Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Nathan
Being back in Hammonton is oddly soothing.
Weird. Because nothing about this place should feel soothing.
The big, old colonial I grew up in? The one everyone calls Thorn House? Well, it’s a fucking wreck.
Contractors have been patching up the exterior all week, but the inside?
It’s like stepping straight into a time warp.
Dust thick as snowdrifts.
Furniture covered with sheets older than some of my fans.
Wallpaper peeling like it’s trying to escape the walls entirely.
Grandma’s last stand.
Fuck.
I really messed this up, didn’t I, Gran?
She moved into the fanciest retirement home I could find about fifteen years ago. But she’s been gone, oh, it’s about five years now.
I saw her as often as I could, but it wasn’t enough.
Shame fills me, and I know I should’ve done better.
This house—her house, the one she raised me in when life got messy—has been sitting here quietly decaying while I ran around playing rockstar.
I swallow hard.
“I’m here now, Grandma,” I whisper. “I’m here, and I’m gonna make it right.”
My hand drifts along the mahogany dresser she got as a wedding gift, sixty-something years ago.
She always kept her perfume bottles lined up across the top like soldiers.
I used to sit on that old rug and watch her get ready for church, her hair pinned up, her smile soft.
Now it’s just me.
Me and the memories.
I’m the last Thorn left.
The finality of that sends something sharp and musical ringing through my chest—a chord struck too hard on an acoustic string.
I gasp at the sting of it. “Shit,” I breathe. “What am I doing here?”
Not in Hammonton.
Not in New Jersey.
Not in this house that deserves better than what I let it become.
What am I really doing here? With my life?
I squeeze my keys in my fist until they bite into my palm, then turn and head out the door.
The January air slams into me, cold enough to snap me fully awake. It burns my lungs, stings my eyes, but hell, it’s still better than the California sunshine I used to worship.
At least cold feels honest.
I get into my car, start the engine, and just sit for a second while the heater groans to life.
The contractors will be here later to assess the interior, but Grandma’s furniture? Her dresser, her rocking chair, her dining set where I ate more grilled cheese than any child should?
No one touches that.
No one but me.
Decision made.
I pull out of the driveway and head for the hardware store—the one that’s been here since dinosaurs roamed South Jersey.
I need sandpaper. Stain. Brushes. A few tools. Maybe a tarp or three.
I shoot off a text to the contractor, telling him where I want that furniture moved.
The detached garage will make a perfect workspace while the pros tear apart the inside of the house—repaint the walls, refinish the old wood floors, install the new kitchen I ordered.
Yeah, it’s a monster of a project.
But this six-bedroom colonial is a monster of a house—and it deserves the effort.
When I arrived earlier this morning, I hauled my suitcase up the narrow stairs to the attic and pushed open my old bedroom door with my shoulder.
It creaks the same way it always did, like the house is announcing my arrival.
Everything is still the same.
Same slanted ceiling.
Same window overlooking the backyard.
Same scuffed dresser.
Same yellowing concert posters I never took down.
And the same damn mattress.
I drop my suitcase, my breath catching in my throat. The air in here is stale, dusty—but underneath it, I swear I can still smell her.
Vanilla. Sugar. Something warm and sweet and home.
Memories slam into me so hard I have to grip the edge of the bed to stay upright.
This is where I made love to Adrianna Bosco for the first time.
For both of us.
Seventeen and stupidly in love.
Hands shaking, hearts racing, convinced we were the only two people in the universe.
I remember every detail—every sound she made, every way she touched me like she already owned my soul. I remember thinking if heaven existed, it was lying right here, in my arms.
Jesus Christ.
I swear I thought my heart was going to leap straight out of my chest and into hers the first time I saw her.
“Goddamn, Ad. I miss you.”
The words come out as a whisper, a confession to a room that can’t answer back.
I brace both hands on the mattress, shaking my head.
I fucked it up.
I know I did.
I left.
Chased the dream.
Left her behind with nothing but a promise I never kept.
The first few times I reached out afterward, she didn’t answer. Calls, texts—nothing.
And yeah, it hurt like hell, but I was young and angry and stupid.
So I did what stupid, prideful boys do.
I pretended I didn’t care.
Turned it into a “fuck you, I can live without you” attitude.
Told myself it was puppy love.
Told myself I was better off.
And then the years kept coming, and it got easier to believe the lie—until it wasn’t even a lie anymore.
It was just regret.
Something old and worn-out I shoved into the back of my mind along with other mistakes.
Except now,standing here in this attic, with the ghosts of who we were swirling around me, I’d give anything to go back to that day.
Back to her.
Back to us.
Back to the real music. To the moment before I broke everything.
My throat tightens, and I drag a hand through my hair.
What the hell am I doing here?
Renovating a house?
Chasing memories?
No.
No, that’s not it.
I’m here because, for the first time in almost two decades, the music is whispering again. And I know what that means.
It means the thing I’ve been running from—the person I’ve been running from—is close.
Adrianna Bosco is somewhere in this town.
And whether or not she wants to see me, I’m not leaving without trying to make things right.
And I’m starting with this house and Grandma’s furniture.
It deserves the effort. A personal touch.
I park outside the hardware store and kill the engine.
Someday, maybe the house will hold more than just me again.
Something precious.
Someone precious.
The thought hits out of nowhere and lodges itself deep. I shake my head, shove my hands into my pockets, and step into the cold.
First things first.
Fix the house.
Fix the mess.
Fix me if I can.
Then maybe—I’ll start figuring out the rest.