Nate can pretend he doesn't care, that he doesn't need anyone. But I see him. I always have.

And maybe that's why he keeps his distance.

Because being seen is Nate's greatest fear, and his greatest need.

9. Last Summer

CHAPTER 9

LAST SUMMER

NORA

June 2006

15 years old

The sun streaming through the curtains casts a honeyed glow across the spare lounge room. The walls feel like they're closing in until Jake appears, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click that somehow grounds me. His presence has always been my anchor, especially now when everything else feels like it's drifting away.

“It’s a dumb question but I’m going to ask it anyway, how are you holding up?" His voice carries a gentle concern that makes my chest ache.

"I'm surviving.” The lie sounds hollow even to me.

He laughs softly, seeing right through me as always. "Still a terrible liar." His elbow bumps mine, the casual touch anchoring me to the present.

"I am as good as anyone can be, considering." The words catch in my throat.

Instead of pressing further like everyone else has today, Jake moves to examine a photo on the mantle. It's from last summer on the family boat—me at fourteen, Ollie and Jake at sixteen, and Nate, freshly eighteen. We're all sun-kissed and laughing, unaware that these moments would become precious memories far too soon.

"He wanted to be here," Jake murmurs, his voice strained as he mentions his brother. "Nate's just been... busy with school and football."

The lie hangs between us. I know the truth—I overheard Lydia telling Mom about Nate's spiral. Skipped classes. Missed practices. Lost scholarship. The golden boy who was supposed to carry on the family legacy at Stanford, derailing instead. It hurts to think about how much he's changed, but right now, I can't let myself sink into that particular grief. Today's pain is enough.

Jake sets the photo down and crosses to me, his warm hand finding mine. The touch feels as natural as breathing.

"I'm here for you, always. You know that, right?"

His turquoise eyes, deep as the ocean and just as constant, hold mine. There's something about Jake that creates a pocket of calm in any situation, since we were kids. I lean into him, breathing in the familiar mix of a spicy-sweet blend of cinnamon that clings to his skin.

"We should probably head back out," I mumble against his shirt. "Ollie's probably feeling lost out there."

Jake catches my tears with his sleeve, unconcerned about the makeup staining the white fabric. "You're going to be okay, Nora. I promise." He extends his pinky, the childhood gesture hitting me right in the heart.

"Swear?"

"A pinky promise is legally binding, I'm pretty sure," he jokes, pulling me close again. His lips brush my hair. "No matter what, you'll always make your dad proud."