I swallow hard, guilt turning my tongue to lead. “Look, Nate wanted to talk to you about every⁠⁠—"

"Un-fucking-believable." He cuts me off with a sharp laugh that holds no humor. "I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other?” His voice cracks. "You're just as bad as they are."

The accusation hits like a physical blow, stealing my breath. "Jake, I wasn't trying to take sides⁠⁠—"

"Of course, you weren't," he says, bitterness dripping from every word. "You never take sides. Unless Nate's involved."

"That's not fair⁠⁠—"

"Let me ask you something." He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that pins me in place. "If it were Nate in my place, would you have kept any of this from him?"

The silence stretches between us like a chasm. My hesitation speaks volumes.

Jake's bitter laugh cuts through the night air. "That's what I thought."

He turns toward Farrah's car, raising his voice. "Got room for one more?"

Farrah's triumphant grin gleams in the darkness. "For you? Of course."

Jake tosses his keys at me without looking back. "Guess I won't be needing these."

I catch them reflexively, the metal biting into my palm as I watch him climb into the car. The door slams with a finality that echoes in my chest, and seconds later, the Mercedes peels out of the driveway, taillights bleeding into the late afternoon glow like fresh wounds.

I stand frozen, clutching his keys until my knuckles turn white. This isn't just about the divorce or the secrets. It's everything—years of feeling second-best, of buried hurt and unspoken words, all erupting at once like a volcano we should have seen coming.

And I don't know how to fix it.

I don't even know if I can.

When I head back inside, I find Nate sprawled on the couch, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers like a lifeline. The party continues outside, but here, time seems suspended. He stares at the ceiling, shoulders rigid with tension, looking more defeated than I've ever seen him.

"Jake just left," I say, the keys still cutting into my palm. "He got in a car with Farrah and a group of people."

Nate barely glances at me, taking a long pull from his drink before responding. "Let him go."

"Are you serious?" My voice rises sharply, but his detached gaze remains steady. "He's angry, Nate. He's not thinking straight."

"And you think I am?" He raises the bottle in a mock toast. "He's a big boy. Let him make his own mistakes."

"That's not fair, and you know it." I step closer, anger and fear warring in my chest. "He's spiraling. I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing."

He lets out a harsh laugh that sounds more like pain than humor. "What do you want me to do? Drag him back by his ear? He doesn't want my help. He doesn't want yours. Let him go."