"I want this," he says, voice thick with emotion. "I want us. You and me. But…" He closes his eyes briefly before meeting mine again, raw vulnerability in his expression. "I'm scared I'll fuck it up because… because my life is such a wreck."

"Right now," I whisper, touching his bruised face, "I just want this moment."

He pulls me closer, and we look at each other like this cosmic dance we've been doing all along was finally bringing us home. And so, we hold on to this fragment of time, fleeting and infinite all at once.

The universe began in a single moment.

A cosmic explosion that birthed stars, planets, and the very matter that makes us who we are. Before it, there was nothing. Then everything. Moments like this remind me of that—a blip in the vastness of existence, but no less profound. Like stars being born, some moments burn so bright they leave their mark on eternity.

But moments are always destined to become memories, precious and fragile, even as they shape who we become.

69. No More Hiding

CHAPTER 69

NO MORE HIDING

NATE

A few days have passed since Monty turned me into his personal canvas. The bruises are fading from purple-black to sickly yellows and greens, like a twisted watercolor painting. My ribs still protest with each breath, but they're healing. Hospitals aren't an option—too many X-rays would map out years of Scott's handiwork in broken bones and hairline fractures.

So, I do what I've always done: survive.

Nora's become my morning ritual, her small hands gentle as she covers the worst of the damage. Each brush of her fingers against my jaw is both salvation and torment—a reminder that she sees all of me, even the parts I try to bury.

That night after Furlo's haunts me. Every breath felt like swallowing shattered glass, blood seeping into my clothes from places I couldn't count. The lake stretched before me like black silk under the moonlight, and there she was—a beacon in the darkness, perched on the dock just like when we were kids, feet skimming the water's surface. Everything in me screamed to walk away. Monty's threats echoed in my head like a death sentence. Knowing about her—it's painted a target on her back.

Each step toward the dock felt like wading through molasses, weighted with equal parts longing and dread. She turned, her expression softening at the sight of me before hardening with concern as I stepped closer, revealing Monty's handiwork.

She reached for my hand, and I let her. Her touch was warmth in the cold, a reminder that not everything in my world was violence and shadows. But looking at her—God, all I could hear was Monty's voice, his threats about her playing on repeat. I couldn't drag her into this darkness. Not her. Not my one pure thing.