L I A

"Give me a second," I pant, clutching at the stitch in my side. "Where was I?"

"You were yelling at me. Well, trying to. It actually has to be a medical phenomenon about why you're still so unfit when we've been surfing together for months. I mean, a little bike ride is what gets you? How do—"

"Shut up!" I snap through a big huff. "You got to say your piece, and now it's my turn. So just shut your stupid face and let me say what I need to say. Okay, Nathan? Can you do that?"

Nate opens his mouth, a whisper of a word escaping before he thinks better and closes it. He's kind of right. Maybe I am a medical phenomenon. My natural fitness level has never been great, but I'm a better swimmer than I used to be. Now I can paddle out to sea and only get a little breathless, but riding a bike for five minutes has me puffing and panting like I've run a marathon.

Although, to be fair, this was no normal bike ride. I raced here full of adrenaline. In my pajamas, no less, and with every muscle and every thought on fire. But really, the real phenomenon here is the concept of time. How small these moments are in the span of a lifetime, and how so much can happen within them.

Just ten minutes ago, Nate Miller showed up at my house and cut ties with me. Barely a week ago, I distanced myself from Matt following a near-fatal car accident involving Nate and my brother. It feels like only yesterday when I almost lost my virginity to Matt in the heart of New York. Thirteen days ago, I endured an attack of unwelcome advances from Jay Carter in a kitchen, juxtaposed against the moonlit memory of Nate kissing me in another kitchen just one night earlier.

On Halloween, Nate whisked me away to the aquarium, baring his soul about his life before he moved to Oceanview. Prior to that, I found myself balancing on a surfboard for the first time. And the weekend before, Matt told me he loved me for the first time. Back in September in the hazy aftermath of a chaotic party, I suggested a fresh start with Nate, even as our heated memory in a pool house lingered in the air.

As the school year dawned, Nate agreed to teach me how to surf. On just the second day of classes, commotion ensued as our brothers clashed, leading us both to detention. And a month earlier on the tail-end of summer, Matt's first text ignited the flames of a five-year-long crush, finally reciprocated.

From there until now, all these moments and everything in between fell into place like the pages of a book. A string of experiences culminating in this pivotal instant: standing here hunched over in Nate Miller's driveway. And whatever I had planned to say on the way over has evaporated into the midnight air.

But nothing has been going according to plan for months, so why start now?

"How could you just walk away like that?" I scrape back my hair, having finally caught my breath. "You come over and give me that butterfly shell, you tell me you always wanted me, and then you cut me out? Don't I get a say in this?"

Nate rubs his face, his broken arm hanging at his side. "You know we can't be friends if you're with Matt. We can't be anything, Lia. It's not like I like it, but this is how it has to be."

"I can't not have you in my life, Nate. I'll deny this is you tell Rachel, but you're my best friend, okay? You can't just walk away and expect me to accept this! And if you had stuck around a little longer then—"

His eyebrows dip when my breath catches again, but I push through, my words skipping over each other as I let it spew out.

"Ugh, you were right!" I confess. "I've been making it complicated, and it's not. I never thought I could want someone more than I wanted Matt, but here we are. You said you didn't wanna be the asshole who ruined my plans with him, well guess what, asshole? You did! Being with you felt right from that first night in the pool house, and it never came as close with Matt even though I've been in love with him forever! I've been pushing for it to work, and it doesn't, because of you! And you made me love surfing. And the beach! Yeah, I admit it, I love the beach! Even the crappy stuff. I love everything about it because you made me love everything about it! So there!"

I kept my yelling as low as I could, but the silence that replaces my voice hangs heavy in between us. As usual, Nate is unreadable. In our surf lessons, this is the part where I wipe out. Where the fear courses into the adrenaline, and it's exhilarating if I can swim to the surface. If the ocean doesn't suck me into its boundless depths.

If I can get out of this in one piece.

"Oh my god, please say something," I whine. "Please."

He shakes his head, the edge of his mouth climbing, and then he walks over with his dark eyes locked on mine, sidestepping my bike lying on the pavement. Without a word, he cradles the back of my head and he kisses me hard.

I break through the surface of those rolling waves, euphoric, gasping him in. My fingers grip at his collar and find his shoulders, pulling him closer, every fiber of me washing in relief. Kissing him is a relief. Touching him is a relief. A dose of oxygen I've been deprived of for so long, finally sated and eased.

Nate parts from my mouth, and I stagger into him, holding on when my knees threaten to collapse under me.

He exhales heavily, a grin arising. "Told you I could make you love the beach."

I laugh and give his chest a light push. "That stays between us. Tell anyone and I might just break your other arm."

"Maybe you don't know this because of your lifelong aversion, but normal people aren't embarrassed about loving the beach, DeMarco."

"Right, right. New territory." I sigh, moving my hands from him. "So... what happens now? Should we talk in the morning?"

He catches my hand in his. "Why wait? We've got all night."

