I've practically perfected the art of pretending. With everything I've lost, it's second nature. But pretending with him feels less like a relief and more like a betrayal—of my heart, of his truth, of whatever we could be if we were brave enough to try. Still, it's what he wants, so I force a smile, nodding like it's nothing.

"Sure," I say, my voice steady even as I'm breaking inside.

"So, we're okay?"

The last thing we are is okay.

"Sure," I repeat, the word tasting like ash.

He sinks into his chair, his gaze shifting to his guitar—anywhere but me. The sting of being so easily dismissed burns more than I'd like to admit. I turn for the door, his silence heavy in the air between us. Before leaving, I glance back one last time, taking in the sight of him—this boy who's been my closest friend, my beautiful stranger, and the one who's managed to break my heart in ways he doesn't even realize.

"Do the gig," I say softly.

His head snaps up. "Why?"

"Because you sell yourself short, Nate."

He blinks, caught off guard, but says nothing. I don't wait for a response. I leave before I give him the chance to let me down again—before I can change my mind and tell him that pretending not to love him might be the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

46. Fresh Paint Over Old Cracks

CHAPTER 46

FRESH PAINT OVER OLD CRACKS

NATE

I'm more than an idiot—I'm the world's biggest asshole, especially after seeing the raw hurt flash across her face. It was like watching something precious shatter, knowing I'm the one who dropped it.

Pretend it didn’t happen.

That’s not what I want.

Not even fucking close.

But there's a gulf between desire and necessity. My life is a minefield of broken pieces barely held together by determination and denial. Yet despite everything I told her, one truth remains: I can't lose her.

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.