I don't know where we stand after today, but one truth rings clear: I was eight when I first felt the flutter of love for him, and now it's carved into my bones. No matter how many walls I build or distances I create, he'll always be the person my eyes search for in every crowded room. His name is written in invisible ink across my heart, appearing only when warmed by his presence.

Some loves are choices. Others are gravity—forces of nature we can resist but never truly escape.

And mine?

Mine has always been Nate Sullivan.

As constant as the bass line in our favorite songs, as inevitable as time itself. I've been orbiting him my entire life, and I'm beginning to understand I might never stop.

Because when all the pretending falls away, when all the anger and hurt dissolve, one truth remains, simple and devastating: it has always been, and will always be, Nate.

37. Reckonings

CHAPTER 37

RECKONINGS

NATE

When I pull up to Farrah's house, the porch light casts shadows that dance across the weathered steps like warning signs I should leave. It's late—too late for this conversation. But I can't keep living this lie, can't keep pretending what Farrah and I have is anything but poison dressed up as a relationship. My hands tremble on the steering wheel, and I force them still.

The engine dies with a soft whimper, leaving me in silence, broken only by my thundering heartbeat. Each breath feels like borrowed time as I stare at that front door, knowing what waits behind it—the beginning of an end I should've initiated months ago. The walk up the steps feel like crossing a minefield. When Shay answers the door, her eyes narrow with the kind of judgment that comes from watching someone make the same mistakes on repeat. The air around her crackles with unspoken accusations.

"Is Farrah here? I need to talk to her." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, a small victory.

She shrugs, but there's tension in her shoulders as she calls out, "Farrah! It's Nate." The words echo through the house like a death knell.

The rhythmic click of heels against hardwood announces Farrah's descent. She appears at the top of the stairs in one of her signature dresses, the fabric clinging like a second skin. But where I once saw allure, I now see armor—protection against a world she's determined to conquer, no matter the cost.

"Well, look who decided to show up." Her smirk is razor-sharp, cutting through the space between us. "Didn't think I was gonna hear from you tonight. No text, no call."

She moves down the stairs with practiced grace, each step a performance. When she leans in to kiss me, I step back, my hand rising between us like a shield. The gesture feels both defensive and definitive.

"Can we talk? In private?"