Kat pauses, then faces me again. There's a weight in her gaze that tightens my chest because I know what she’s about to tell me has nothing to do with what happened last night.

"Honestly, she's like you in a lot of ways. She's been struggling but won't talk about it," she admits. "After everything that happened with David... and there were issues at school."

"What issues?" My voice sharpens with concern.

Kat hesitates. "She kept it to herself mostly. I tried to get her to talk, to see someone. But in the end, I didn't push. She withdrew from her friends, stopped going out. Seems like she's trying to handle too much on her own."

A storm of anger and guilt churns inside me—anger at whoever hurt her, and guilt for being so caught up in my own mess that I missed her suffering.

"You've always been there for her," Kat says softly. "Just be there for her now."

Not enough.

I stare at the table. "I should've been there more. Especially after..." The words fade, choked by grief—after her dad died, after everything crumbled.

"You're fighting your own battles, Nate. You can't be everything for everyone all the time." Her voice is gentle but firm. "But I've seen how you care for her. The only other person who loved her as much as her dad was you."

The mention of David hits me hard, dragging me back to the last time I saw him. He'd joked about welcoming me as his son-in-law, and those words had made me feel like maybe I could be someone worthy.

The screech of the front door cuts through our moment. Mom's voice carries from the entryway—sharp and tinged with that familiar edge of concern. She's chirping while talking to Jake; she always is. I steel myself as they enter the kitchen.

The shift happens instantly when her eyes land on me. "Nate," she snaps, zeroing in on my battered face. "Where the hell were you last night? Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

I open my mouth, but Kat steps in before I can stammer out a lie. "Lydia," she interjects, her tone firm yet soothing. "He's back now, that's what matters."

Mom's gaze flicks between us. I watch her wrestle with her anger before she finally sighs. "Fine," she says, though it's clearly not. "Can you at least tell me where you were?"

"Crashed at a friend's," I mumble, the lie bitter on my tongue.

"Jake said you were staying at Farrah's?"

Fuck.

"Farrah's a friend, Mom."

Her frown deepens, probing for more, but she lets it drop—for now. "And why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"He was helping me with the pie, got flour all over himself," Kat covers smoothly, shielding my stained shirt from view as I try to hide my fucked-up hand.