Our shared past pulses between us as I hold onto him, protecting him like I did when we were just kids—when he was simply a boy desperate to be seen. My cheek rests against him, catching the steady rhythm of his breath as it slows, the storm inside him quieting beneath my touch.

This is my Nate.

Not the hardened shell he presents to the world, but the boy—raw, real, and recklessly beautiful in his imperfections. My heart aches with the weight of this truth: loving him isn't a choice, it's as natural as breathing.

"Don't leave me," he whispers, voice raw with a desperation he shows no one else. Each word is a plea woven with vulnerability that cuts straight to my core.

"I wasn't planning on it," I murmur back, emotion thick in my throat. Sleep finally takes him completely. I could stay suspended here forever, lost in our private infinity where need flows both ways, where we don't complete each other but elevate one another instead. But that's exactly what terrifies me most. I would walk through fire for Nate Sullivan, shield his heart with my own, regardless of how many pieces mine might shatter into. I just pray I'm strong enough to weather the breaking.

Morning light paints golden stripes across the room as consciousness finds me. There's solid warmth pressed against my back—Nate, his arm still claiming my waist, his body hard and unyielding against mine. My heart stutters, panic rising swift and sharp in my chest.

How the hell am I supposed to extract myself from this?

I attempt to shift, gently working to loosen his hold, but he only draws me closer in sleep, grip tightening possessively. I freeze, trying to quiet the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through my mind. He misses us.

But which version of 'us' does he miss? His admission lingers, igniting something deep inside that I can't keep ignoring.

When he stirs slightly, I seize my chance. I wiggle free with careful movements, heart thundering as I rise from the bed as silently as possible.

I need air.

I grab my running shoes and flee into the early morning, desperate to clear my head.

The crisp morning air bites at my exposed skin as I weave through empty streets, thoughts racing faster than my feet can carry me. Last night's revelations tangle with Scott's unsettling offer to Jake, I feel complete and utter guilt gnawing at me for keeping Nate in the dark. While the guilt eats away my gut, my mind spins with unanswered questions:

Where did Nate go after Farrah's frantic texts?

Why did he come home looking like he'd just been to war?

Why would Jake be willing to throw away his hard-earned scholarship for Scott's hollow promises?

And why doesn't Nate finally tell him the truth about his dad?