"Everything. Nothing." I lean my head back against the seat, let the wind tangle through my hair.
"Sounds dangerous." He smirks.
"Thank you. For getting me out of there."
"Anytime, Len."
The nickname does something to my chest. Makes me brave in ways I shouldn't be.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Why did you keep my birthday as your passcode?" The question has been sitting in my throat since I unlocked his phone. "You could've changed it a thousand times."
He's quiet for a long moment, jaw working like he's deciding how honest to be.
When he speaks, his voice is low.
"I tried once. I stood there with my phone, ready to change it to something else. Something that didn't remind me of you every single time I unlocked it." He pauses. "But I couldn't do it."
"Why not?"
He pulls into the studio property, parks in front of my cabin, and turns off the engine. Just sits there, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.
"Because changing it felt like giving up," he says finally. "Like admitting you were really gone. And I wasn't ready for that."
The air in the car shifts, becoming charged with something dangerous.
My pulse quickens. Heat pools low in my stomach.
"Nate—"
"We're home," he says, cutting me off gently, and the restraint in his voice is palpable.
The effort it's taking him to maintain distance.
When we reach my cabin, I barely make it through the door before it hits me like a fucking hurricane without warning.
Maybe I'm more drunk than I realize or maybe it's the weight of everything—the photos, the betrayal, the fact that my life in LA is imploding and I'm standing in Eden feeling more alive than I have in years and I don't know what to do with any of it.
I can't breathe.
My dress feels too tight, the fabric suddenly suffocating against my skin, constricting around my ribs like it's trying to squeeze the air from my lungs. My chest is too warm, heat spreading through me in waves that have nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with panic clawing its way upmy throat. My thoughts are too loud, crashing over each other like waves and I’m drowning in them.
"Hey, you okay?"
Concern fills Nate's voice, but it sounds distant, muffled, like he's speaking through water.
"I just—" My voice shakes, breaks into fragments. "I need?—"
The words fall apart as I do.
My hands are trembling as I reach for the zipper of my dress, fingers fumbling, clumsy with panic and alcohol and desperation.
I tug the dress over my head without thinking, not caring how it looks, not caring that Nate's standing right there watching me unravel. I'm down to my bra and panties, and the air feels like ice against my overheated skin but it's still not enough.
Nothing is enough.
