CHAPTER 38 EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTY NORA
EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTY
NORA
The cemetery is quiet in the way only graveyards can be—not peaceful, exactly, but separate. As if the world outside the gates operates on a different frequency, one that can't quite penetrate the stillness here.
I stand in front of Alfie's grave, fresh flowers already placed at the headstone.
Someone's been here recently.
"Hey, Alfie," I say softly, feeling foolish talking to a headstone but doing it anyway. "I hope you don't mind me stopping by. I know you'd probably tell me I'm overthinking everything. That I'm making it more complicated than it needs to be."
The wind rustles through the trees overhead.
"I'm leaving today. Going back to LA. And I don't know if I'm making the right choice or the biggest mistake of my life."
My throat tightens. My hands clench at my sides.
"Nate told me to go. To figure out what I want. But what if what I want is impossible? What if I can't have both?"
Silence.
"You always knew what to say," I continue, and my voice breaks. "You always had this way of cutting through all my bullshit and just showing me what I needed even when I couldn't see it myself."
"He'd probably tell you that the people worth keeping are the ones worth coming back to."
I spin around.
My heart jumps into my throat.
Nick is standing a few feet away, holding another bouquet of flowers—simpler than the ones already at the grave.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He moves closer, kneels down, and carefully removes the older flowers, replacing them with the fresh ones. "I come by every few days. Make sure he's got something new to look at."
His movements are careful and reverent.
“No, it’s okay. I just wanted to see him before I leave.”
“Your Mom said you were heading back to LA.”
“Yeah, my flight leaves in a few hours.”
I stare at Alfie’s name on the headstone.
"I miss him," I say quietly.
"Me too." Nick is quiet for a moment, choosing his words. "But I don't think people ever really die. Physically, yes. But they exist through us. Alfie always said death is just a transition. I think I finally understand what he meant after all these years.”
The words settle over me, heavy and comforting all at once.
"Alfie's still here," Nick continues. "In every piece of advice you remember. Every book he recommended that changed how you see the world. Every moment you stop and think 'what would Alfie say?' He's still teaching you. Still guiding you. Just from a different place."
I wipe my eyes and stand there in comfortable silence for a moment.
"Is Nate taking you to the airport?" Nick asks.
The question makes my chest tight. My breath catches.
"No. I was going to catch a taxi.”
His eyebrows rise. "Why?"
"Because I'm not sure where we are right now. Which feels like a common theme for us, honestly. We're either everything or nothing, and right now..." I trail off. "I don't know what we are."
Nick studies me for a long moment.
"You know him better than most people ever will."
"I don't know about that."
"I do." His voice is firm. "Nate doesn't let people in, Nora. He's spent his whole life building walls to keep people at a safe distance. But you? You're the only one he's ever let see all of him. The good, the broken, the terrified, the hopeful. All of it."
"That doesn't change the fact that I hurt him, again." I say.
My throat burns with unshed tears.
"Another thing Alfie used to say was some connections are like rivers—they might change course, might disappear underground for a while, but they're always moving toward the same destination. The ocean. Home."
"I don't know if we can find our way back this time," I admit.
"Here's a question for you," Nick says. "And you don't have to answer it now.
Just think about it." He pauses. "If you knew for certain that choosing Nate meant your career would suffer—that you'd have to make sacrifices, compromise, maybe even step away from some opportunities—would you still choose him? "
"I don't know," I whisper.
"And if you knew for certain that choosing your career meant losing Nate forever—no second chances, no maybes, just done—would you still get on that plane?"
The question lands like a punch to the gut.
"Life isn’t fair more often than not,” Nick says. "But those are the questions you need to answer before you can figure out what you actually want. Because right now, you're trying to keep all your options open. And sometimes, choosing everything means choosing nothing."
My chest feels like it's being crushed.
"Come on," Nick says after a moment. "Let me drive you to the airport."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He starts walking toward the parking lot, and I fall into step beside him.
"Can we make one more stop?" I ask.
He nods without asking where.
Jake's grave is on the other side of the cemetery, under a large oak tree.
And there, placed carefully at the base of the headstone, are fresh sunflowers.
"Sunflowers were his favorite," I say softly, kneeling down to touch one of the petals. "He used to say they were the only flowers that looked happy."
"Nate brings them," Nick says. "Every three days or so. Even when the old ones are still perfectly good, still fully bloomed."
I look up at him.
My heart hammers in my chest.
"He does?"
Nick is quiet for a moment, looking at Jake's grave with reverence.
"He told me once that he never wants Jake to stop breathing life. That as long as there are living flowers here, some part of Jake is still connected to the world above ground. Still participating in growth and color and beauty."
Tears blur my vision.
"He grows them himself, down at Westbrook—" Nick stops abruptly, clears his throat. "Anyway, he wants Jake to always have something new. Always have life that's just beginning, not life that's already peaked and starting to fade."
I stare at the flowers.
"He grows them himself?"
"Yeah. Ever since he got out of rehab."
My hands tremble as I touch the bright yellow petals.
"And he does this every three days?" I ask.
"Without fail. Has for seven years."
Every three days for seven years.
That's over eight hundred and fifty times.
