Chapter 15
Nathan
The elevator dings softly; seconds later, I step into my penthouse and study my surroundings, decorated in whites and grays. It’s stark, empty, lifeless.
For a while, I just stand there, still half in the quiet of Dr. Pembrooke’s office. Her words haven’t left my head.
I walk through the dim light of the apartment, past the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city. It’s getting late. The streets below are alive… laughter, traffic, the sound of people moving on with their lives.
I envy them.
I drop my keys on the counter, loosen my tie, and sink onto the white leather couch. The silence presses in again.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the coffee table.
My gaze lands on the small paperback journal she gave me.
I told myself I wasn’t doing this. I’m not a “write your feelings down” guy. I’m not a “share a happy memory” guy either.
But I did.
And instead of feeling wrecked, I feel… calmer.
That’s the part I can’t shake.
Because I didn’t expect relief, I expected backlash.
I expected my brain to punish me for remembering something good.
It didn’t.
Which means Dr. Pembrooke wasn’t just filling the room with pretty words. Her little exercise actually moved something. Shifted the weight, even if only by a fraction.
I don’t know what to do with that.
But I know what happens when I do nothing.
So—
I pick up the journal.
The cover is smooth, the pages crisp and empty. There’s something almost intimidating about that kind of emptiness.
I flip it open, holding the pen for a long time before pressing it to the page.
No plan. No outline. Just a quiet, restless need to start somewhere.
And as the ink bleeds into paper, I let the words take me back.
Skipping school had sounded rebellious this morning, sneaking away after second period, climbing the rust-flaked bleachers with Maddison and a grocery-bag picnic. Now the sun was sliding west, and Maddison sat cross-legged beside me, chewing her lower lip until it went white.
“Oh no,” she murmured, flipping through her beat-up planner. “Nooooo.”
“What’s wrong?” I nudged her sneaker with mine.
She swallowed. “My AP-Lit term paper… it was supposed to be in today—on Mrs. Keene’s desk before the bell.
I forgot.” Her voice cracked. “It’s worth forty percent of my grade.
If I fail that class…” She exhaled shakily.
“My dad will ground me for the entire summer. He’s already on edge after the other night. ”
I knew the type: Mr. Morgan, the high-powered lawyer who still treated his daughter’s life like a closing argument. No leeway. No excuses. No Nathan Reign. And he already hated me for taking his baby girl’s time.
“We’re not going to let that happen,” I promised. “I’ll break into your school tonight and turn it in myself.”
Minutes later, my car idled under a busted lamp, engine ticking nervously. Maddison leaned across the console, drawing a rough floor plan on a pink Post-it note.
“Mrs. Keene’s classroom is on the second floor, south wing. Stairs are here. She keeps the paper tray on the corner of her desk. Label says, ‘Final Projects.’” She handed me a manila folder with Maddison Morgan written in neat script.
I kissed her cheek. “Be right back.”
The back gym door was rusted but loose, just like she’d said. One shove, and it gave way with a groan. I slipped inside, heart already hammering.
Maddison’s school felt different… colder, cleaner.
The halls were lit only by emergency strips, casting long shadows like something out of a horror film. I counted doors—201… 203… 205… 207. Keene, A.
I fished a credit card from my back pocket. Two tries. Click.
Rows of desks stretched like a battlefield. The overhead projector cord dangled like a noose.
Maddison’s folder went on the corner of the desk, top of the stack labeled FINAL PROJECTS.
And then I heard it.
Footsteps in the hall. Heavy. Uneven. The janitor.
I ducked behind the teacher’s desk, heart pounding like a bass drum. The door creaked open. A flashlight beam swept across the desks and lingered on the submission pile.
Keys jingled. Shoes squeaked. For a full ten seconds, he just stood there.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Finally, the light snapped off. The door clicked shut.
I waited five more seconds before bolting and sprinting out the way I’d come in and toward the parking lot.
I yanked open the car door.
Maddison jolted in her seat. “Success?”
“Top of the pile,” I said, lungs burning.
She squealed, launched over the console, and kissed me like I’d just saved the world. “Drive.”
Drive we did. Trees blurred as we passed.
The windows fogged up from her breath and the rush of it all.
“Pull over.”
I eased onto a gravel shoulder overlooking the river, headlights catching the silver ripples. Before I could shift to park, she climbed into my lap, knees on either side of me.
She smelled like lilac shampoo; she tasted like addiction.
“I love you, Nathan,” she whispered like a sacred vow.
I froze for half a beat. Then looked her in the eyes.
“I love you too,” I said quietly. “I’d break into a thousand schools for you.”
She smiled. And then she kissed me again, slow, certain, and infinite. Clothes came off, kisses became more urgent until nothing separated us, until it was just her skin and mine. For one brief moment, it felt like the universe would give us a chance, like we were winning together.
It was over too soon.
Breath ragged, sweat cooling against my skin, Maddison tucked herself against me, her tangled mess of hair tickling my chest. The world no longer existed. Just fogged windows and reckless abandonment.
I reached for my jeans when a sudden glow cut through the glass.
My head snapped toward the rearview mirror. Police lights flooded the car, slicing through the dark and spilling over Maddison’s startled face.
“Shit,” I whispered, heart slamming.
Just like that, the night was taken from us.
A sound cuts through the quiet of my writing. I haven’t thought about that night for longer than I can remember, getting caught, the embarrassment.
Our teenage innocence at the time, crime.
I blink, pulled back into the present.
My phone buzzes across the table, lighting up the room with its pale glow.
Ella: Are we still good for tomorrow night?
I sigh as I stare at the message, thumb hovering above the screen.
My mind goes somewhere else.
For a moment, I think about deleting it, pretending I never saw it.
It would be easier. Safer without Ella’s chaos and smile.
Dr. Pembrooke’s voice echoes in my head: Isolation can feel noble, but usually it’s just fear in disguise.
I exhale slowly, feeling the war inside me, the part that thinks I should be alone, and the part that doesn’t want to be anymore.
Finally, I pick up the phone and type.
I’ll see you then.
I set it down beside the open journal, its glow splashing across the book in the dim light… one holding the past, the other a door to a future I don’t deserve.