he gets it.
“Alright, we should head down.”
I breathe once, grounding.
“Yeah,” I say, managing a half-smile. “Let’s get you married.”
The ceremony setup is perfect—white chairs arranged in neat rows facing the lake, an archway of flowers where Nick and Kat will make their promises. About thirty people, just like they wanted.
Something intimate, something real.
Nick and I take our spots, and somehow I’m the one who’s nervous. He looks like he’s got steel running through his veins—steady, calm, ready.
Me?
My palms won’t stop sweating, and my heart’s doing this uneven, traitorous thing in my chest. Maybe because, for the first time, I’m watching someone I love get the thing they deserve—real happiness.
And it hits me how fragile good things are.
How fast they can vanish.
Then the music starts.
An acoustic version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” fills the space. And the whole fucking world holds its breath.
Because there’s Nora.
Walking down the aisle like the universe finally decided to show off. Midnight blue silk clings and flows like water around her legs, catching the light in ways I swear defy physics.
Her hair’s pulled up, exposing the elegant line of her neck, the curve of her shoulders—and I feel it like a punch. A good one.
The kind that steals the air from your lungs.
But it’s not the dress.
It’s not the hair.
It’s her.
The way she moves—calm, sure, like she’s stepping into a moment she already knows is hers.
And then her eyes find mine.
Not by accident.
Not a glance.
A choice.
A quiet, steady, deliberate choosing.
Everything else blurs—the guests, the music, even Nick beside me. It all dissolves like background static. All that’s left is her, walking toward me with this small, secret smile that hits deeper than any kiss ever has.
Time stops.
Or maybe it stretches—slow and soft—just so I can feel every second of her coming toward me.
The sunlight catching in the strands of her hair. The warmth in her eyes feels like a hand around my ribs, pulling me closer without touching me at all.
And in that moment, it’s painfully, beautifully clear: I’m hers.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
Irreversibly.
And it’s the easiest truth I’ve ever known.
When she reaches the altar, she gives me this look that somehow calms every nerve in my body. Like she's saying, breathe. Because she knows exactly what I need without me having to ask for it.
The celebrant starts speaking.
"We have gathered here today to witness the union of Nick and Kat..."
I wink at Nora, and she smiles back, but it's nervous. Almost shy. Which is weird because Nora's never shy about anything. But there's something different in her eyes today, something soft and wandering, like she's seeing something in this moment that she's never seen before.
Maybe she's seeing what I'm seeing—that this could be us someday.
That I want it to be us.
I don't hear a single word the celebrant says after that. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my chest, because if there was ever a moment that confirmed what I want in life, it's this.
It's her.
"The rings, please," the celebrant says, and I realize he's talking to me.
Right. Best man duties.
I fumble for the rings, hoping like hell I don't drop them. My hands are shaking, and for a second I'm terrified I'm going to fuck this up for Nick.
The ceremony continues, but I'm lost in my own head. Lost in the way Nora's looking at me, lost in the realization that this is what I want.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Nick and Kat kiss, and he dips her back like something out of a movie. Everyone claps and cheers, confetti explodes in the air, and it's beautiful chaos.
But all I can do is look at Nora and see the genuine happiness in her eyes. The way she's watching Nick and her mom with this pure joy, like she believes in love, believes in forever.
The same way I feel when I look at her, like maybe forever isn't just some bullshit people say.
The reception’s in full swing—music loud, people dancing, drinks flowing—when I spot Jake at the bar.
And my stomach fucking drops.
He’s drinking. Hard.
I know that look. The glazed eyes, the tight jaw, the way he keeps swallowing like he’s trying to choke something back. I’ve seen it before—when he found out about Scott’s first affair. That mix of hurt, rage, and self-destruction simmering under his skin.
And today, of all days, I can’t let him spiral.
I weave through the crowd—past couples swaying, past relatives laughing—and grab his arm.
“Jake. What’s going on?” I keep my voice low.
He jerks away. “Leave it alone.”
“Come on. Just talk to me.”
His eyes flash. “I said leave it alone, Nate. Just… fuck off.”
He tries to walk off, but I grab his arm again.
“Cut it out,” I say quietly. “You can have your shit going on, that’s fine. But today? Today isn’t about you.”
Jake spins around, face flushed from anger and alcohol. “Oh, that’s rich coming fro—”
“The two of you. Inside. Now. I’m serious.”
Ollie’s voice slices through Jake’s rant like a blade. He’s standing there with that look—the one that used to stop us mid-fistfight when we were kids. No jokes. No easy-going grin. Just pure, fed-up authority and somehow it still works.
Jake storms toward the house, and Ollie and I follow. He leads us into the spare living room, which is now overflowing with coats and a mountain of wedding gifts.
“Sit.” Ollie points to the sofa.
We both take a seat while Ollie stands in front of us with the vibe of a very disappointed parent.
