Chapter 26
THE PARKING LOT IS quiet, the noise from the bar a distant hum.
There’s a light drizzle falling, and the cool air hits my skin, sharp and clean.
And for the first time tonight, I can actually feel my lungs expand.
I drag a hand over my face, trying to shake the sticky warmth of the bar off me, the leftover haze of alcohol and the smell of sweat and beer.
Once I’ve gathered myself, I turn to face Nate. “Seriously? You’re just walking out?” Though I don’t know why I’m surprised—he’s been shutting me out all day.
“I needed some air.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking defiant.
“Can we at least talk about it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, and failing.
“Talk about how you’re going back to a show that humiliated you and broke your heart?”
“The show didn’t humiliate me or break my heart—Aaron did. With some help from your sister,” I add pointedly.
“I told you, you’ve got that all wrong.”
I throw my arms open wide. “Then explain to me! Because from where I’m standing, things are pretty clear.”
“Honestly, it’s not my business anyway,” he says. “And maybe if you’d stopped the petty sniping you’ve been doing since you met her and actually gotten to know her…”
I flinch and draw back a step. I thought Nate found our little war funny. It was funny—wasn’t it? Cara gave as much back to me as I dished out to her. I push aside the image that pops into my mind of Cara’s face earlier tonight at the bar, her watery expression as she started to spiral.
“She’s been messing with me, too, you know,” I say, half to Nate, half trying to convince myself that I’m not the one in the wrong. “Why else do you think she brought up LovedBy just now? She knew I hadn’t told you and wanted to spark a fight between us. Which, clearly, she succeeded at.”
For a minute, we just stand there, staring at each other, both breathing heavily.
Then Nate draws in a big sigh, and some of the defensiveness in his posture melts away. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. His voice is neutral—not betraying hurt or even anger. He’s normally so expressive, it’s hard to read this lack of emotion as anything other than coldness.
“Didn’t realize we had that kind of relationship,” I say curtly.
Before Nate can say anything in response, the door to the bar opens and a few patrons spill out. Nate and I are blocking their path, so we awkwardly step apart from each other so they can walk between us.
Once they’ve passed, Nate’s eyes flash to mine. Now I can see some fire in them. “Really?” he hisses. “You’re going to be like that, even after last night? Even after we slept—”
“Not here.”
I don’t want to have this conversation in Big Jay’s parking lot, where one of our siblings could appear through that door any minute. I start stalking toward Nate’s truck.
“Guess I’m driving…” he says sarcastically.
The ride is silent. I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, watching through the windshield as a gray light starts to form at the horizon.
I didn’t realize how late it was—or rather, how early.
The drizzle has started to turn into a full-on rain, and by the time we get home, it’s pouring.
We pull down the dirt road, past the house, to Camp Bennet.
Nate puts the truck in park, then twists around to reach into the back seat.
Wordlessly, he hands me his raincoat. I slip it on and follow him inside.
He ducks into the bathroom and comes out with a towel, giving his hair a rough dry.
And for a moment, as his arms are up over his head, I’m suddenly shot back to last night, to the feeling of his hands on my body, the heat between us, right here in this tiny room.
That intensity, the way he carried me, the way we moved together.
Jesus. I shake my head slightly, letting off little splatters of rain and trying to collect my thoughts.
The silence stretches, thick and almost tangible, punctuated only by the sound of rain hammering the cabin’s tin roof.
I want to fill it with something—anything—but the words get stuck on my tongue.
Every instinct is telling me to run, to do anything but admit that I’m spinning out because I wanted something more with Nate than he’s willing to give me.
So instead, I ask something else that’s been on my mind.
“You were with your ex forever, huh?”
“Seven years,” he replies.
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.
“Why is that so shocking?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.
“I just thought you didn’t believe in long-term.”
He starts pacing across the knotty pine floor. “I said people should be together for ten years before they get married. That pretty much implies that I believe quite firmly in long-term relationships.” He stops walking and whirls to face me. “At least, I did.”
“Nate, I get that she cheated on you, and that must’ve been horrible. But you’re forgetting that I’ve been through the exact same thing. The difference is, you’ve let it shut you off forever.”
“That’s—that’s not true. It’s made me extremely cautious. I lost that relationship, and it brought up a lot of shit for me, okay? After my mom’s death…”
I suck in a breath. “Nate, I’m sorry, I—”
“And no offense, but it’s not at all the same,” he continues. “I was with Sarah for seven years. You were with Aaron for seven weeks before you got engaged. Not the same fucking thing at all.”
I open my mouth to correct him—it was actually ten weeks—but instead say, “At least you were allowed to have your heart shattered in private.”
