"So," he says quietly, just loud enough for me to hear over the noise. "Mia tells me Nora's staying at your cabin lodge."
I take a drink, buying time. “She is."
"How's that going?"
"Fine."
"Fine." He repeats the word like he's testing it. "That's all you’re giving me?”
"What do you want me to say, Ollie?"
He's quiet for a moment, watching the boys argue about whether Manchester United is better than Arsenal.
Then he leans in closer, voice dropping.
"Have you actually talked to her? About?—"
"We've talked. Not about that.” My stomach twists. I set the glass down carefully. "It's not something that needs to get brought up now."
"Isn't it?"
"Ollie—"
"I'm not trying to start shit, Nate." He holds up a hand. "I'm just asking if you've been honest with her because you won’t let me be.”
The words hang heavy between us.
"No," I say finally. "And I'm not going to because it's too complicated now."
“Man, when hasn’t it been complicated with you two." He takes a drink, eyes never leaving mine. "Look, I know what happened at the wedding still sits heavy with you. I think it’s time you just told her the truth.”
He stops, and we both know what he's not saying. The things I said to her that night. The lies I told to protect him.
"Time has passed and you're both in very different places now," Ollie continues. "I'm just worried she's going to make the biggest mistake of her life because she doesn't know the whole truth."
I don't answer because he's right.
Five years of replaying that night—Nora's face when I told her I was done with us, the way she looked at me like I'd betrayed her all over again.
"She's back. She's here," Ollie says. "And maybe—maybe this is your chance to actually be honest with her."
"She's engaged, Ollie. I think you're all forgetting that little known fact."
"To a guy I know for a fact she doesn't love." He meets my eyes. "Because the idiot that actually does love her is too afraid to be honest with himself and her."
The words hang there, heavy and impossible.
Around us, the boys are still arguing—Julian's now making some ridiculous point about tactics that has Sonny in tears laughing—but it feels miles away.
"And if I tell her and it makes everything worse?" I ask quietly.
"Worse than what? Worse than watching her marry someone else? Worse than spending another fifteen, twenty years wondering what if?"
He pauses, and something shifts in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.
"Nate, I fucked up. I know I did." His voice drops lower. "I made choices that weren't mine to make. I thought I was protecting both of you, but—" He stops, shakes his head. "I should've trusted you both to handle your own lives."
My throat tightens. The memories are flooding back—things I've tried not to think about all these years.