This is who Nate is.
Someone who never lets anything truly die. Who keeps bringing life to places touched by death. Who shows up, again and again, even when no one's watching. Even when it would be easier not to.
He does it for Jake.
He does it for this town.
He does it for the people he loves.
He did it for me—kept loving me for seven years even when I was gone.
Kept my birthday as his phone passcode.
Kept a space for me in his life even when I'd filled mine with someone else.
"He's never stopped, has he?" I ask quietly. "Believing in things even when they seem impossible."
"No," Nick says simply. "That's not who he is."
I stand up slowly, looking at the flowers one more time.
Every three days for seven years. Over eight hundred and fifty times Nate has driven to this cemetery, bought fresh sunflowers, and placed them here for a brother who can't see them.
For a brother who's been gone longer than he was alive in Nate's adult life.
Eight hundred and fifty times he's chosen to show up.
My legs feel weak.
"We should go," Nick says gently. "You'll miss your flight."
I nod, but I can't quite make myself move.
"Actually," Nick says after a moment, "there's something I want to show you first. Before we head to the airport."
We drive in silence through Eden, but instead of heading toward the highway, Nick turns toward South Eden. The part of town that used to be rough, forgotten, the place where Scott Sullivan's greed had left scars that seemed permanent.
He pulls up in front of a building that takes my breath away.
It's beautiful—modern but warm, with large windows that let in natural light and wood accents that make it feel welcoming rather than institutional.
Outside, there are people gathered. Teenagers shooting hoops on a pristine basketball court. Little kids running around a playground with equipment that looks brand new. Adults sitting on benches, talking, laughing.
The building itself is massive but doesn't feel imposing. There's a warmth to it, a sense of being designed with actual care for the people who would use it.
"What is this place?" I ask, staring.
My pulse quickens.
Nick doesn't answer immediately.
He just points.
I hadn’t noticed the sign when we pulled up.
Carved in beautiful letters across the entrance:
David and Jacob's Centre
The air leaves my lungs.
"People around town call it the DJC," Nick says quietly. "It's got everything—basketball courts, art studios, music rooms, a computer lab, meeting spaces, after-school programs, job training, addiction recovery support groups. Everything this community needed and never had."
I can't speak. Can't breathe.
My hands are shaking so badly I have to press them against my thighs.
David.
My dad.
Jacob.
Jake.
"Nate built this?" I manage.
My voice cracks on his name.
"With Scott's money, yeah. But it was Nate's vision.
Nate's design. Nate who spent two years working with architects and community leaders to figure out exactly what South Eden needed.
" Nick pauses. "He named it after the two men who taught him what it meant to be good.
To care about something bigger than yourself. "
Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and fast and unstoppable.
My chest heaves with sobs I can't control.
My dad.
Who loved Nate and who showed him what a real father looked like. Who taught him that men could be gentle and kind and present.
And Jake.
His brother.
Who died trying to save him. Who chose Nate in the end, even when it cost him everything.
He'd built this for them. For this community. With money he could have taken for himself but gave away instead.
And he never told me.
Never once mentioned it in all our conversations. Never brought me here when he showed me around South Eden. Never used it to prove anything about who he is or what he's capable of.
He just... did it.
Because it was the right thing to do.
"He never said anything," I whisper.
My whole body is trembling now.
"He wouldn't," Nick says. "That's not why he did it."
I stare at the building—at the children playing, at the teenagers laughing, at the adults who look like they finally have a place that's theirs. A place that serves them instead of exploiting them. I think about Dad and about how much he would have loved this.
How he always believed in investing in people, in communities, in the future. How he saw that same belief in Nate when Nate was just a broken teenager who didn't believe in anything, least of all himself.
Dad saw who Nate could become. And Nate became that person, then honored my dad’s memory by building something that embodies everything David Wells stood for.
I press my hands to my face, trying to hold myself together, but I'm breaking apart. My shoulders shake with the force of my crying.
This man. This impossibly good man who thinks he doesn't deserve love because of where he came from and what he's survived.
And suddenly I know what I have to do.
"We should go," I say quietly, wiping at my face. "I don't want to miss my flight."
Nick looks at me carefully.
"You sure?"
"Yeah." I take one last look at the building—at my father's name carved in stone beside Jake's, at the proof of Nate's heart made visible. "I'm sure."
We pull away from the David and Jacob's Centre, and I watch it disappear in the side mirror.
But something has shifted inside me as if it’s settled into place, finally.
I'm getting on that plane.
But not for the reasons I thought.
"Thank you. For showing me that."
He glances at me, and there's understanding in his eyes.
Like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"Of course."
We drive to the airport in comfortable silence. When we pull up at departures, Nick helps me with my bags. I hug him tight.
"Thank you. For everything."
"Nora, wait."
He turns to grab something out of his truck. He’s holding a small package, wrapped in brown paper.
"Alfie left this for you."
My throat tightens as I take it.
"Thank you."
He nods, then says quietly, "I'll see you when you get back."
"How do you know I'm coming back?"
"Because I saw your face when you looked at that building." He smiles slightly. "That's not the face of someone walking away. That's the face of someone figuring out how to come home."