〰️〰️〰️

Despite knowing Nate for months, I've never been in his room before, let alone his house. With the rest of his family presumably asleep upstairs, he leads me down a hallway in the dark, but instead of heading toward the staircase, he opens another door just off the kitchen. That's when I find out that his room is a finished basement, and it surprises me because of how isolated it is. 

He loves the outside. He loves nature. At the diner, he can't even focus on eating if he's not in his booth with the ocean view. There's a strip of small windows in here, but I doubt they'd have a view of anything more than a portion of the backyard.

His actual room is a lot of what I expected; soaked in blue from LED lights, artwork and posters, a rack of surfboards, a huge shelf of books? I didn't know he was a big reader. A drum set?  I didn't know he played. Now I'm surprised again, and that concept of time comes creeping back in. I feel like I know everything about Nate, but a glimpse of his room is proof that I might not know him as well as I thought.

Hell, just a few months ago I was intimidated by him. He was the allusive troublemaker towering around the school hallways and smoking behind the gym. The one I wouldn't dare make direct eye contact with because of a stupid reputation built from—mostly—embellished rumors.

Now, all these months later, lying on his bed and wandering into those forest green eyes of his, all I can think is how it's a travesty these forests aren't admired by the world. If only they knew what they were missing. But then again, having them all to myself is an upside I wouldn't trade for anything.

"What made it click for you... when I left?" Nate asks quietly, leaning on his elbow.

"Everything you said, the butterfly shell, the possibility of us never talking again." I roll onto my back, locking my fingers together. "But I think it clicked a while ago, I just had blinders on."

"Are you worried?"

"About what?"

"About choosing this... me."

"Why would I be worried about it?"

He cocks his head. "Because you worry about everything."

I purse my lips from their smile. "Did you know I also have a scar on my back?"

"What? No you don't."

"Yeah I do," I contend. "Actually more than one. A bunch of little ones in the middle. It's no shark bite, but they're there." I flip onto my side with my back to him, pulling up my shirt just enough for him to see. "When my mom and Derek went on their honeymoon, Rob and I stayed at Rachel's house while they were gone. It was fun, but I missed home. A lot. And then I got shingles."

"Shingles?" Nate almost gasps. "Isn't that like an old person thing?"

"Normally." I laugh. "I was only twelve, but anyone who's had chickenpox can get it. And it was brutal. All these little sores on my back running over to my chest, the worst pain I've ever felt. I could barely move without passing out."

I feel his finger tracing over the tiny dotted scars on the center of my back.

"That patch you're feeling, I feel it, but it's also numb if that makes sense."

"Nerve damage," he says in thought. "I have that, too."

I lower my shirt and turn onto my back again. "So, the reason I got shingles in the first place, why my immune system was so out of whack, it was because I was worrying and stressing about not being at home. The doctor said my body likely manifested a sickness because of how much I was worrying. Like it was wearing itself down to cope with me being homesick."

"Jesus. I guess if that was going to happen to anyone, it would be you."

"Right?" I smile, running my hand over his arm cast. "The thing is, though, choosing this... choosing us... I've never been less worried about anything in my life. I don't feel it in my brain, or my gut, or any part of my body. Whatever the opposite of homesickness is, that's all I feel with you."

Nate softly smiles as he leans down, kissing me just as soft. Our lips move together until I part mine and he takes the invitation, his tongue slowly deepening the shivers with each silky stroke, awakening every goosebump on my skin. My fingers slide behind his neck, sinking into his curls while his brush my jaw, trailing over the curve of my body until he settles on my hip. He gives a squeeze, bunching the material of my shirt, and my heart jumps with my breath, a blaze of heat rippling from his touch all the way to my face.

That's when it hits me like a truck – I'm not scared. I'm excited. Lying under him, the rightness of it all, the sureness of it all. Not stopping would be so easy. So, so easy. I grab my last grain of self-control before it slips through my fingers, forcing myself to leave his mouth. He rests his forehead on mine, the sound of our breathlessness filling the air.

"Remember when you told me... when I was sure... it would be impossible for me to miss?"

"Yeah," he exhales. "Yeah I remember."

I unscrew my eyes. "Nate, I'm so sure about you. I know I'm ready, but..."

"Matt." The weight of his forehead lifts, and his shining eyes open, lingering on my lips.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, holding the nape of his neck. "I really, really want this, but I don't want this to happen when I'm still with him. I don't want the memory of my first time being all tangled up in guilt. Ending it with him in a mess, us starting in a mess. It's not fair to him, or you."

He nods, his hand moving from my hip to smooth a strand of my hair. "That slate of ours isn't exactly clean anymore, is it?"

A flash of us shaking hands to our clean slate in September burns bright, and I can't help but laugh. "Nothing better than a new one to start out the new year. Still have to wait another day for that, though."

"Oh, I'll wait, DeMarco." He places a gentle kiss on my cheek before he slumps onto his back. "One day, one year, one eternity... it's all the same if you're on the other side of it."

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a/n: thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked the first chapter! make sure to vote, comment, and add the story to your library/reading lists ♡