Nick shakes his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. "I'm glad you called and showed up here. Don't apologize."

The silence that follows feels different, lighter somehow, like we've both set down weights we've been carrying too long.

"I do wish you'd let me take you to the hospital though. Just to be safe that there aren't any serious injuries."

"No hospitals. I—" The words catch in my throat. I can't explain about the broken bones that never healed right, the scars that tell stories I'm not ready to share, the questions that would lead to truths I've buried deep.

"Could you, uh, could you drop me home?" I ask after a while. "I can pick up my car in the morning, but if I'm not home, my mom's gonna ask questions and⁠⁠—"

Nick's dry chuckle cuts me off. "Unless you've got a hidden talent for makeup, she's gonna take one look at your face and know something's up."

"Yeah, probably," I admit, wincing as I shift position.

He stands, grabbing his keys from the table. At the door, he pauses, looking back at me with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away.

"You're a good kid, Nate. You've got a big heart. Don't lose sight of that, no matter what."

The words settle over me, warm and unexpected. For a moment, I feel the weight of my father's shadow lift—just enough to let in light. Maybe there's a version of me that isn't destined to destroy everything he touches. Maybe there's a version that deserves her.

For the first time tonight, I feel something close to the hope Nora spoke about—fragile as a bird's wing, but there, beating against my ribs, refusing to die.

38. Just Like Old Times

CHAPTER 38

JUST LIKE OLD TIMES

NORA

The moonlight spills across the roof as I climb through the window, each movement deliberate and familiar. I've made this climb a hundred times before, but tonight feels different, heavier somehow, as if the very air knows something's about to change.

Jake sits at the edge of the roof, a silhouette carved against the star-studded sky. His lighter brown hair catches the silvery glow, and for a moment, I see both versions of him—the boy who used to count stars with me and the man he's becoming. The moonlight traces the sharp line of his jaw, the solid breadth of his shoulders pulling against his shirt fabric. My heart stutters, caught between memory and present.

"Hi," I breathe, the word barely disturbing the night's quiet.

He doesn't turn, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his head dips in acknowledgment.

"Want some company?" The question hangs between us, fragile as spun glass.

His sigh whispers across the space between us, heavy with unspoken words.