Nick's grip on my shoulder tightens, his fingers digging into muscle, reminding me of all the times he's refused to let me fall. "Maybe she does. But she's not asking for better. She's asking for you. And if you can't see why, maybe it's time to stop looking at her and start looking at yourself."

I laugh bitterly, the sound like broken glass in my chest. "Everything I touch, I ruin. My family. My friends. Her." The words taste like truth, familiar and bitter on my tongue. "All I do is take and destroy."

Like father, like son—the mantra I've been running from since I was old enough to understand what Scott’s fists could do.

Nick shifts to sit in front of me, slinging his arms around his knees, leveling his eyes with mine. His gaze isn't soft—it's sharp with the same tough love that's kept me alive this long. I want to look away, but I can't.

"I've been exactly where you are. Telling myself the same bullshit to justify not trying. But you know what? It's cowardly."

I flinch at the word. It cuts deeper than I expect it to.

"Yeah, cowardly. You think you're protecting her by shutting down and keeping her at bay? By pretending you don't care? All you're doing is running. And the longer you run, the harder it's gonna be to find your way back. To her. To yourself."

I hate how much his words sting because they're true. Each one strikes like a match against my raw nerves, illuminating truths I've been trying to keep in darkness.

I hate that he's looking at me like I'm worth saving when I've done nothing to deserve it.

I hate that when he says, "find your way back," I think of her face—her smile and her laugh that sounds like every good memory I've ever had—it feels like hope.

And I hate hope.

Hope is the cruelest trick of all—a light that only makes the darkness deeper when it fades.

Hope is what kept Mom coming back to Dad, thinking this time would be different.

Hope is what left Jake with scars he thinks I don't see.

Hope is what put Nora in that hospital bed while I sit here, destroying my own life in the process.

"Isn't this running though? Just to another country?" My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears.

"No." Nick's response carries the weight of experience. “It’s distancing, so you can start facing yourself away from distractions. Away from old habits and familiar demons."

"What if I can't?" My voice cracks, splintering like glass under pressure, vulnerability seeping through the fissures before I can patch them. "What if I try and it's not enough?"

Nick stands, his hand dropping from my shoulder, but his presence looms larger, filling the room with an authority earned through years of his own battles.