"Me? Pffft." I wave off the accusation with a flourish worthy of Broadway, trying to steady my quivering hand. "Let's do it."

His grin broadens and stretches out his hand, and just like that, I'm convinced I can handle this. With Nate, the impossible always seems within reach. He makes everything less terrifying, like adding color to a black and white world.

We board the ride, and as the seat lifts, only the metal bar feels real under my white-knuckled grip. Nate leans back, annoyingly at ease while I'm sitting here like it's potentially our last moment on Earth. The carnival worker drones through the safety spiel, like he's done a thousand times already tonight, his words fading into the symphony below. I can barely breathe, let alone appreciate the 'view'. But Nate's calm presence beside me anchors me to sanity. As we ascend, the view spreads beneath us—a tapestry of lights and laughter woven into the night.

Okay, this isn't so bad.

Then the Ferris wheel hoists us higher, and my stomach performs an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine. I clutch the safety bar, knuckles bleaching white. The town shrinks into a dollhouse version of itself, and panic mounts, tightening around my chest like a python. My breathing hastens, teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Nate's head swivels toward me, his concern piercing through my spiral.

"Len," he coaxes gently, his voice a calm harbor. "Count your breaths with me, okay?"

I press my eyes shut, trying to sync my breathing with his steady cadence. It helps—a bit. But then, the Ferris wheel jerks to a halt, shuddering under us, and my heart catapults to my throat. Without thinking, I grab Nate's hand, my fingers interlacing with his like they remember exactly where they belong. His hand tightens around mine immediately, warm and steady, and my racing pulse stutters at the contact.

When was the last time we touched like this?

The familiarity of it hits me like a physical ache.

"Hey, hey," he murmurs, "I got you." The simplicity of his words, laden with an unspoken promise, anchors me. "If we go down, we go down together, remember?"

I do.

I pry my eyes open, meeting his. His expression is tender, imbued with a quiet strength that somehow, despite past hurts and broken promises, compels me to believe him. I manage a small, shaky smile, though my heart drums wildly against my ribs.

The ride eventually lowers us back to solid ground. My legs wobble like unset gelatin, nearly buckling beneath me. I stagger, and immediately, Nate's hand steadies me with a gentle grip on my elbow that sends sparks racing across my skin.

"Thanks," I mumble, embarrassed by my earlier unraveling.

"You good?" he asks, his touch lingering like a question mark.

"If by 'good' you mean still breathing, then yeah," I manage, attempting humor to mask my lingering disquiet.