When I remain silent, he moves closer. His hand finds my chin, tilting it up with a gentleness that breaks something inside me. The intensity in his eyes steals my breath like a plunge into winter water.

"Hey, Leni." The nickname falls from his lips.

He searches my face like reading a map to buried treasure, and I know I can't keep this secret any longer—it burns in my throat.

"I did," I whisper, avoiding eye contact.

His brows furrow, creating valleys of concern. "You did what?"

"Call you. To tell you.” The admission hangs in the air like mist over the lake. "The night it happened."

His hand drops from my chin as if burned, confusion shadowing his face like clouds across moonlight. "You… you did?"

"I didn't know who else to call," I continue, each word like glass in my mouth. "Jake was at training camp. I couldn't call my parents. Ollie would've told them. So, I called you."

Nate freezes beside me, becoming still as stone. His silence fills the space between us with unspoken regret as realization dawns in his eyes like a cruel sun.

"I don't…" He shakes his head like trying to clear fog. "I don't remember."

"I know." My laugh comes out bitter and broken. "Farrah answered."

He flinches as if struck, and I watch something break inside him like ice cracking on a frozen lake.

"She told me I should call someone who cared." I continue, unable to stop now that the dam has broken. "Because apparently you were too high to care about anyone that night."

"Nora…"

"I shouldn't have called you." My voice cracks like thin ice, betraying my weakness. "But I didn't have anyone else."

He buries his face in his hands like trying to hide from the truth, his breathing rapid and shallow. "I—I'm so sorry."

"Nate—"

"No, don't," he cuts me off, voice raw. "I should've been there for you. And I wasn't."

"There's nothing you could have done anyway. You were thousands of miles away, it's not like⁠⁠—"

"I should have been there for you, Nora," he interrupts, self-loathing thick in his voice. He stands abruptly, running hands through his hair like he's trying to pull the memories out by force, pacing in circles like a caged animal. "Instead, I was too busy getting fucking high."

I rise and grab his wrists, stilling his restless movement. His pulse races beneath my fingers like trapped birds. "You were dealing with your own demons. But you're here now," I say, trying to catch his eyes that seem to hold all the darkness of the lake behind us.

"That's not⁠⁠—"

I silence him with a kiss that tastes like forgiveness and fear mixed together. When I pull away, the look he gives me makes my heart stop—not pity or anything I feared, but a fierce pride.

"You're brave. So fucking brave, but I—" His voice breaks, and his hands begin trembling.