“You chose to go on that show, Nikki! And now you’re choosing it again! So don’t act like the victim here.”
“I was the victim then,” I insist, feeling the anger coating my throat, making it hard to talk.
“Anyway, why does this matter to you? About me and Sarah, or any of it.”
“Why does it matter to you that I might be going back on LovedBy?” I challenge.
“Asked you first,” Nate says stubbornly, folding his arms.
I sigh and do the same, hugging my body like I can protect it, even though the pain is on the inside.
“It matters because… because—” I’m so frustrated, so at a loss for words.
This isn’t how things were supposed to go.
Isn’t it obvious why it matters to me? Do I really have to say it?
And why does it feel like he’s still holding back, keeping something from me?
It’s like there’s this distance in his eyes.
“It matters because this”—I gesture between the two of us—“isn’t working anymore.” My voice is quiet, trembling more than I’d like. “This being ‘just friends,’ or whatever we’re calling it.”
“I don’t get it.” His eyebrows pull together. “You said you wanted to—”
“I know.” I bark out a bitter laugh. “But I lied.”
“You lied?”
“I didn’t know I was lying when I said it,” I try to explain. “I thought maybe I could handle that—just keeping things casual. Short term. The way you like things. But I changed my mind. Or, I don’t know, I realized what I wanted all along…”
“Which is what, Nikki?” Nate presses.
“I want—I want—” I struggle to find the right words. My head has that stuffy, full-of-cotton feeling, like I’m already starting to suffer the effects of tomorrow’s inevitable hangover. “I want what Mary Moore Musgrove has,” I finally blurt out.
I don’t know how else to say it. The marriage, the kids, the house.
Those were all things I thought I’d have by now.
And much as it’s been fun to pretend to be this version of myself that is carefree and has no “list” whatsoever, it also hurts.
Feels like just another messy thing pushing my real life further away.
Nate blinks, then frowns, his lips tightening. “Right. You don’t want to fall behind in some bogus, imaginary competition you’ve created for yourself.”
I reel back like I’ve been slapped. “It’s normal to want those things, Nate,” I say, my voice high and brittle sounding. “I’m sorry you’re so ‘allergic’ to the entire institution of marriage that you can’t see that.”
“You just said we aren’t a good fit,” Nate says defensively.
“We aren’t,” I hiss.
“Exactly! I’m not the man for you, Nikki, and we both know that.
I mean, look, you’re the one who insisted we sneak around, like I was some embarrassment you didn’t want to be seen with.
You think I didn’t notice how you looked at me that day we ran into Mary Moore?
Or when that flower farmer thought we were a couple?
Or just earlier tonight—when you freaked out because you thought someone took a photo of us. ”
“That wasn’t—that’s not—” Except, hearing him lay it all out, I can kind of see why he would feel that way, given how I denied any connection between us at every turn.
“I was just being protective of my privacy, not wanting the outside world to get in and ruin our little bubble… And okay, maybe I’ve been holding you at arm’s length, but you seem determined to see me as someone who’s completely heartless and image-obsessed, and it’s hurtful.
I’ve dealt with enough people seeing me that way; I don’t need one more. ”
“I mean, aren’t you—a little bit? Isn’t ‘image-obsessed,’ like, the definition of a pageant girl—someone who, I don’t know, prances around for attention or whatever, looking for praise for what amounts to the shallowest parts of themselves?”
“Wow.” I’ve been called cruel things many times; hell, I’ve dealt with mean girls all the time. But this hits different. His derision stings.
He seems to clock the shock on my face, and his softens, just a little.
“Look, I don’t mean you’re shallow. I know there’s more to you than that.
But you’re about to go home to LA and your big, beautiful life and I’m going to go home to my much simpler, much quieter one, where I’m with the people who don’t think less of me because of it. ”
“Nate—I don’t. I don’t think less of you for it.”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We had fun for a little bit there. Now it’s time to clean up our messes and move on, I guess.”
“Fine,” I rush to say. Even though this is one of the more gut-wrenching moments of my life. Even worse than the last time I put my heart on the line only for Aaron to come along and pulverize it.
I start to push my way outside and see that it’s still pouring rain. I hesitate and turn back. My heart is breaking, and it shatters even more when he pauses, staring at me, and then grabs his rain jacket and places it on my shoulders.
It’s all I can do not to cry. All I want to do is curl up on Nate’s bed and stay here until the storm ends and take everything we’ve just said back.
But I know I can’t. Because Nate is right.
At some point, I need to leave the lake and return to my real life.
You can try to shut out reality, but it always rears its ugly head eventually.
And the reality is: Nate and I want different things. I have to accept that.
I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.