“This was nice,” he said, voice soft with exhaustion. “We should do it more often.”
“Yeah,” I said, because agreeing was easier than explaining why nights like this felt like borrowed time, stolen moments that I had no right to claim.
Nate shifted closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. In the dying firelight, with his eyes closed and his face relaxed, he looked younger than seventeen. Peaceful in a way that made my chest ache with protectiveness.
My wolf whined softly, pressing against my ribs with want that was too big for human skin to contain.
I sat frozen beside him, memorizing the moment. The way the firelight caught in his hair, the soft sound of his breathing,the weight of trust in the way he'd let himself be vulnerable beside me. I carved every detail into my memory with the desperate precision of someone who knew this was as close to happiness as he was ever going to get.
When Nate finally dozed off against my shoulder, I stayed still as stone. Let him use me as a pillow while I stared at the dying embers and swallowed the words that would never be safe to say.
I love you.
Stay.
Choose me.
My wolf howled silently inside my chest, mourning a bond that could never be spoken aloud. And I let the heartbreak wash over me like a tide, drowning in the knowledge that loving someone meant wanting their happiness more than your own.
Even when their happiness meant learning to live without them.
The fire burned down to ash and memory, and I sat in the darkness holding the boy I loved, knowing that this moment was as close to forever as I would ever get.
It had to be enough.
Even when it felt like dying.
9
EDGE OF TOMORROW
NATE (AGE 18)
Graduation day dawned bright and unforgiving. Hollow Pines High's worn bleachers groaned under the weight of proud parents and restless siblings, all of us packed into our ridiculous caps and gowns like overgrown penguins waiting for someone to tell us we were finally free.
I fidgeted with my tassel, watching it catch the light as it swayed. Three years in this place, and somehow I'd managed not just to survive but to thrive. The acceptance letter in my jacket pocket crinkled when I shifted, University of Chicago's logo embossed at the top like a promise of everything I'd dreamed about since moving to this strange little town.
Photography program. Full scholarship. A chance to chase light across a city that never slept, to document stories that mattered, to finally become the artist I'd always believed I could be.
It should have felt like pure triumph. Should have been the sweetest victory of my eighteen years on this planet.
Instead, all I could think about was the way Evan's shoulders had tensed when I'd told him about the acceptance letter last week, the careful way he'd written “Congratulations” in his notebook without meeting my eyes.
“Nathaniel Harrington!”
My name echoed across the courtyard, and I jerked back to the present. Time to walk across that stage, shake Principal Martinez's hand, and collect the piece of paper that officially marked the end of my childhood.
I stood on unsteady legs, black gown billowing around me as I made my way toward the stage. The crowd was a blur of faces, but I found my parents easily enough—Mom practically vibrating with excitement as she snapped photo after photo, Dad giving me one of his rare, genuine smiles that meant he was proud even if he'd never say it out loud.
But my eyes kept searching, kept scanning the bleachers until I found the face that mattered most.
Evan sat three rows back, broad shoulders testing the limits of his button-down shirt, jaw set in that familiar line that meant he was thinking too hard about something he couldn't change. When had he gotten so big?
When our eyes met across the crowd, he raised his hands to clap, slow and deliberate, and the weight of his attention made my chest tight with something I didn't want to name.
I stumbled slightly on the steps to the stage, earning a concerned look from Mrs. Chen, but managed to recover before anyone except Evan noticed. His mouth twitched in what might have been amusement, and I felt heat crawl up my neck.
Fucking graceful, Harrington.
