CHAPTER 35 SECOND CHANCES NATE #2
"It is," I agree. "But weirdly? It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. He was nervous, honest about why he stayed away. And I just... I didn't have anger left for him. I used it all up on Scott, I guess."
She studies my face the way she always has, reading the things I'm not saying.
"How do you feel about it now? Really?"
I take a moment to consider the question honestly.
"Maybe a little hopeful? Like there's a possibility of something there if we both want it. But I'm not rushing into anything. I've done just fine without a dad until now."
"Are you going to see him again?" She says softly.
"Eventually. But first I need to talk to Mom about it." I pause. "Figured if anyone deserves to know he's back, it's her."
"You think she still might have feelings for him?"
"I think she loved him once. Before Scott fucked everything." I meet her eyes. "I want her to have the choice, you know? To decide for herself if she wants to reach out. After everything she's been through, she deserves that."
Nora's quiet for a moment, then asks, "Do you want company? When you go see her?”
I consider it. Part of me wants her there—wants her hand in mine, wants her steady presence beside me.
But another part knows this is something I need to do on my own.
"I think I need to do this alone," I say finally. "But after..."
"I'll be here," she promises immediately. "Waiting."
She says it with such certainty, such complete conviction, that something in my chest settles.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She leans up to kiss me, soft and sweet. "I'm not going anywhere, remember?"
"Good," I murmur against her lips. "Because I'm never letting you go again."
That's all I need to hear. That and when I come back she'll be here.
I drive out to meet Nick at the marina. He's leaning against his truck, sunglasses on, coffee already half gone, and he takes one look at me and grins.
"You look like a man who slept," he says.
"I did."
"Miracles really do happen." He smirks.
“Shut up.”
We sit on the tailgate, watching the water catch the sun, and I tell him about Dom. About the conversation, about giving him the tour, about the choice I'm making to try. Nick listens without judgment, the way he always does.
"Forgiveness doesn't mean letting people off the hook," he says eventually. "It means taking your hands off the rope."
I glance at him. "You rehearse that?"
He smirks. "Alfie used to say it."
That lands, settles somewhere deep.
My chest tightens with the truth of it.
"You've already survived the worst of it," Nick continues. "Now you get to decide what you carry forward. That's the part people forget."
I let that settle in my chest, mix with the contentment that's been humming through me all morning.
"You're doing alright," he adds. "Don't lose sight of that."
I actually believe him.
Later, I drive to the lake house to see Mom.
She's in the kitchen when I arrive, sleeves rolled up, humming while she rinses strawberries. The house smells like vanilla and sugar. It's the smell of home—not the one I grew up in with Scott, but the one Mom created after.
She looks up when I enter, and her whole face lights up.
"Nate! I wasn't expecting you."
"Hey, Mom."
I cross the kitchen and pull her into a hug before she can say anything else.
She makes a small sound of surprise, then melts into it, her arms coming around me tight. We stand there for a moment, just holding each other, and I realize how much I needed this.
When I pull back, she's looking at me with that expression mothers get when they're trying to read their children like books.
"You look refreshed," she says, studying my face. "What have you been up to?"
"Getting outside more," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, an image flashes through my mind—Nora this morning, tangled in my sheets, hair spread across my pillow, skin still flushed from sleep and what we'd done before sleep.
How she'd smiled at me, soft and unguarded. How she'd traced the tattoos on my ribs while we talked about nothing and everything.
I must have some kind of expression on my face because Mom's eyebrows rise slightly.
"Outside," she repeats, and there's amusement in her voice now. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Mom—"
"You're glowing, Nate." She turns back to her strawberries, but the smile tugging at her lips is visible. "And I haven't seen you glow like that in a really long time."
I run a hand through my hair, feeling suddenly like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew.
"I'm happy for you," she interrupts gently, cupping my face in the palm of her hand. "Whatever—or whoever—is putting that light back in your eyes, I'm grateful for it."
"Thanks, Mom."
She nods, then narrows her eyes slightly, reading me the way only mothers can, before she turns back to washing her strawberries.
"But that's not why you're here, is it? What's going on?"
I take a breath, trying to find the right words, only to realize there aren't any. No perfect way to say this that won't shake her foundation.
"Dom's in town."
Her hands pause mid-rinse. The strawberry she's holding slips from her fingers back into the colander, and the color drains slightly from her face.
"What?" The word comes out barely above a whisper.
"He came by the studio yesterday."