He looked down at his hands, fists clenched in the comforter like he was trying to anchor himself against whatever storm was raging in his head.
“I was scared,” he continued. “Not of you, not of what you can become. Just of not knowing. Of realizing that I'd spent all these years thinking I understood this place, understood you, when really I was blind to the most important parts.”
That was exactly what I'd been afraid of—that learning the truth would make him realize how little he'd actually known me, how much of our friendship had been built on careful omissions and half-truths.
I sat down beside him on the bed, close enough that our knees brushed in a small, grounding touch that reminded both of us that this was real, that whatever was happening between us mattered enough to fight for.
“You had every right to be angry,” I said, voice coming out rougher than I'd intended. “I lied to you for years. Let you think you knew me when really I was hiding the biggest part of who I am.”
Nate's head snapped up, eyes wide with something that looked like shock.
“No,” he said fiercely. “That's not—you didn't lie to me, Evan. You just didn't tell me everything, which is completely different. And you had good reasons for keeping quiet, reasons I'm only starting to understand.”
He shifted on the bed, turning to face me fully, and the intensity in his expression made my chest tight with hope I didn't dare examine too closely.
“I've been thinking about it,” he continued. “About what it must have been like, carrying that secret. Having to watch every word, every reaction, making sure you never slipped up and revealed something that could put people in danger. And instead of being grateful that you trusted me with as much as you did, I threw it in your face because I was hurt that you hadn't trusted me with everything.”
“You're here now,” I said quietly, reaching out to cover his hand with mine. “That's what matters.”
His eyes softened, and he turned his hand palm-up beneath mine, fingers threading through mine like they belonged there.
“I'm sorry I left,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I should have told you how I felt,” I said, the words scraping against my throat like broken glass. “Should have been brave enough to say that losing you was going to destroy me, that watching you leave was the hardest thing I'd ever done.”
“Why didn't you?”
The question was gentle, curious instead of accusatory, but it still made my chest tight with all the fears I'd carried for so long they'd become part of my skeleton.
“Because you were human,” I said simply. “Because you had dreams that stretched far beyond Hollow Pines, and I didn't have the right to ask you to give them up for someone who couldn't even tell you the truth about what he was.”
Nate was quiet for a long moment, studying our joined hands.
“What if I'd wanted to give them up?” he asked finally. “What if I'd wanted to stay, to build something here with you, even without knowing about the supernatural stuff?”
The possibility hit me like a sucker punch, rewriting six years of careful justifications and making me realize how much of my noble sacrifice had actually been cowardice dressed up as selflessness.
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “I was eighteen and scared and convinced that loving you meant letting you go. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was just too much of a coward to fight for what I wanted.”
“We were both eighteen and stupid,” Nate said, squeezing my hand. “We both made choices based on fear instead of faith. But we're not eighteen anymore, and I'm tired of being afraid of wanting things.”
The words felt like a challenge and a promise rolled into one, and I found myself leaning closer without conscious thought, drawn by the gravity of whatever was building between us.
Outside my bedroom window, the full moon hung heavy and bright, its pull thrumming through my bones.
“Come with me,” I said suddenly, the words slipping out before I could second-guess myself into silence.
“Where?” Nate asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“To see everything. No more half-truths, no more careful omissions.” I stood and offered him my hand, heart hammering as I made a choice that went against every instinct I'd beenraised with. “If you really want to know who I am, all of who I am, then come with me.”
Nate stared at my outstretched hand like it might bite him, and for a moment I thought he was going to refuse.
Then he reached out and took my hand, fingers warm and slightly trembling as they wrapped around mine.
“If I run screaming into the night, that's on you,” he said, but his voice was steady and his grip was sure.
“You won't,” I said, and surprised myself by meaning it. “You're braver than you think you are.”
