Which is why, trudging toward Sonder, I finally let myself consider Nick's offer. The thought of performing on opening night makes my stomach twist like I'm facing a firing squad, but her words echo in my head, clear as day: "You sell yourself short, Nate."

She said it like a fundamental truth, like she could see past all my barriers. And maybe she does.

The instant I push through Sonder's doors, fresh paint fumes assault my senses. It's an oddly comforting mix—citrus cleaner mingling with the earthiness of the restored hardwood floors Nick insisted on keeping. We've been pouring ourselves into this place, every spare moment spent painting walls, hauling furniture, rewiring ancient sound systems. It's exhausting work, but it's been my lifeline. Something about the meditation of painting, the burn of moving heavy equipment, silences the chaos in my head. Right now, that silence is exactly what I need—anything to drown out the replay of Nora's hurt expression.

Nick's already here, methodically stacking chairs, and his knowing grin when he spots me sets my teeth on edge.

"Wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours."

"Thought I'd get ahead," I mutter, snagging a paint roller and beelining for the back wall.

"Yeah? Or are you working off whatever's eating you alive?" His perception is razor-sharp, but mercifully, he doesn't push.

I focus on the wall, watching fresh paint cover old scars. If only fixing myself were this simple—just keep rolling until the cracks disappear beneath a fresh coat. But I know better. Some damage runs too deep for quick fixes.

When Nick catches my eye again, his expression shifts to something lighter.

"Hey, got something for you." He produces an envelope from behind the counter, sliding it over with barely contained excitement.

Two tickets spill into my palm. Jimmy Eat World at the Summer Sounds Music Festival—a show that sold out months ago.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." His casual shrug can't hide his pleased expression. "Figured you might need an excuse to get out of town. Maybe bring a certain someone?"

My fingers trace the tickets' edges as guilt twists in my gut. "Not sure that's smart. Nora and I… we talked."

His grin falters. "And?"

"I told her we should be friends and pretend nothing happened between us."

"And is that what you actually want?" The disappointment in Nick's voice cuts deep.

"What else can I do?" The words scrape out of my throat. "I've got enough baggage to sink the Titanic, twice. She doesn't deserve that shit."

"That wasn't my question." Nick studies me with that infuriating patience of his. "What's the real fear here, Nate? What are you running from?"

My chest constricts as the truth claws its way up. I release a shaky breath. "Are you ever afraid of becoming someone you hate? Like it's written in your DNA?"

"You're afraid you'll become like your dad." He states simply, not a question.