Pain comes in countless forms; the worst is watching it consume those you love. Mom is the greatest casualty in this war. If I leave now, who shields her? Who protects Jake from the monster wearing our father's face?

Sitting here in this moment, surrounded by the evidence of tonight's violence, held by the woman who loved me first, my future crystallizes with stunning clarity.

I realize, in this moment, I no longer have a father.

16. Lost Stories, Found Words

CHAPTER 16

LOST STORIES, FOUND WORDS

NORA

The days blur together, each one indistinguishable from the last. Nate's mood swings are giving me whiplash—one minute he's vulnerable and the next he's acting like I'm invisible.

As much as I try to block him out, it's become nearly impossible because we're living in the same house. My traitorous mind keeps circling back to that night. Nate in the pool, looking like some brooding, gothic prince under the moonlight. His dark hair slicked back, muscles tensed, voice low as he admitted his discomfort with Connor's touch. Then there was the way he'd thanked me for keeping his secret, like I'd given him something precious. It was unfair how good he looked, even when he was driving me crazy. But his hot-and-cold routine is exhausting. I suppose two can play at that game.

He wants space? Fine.

He can have all the space in the world.

I push back from my makeshift desk on the porch, my sanctuary away from Ollie and Jake's gaming wars and the lingering breakfast smells from the kitchen. The afternoon heat presses against my skin as I stare at my laptop's blank screen. The house is quiet with the boys out surfing and Mom at the market—perfect conditions for writing, yet the words won't come. My anger at Nate's silent treatment mingles with something deeper, something that makes my chest tight when I think about him.

"Ugh, screw you, Nate," I whisper, the words hissing between my teeth. I hate how much space he takes up in my head, and how much I miss him even though he's right here, always just out of reach.

The front door's creak breaks my reverie as Lydia steps in, arms laden with shopping bags. Her smile is warm, but concern shadows her eyes. "Hi, honey. How's your day going?"

I shrug, aiming for casualness. "It's going."

She chuckles, the sound knowing and gentle. "That good, huh?" Her eyes drift to the wine rack, lips quirking. "It's five o'clock somewhere, right?"

It's barely noon, but I won't comment. "Wait, where's Mom?"

"Your mother can't help herself when it comes to saving people. An elderly woman fell at the farmer's market. So, your mom wanted to make sure she got the right scans and tests at the hospital."

That's Mom for you—always the hero. It's one of the things I love most about her.

"So, since it's just the two of us, spill. What's up with my favorite girl?"