"Nate."

Nick's voice pulls me back to reality, and I stop, guilt flashing through me like lightning.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to touch⁠⁠—"

Nick shakes his head, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "That's what it's there for. Sounds like you've been playing for a while."

I set the guitar down carefully, scratching the back of my neck where tension coils.

"I used to. But I don't anymore." I take a deep breath, the memories rising like smoke from a dying fire.

"Nora's dad got me my first guitar, for my tenth birthday. I started teaching myself how to play, learning chords, and reading music. It became my escape." I pause, swallowing the bitter taste that comes with the memory. "But my dad... he hated it. Thought it was a waste of time."

The memory of Scott slamming through the door that night comes back to me, sharp as broken glass. He was drunk, rage rolling off him in waves. The sound of me playing set him off. He walked right into my room, grabbed the guitar, and smashed it to pieces like he was trying to break more than just wood and strings.

"You think strumming a fucking guitar is your future? I don't pay school fees so you can fuck around. Stop wasting your time with this shit." His words still echo in my head, sharp and cruel as the day he spat them at me.

I never picked up a guitar again after that.

"I stopped playing to focus on school and football," I add, my voice hollow as an empty promise.

Nick gives me a look, one that says he's reading more into my words than I'm letting on. "Well, I think you should try picking it up again."

I shake my head, pushing away the temptation. "I don't own a guitar anymore."

He gestures toward the one I was just playing. "That one's been sitting there, collecting dust for God knows how long."

"It's not really my thing anymore."

Nick studies me for a moment, then sets down the box he's carrying.

"Look, Nate. I don't know you all that well, but I know talent when I see it. And trust me, you've got it." He puts a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it steady and grounding. "Don't let your father's version of your life be the one you end up actually living. You owe it to yourself to choose your own path in this lifetime."

I look away, swallowing hard against the truth in his words. He's right, but it's not that simple. Nothing ever is.

"Sometimes healing means reopening old wounds, taking a good look at them so you can finally let them close for good."

"What if the wounds run too deep?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Nick pauses, turning back to me. "They might never go away completely, but that doesn't mean you can't start fresh. You've got a whole life ahead of you, Nate. And at any point, you can begin again. Trust me."