“You two have been at each other all fucking summer,” he says. “And I’m over it. We all are. So here’s how we’re gonna fix it.”
He opens the TV cupboard and pulls out two PlayStation controllers like he’s unveiling sacred relics.
Jake blinks. “You want to play Call of Duty right now?”
“No,” Ollie says. “FIFA. Just like when we were kids.”
I stare at him. “Ol, we’re not playing FIFA at your mom’s wedding.”
“Oh, you fucking bet your arse we are. After tonight, you two are sorting your shit out. Rules are simple: first person to score gets to talk first. The other one sits and listens. No interruptions. Deal?”
It’s so painfully, beautifully Ollie—turning a childhood game into group therapy because he refuses to give up on us.
Jake mutters, “This is so fucking stupid.”
“Yeah?” Ollie shoots back. “So is this feud. And we’re all sick of it.”
The hurt in his voice hits me straight in the damn chest. We’ve been making him play mediator for months. Making him choose sides. It’s no wonder he’s exhausted.
Jake and I exchange a look—one part guilt, one part resignation.
“Fine,” I say. “First to score goes first.”
Jake rolls his eyes but grabs the controller. His hands are steadier than mine. For a second, it feels like we’re kids again—bickering over who gets to be Barcelona.
The game starts. I push him hard, but eventually I let him score. Because he needs this more than I do. Because sometimes being a brother means stepping back, even in something as stupid as a video game.
I toss my controller down with an exaggerated groan while he celebrates like he’s won the World Cup.
“Alright, Jake,” Ollie says. “You have the talking controller. Go.”
Jake stares at it like it might bite him. “There’s nothing to sa—”
Ollie holds up a hand. “Nate, don’t even think about speaking. You don’t have the controller. Jake, go.”
It’s ridiculous and it’s perfect. Only Ollie could simplify a decade of bullshit into a rule even we can’t argue with.
Jake takes a breath, staring at the worn plastic in his hands then he looks at me.
“I’m sick of you trying to control me,” he says. “And then acting like it’s protection. Like you get to make decisions for me because you slap the word ‘protecting’ on it.”
I open my mouth—but Ollie’s hand shoots up again.
Right. Rules.
Jake pushes on, voice shaking but steady enough. “Yeah, maybe once you were protecting me. But then you stopped trusting me. You lied. You shut me out. And then you blamed me for being distant when you’re the one who pushed me that far in the first place.”
I sink back into the sofa, the truth of it hitting me harder than I want to admit.
“You created the distance,” he says, “because you thought I wasn’t strong enough. You decided everything for me. You carried everything alone—and then got angry that no one helped you. But I was there, Nate. I was right fucking there.”
His voice cracks. And suddenly he’s just a little kid again, hurt and small and trying to be brave but no one would tell him what was happening.
“I don’t want another adult in my life making decisions for me. I just wanted my brother.”
The silence that follows is brutal.
And he’s right.
Fuck, he’s right.
I became everything I hated about Scott—controlling, secretive, thinking I knew best. I pushed Jake so far away that he ran straight to the one person I swore I’d protect him from and it makes me sick.
Ollie gently takes the controller from Jake and hands it to me.
“Nate. Your turn.”
I stare at it then at Jake.
He looks young, hurt and tired. And I realize I’ve been looking at him wrong for years—seeing him as a problem to manage instead of a person to trust.
“I never asked the right questions,” I start quietly. “I—”
I stop, because I need to mean this.
Really mean it.
“I became exactly what I swore I wouldn’t. And you’re right. I just became another person deciding shit for you without asking what you wanted. Another adult instead of your brother.”
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so fucking sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me.”
Jake looks stunned like the idea of me apologizing wasn’t even on the table.
Ollie beams—the smug, satisfied “my dumb brothers are communicating” grin he’s had since we were kids.
“Good. I’m leaving now. I’m gonna find my girlfriend and actually enjoy my mom’s wedding.”
He heads for the door, then pauses and when he turns back, something heavy sits in his eyes.
“One day,” he says softly, “you’ll lose each other for real. No second chances. No time for ‘I’m sorry.’ And that shit stays with you forever. Trust me.”
He leaves and the room feels smaller without him.
“He’s right,” I say after a beat.
“He usually is,” Jake mutters.
We both laugh—a tired, familiar sound.
“I know FIFA’s not gonna magically fix everything,” I tell him. “But I want to try. I want to fix us.”
Jake swallows. There’s hope in his eyes—a fragile kind.
“You really think we can?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I think we have to try.”
Losing him isn’t an option and I’m done being angry. Done carrying everything alone. Done mistaking control for love.
Maybe it’s time to be his brother, not his shadow. Maybe it’s time to trust he’s stronger than I ever let myself believe.
“Okay,” Jake says quietly. “We’ll try.”
And for the first time in months, I actually believe we can.