31. Nate

It was a stupid fucking thought, but I was painfully aware of how uncool I looked right now, and it only added insult to injury.

My apartment felt emptier than usual tonight, the silence weighing heavily on my shoulders as I nursed a glass of whiskey in the dark, the amber liquid burning a path down my throat. I glanced around at the sleek, modern decor, the remnants of my bachelor lifestyle glaring back at me. It was a cool place, no doubt about it, but lately, it felt more like a prison than a home.

I couldn"t shake the feeling of regret that gnawed at my insides, a constant reminder of the ultimatum I had given Carly. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, to force her hand and make her confront the truth about our relationship. But now, as I sat alone, wishing for her body to keep me warm and occupied and her laugh to keep me smiling, I couldn"t help but wonder if I had made a colossal mistake.

I took another sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it seared away the pain, if only for a moment. My thoughts swirled in a bullshit sadness whirlwind, jumping from one nonsensical tangent to the next. Was it possible to drown in self-pity? If so, I was well on my way.

I thought about Carly, about the way she made me feel alive and whole and the way she had shattered all my preconceived notions about love and relationships. How sure I was that she loved me and the guys just as much as we each loved her, and yet it seemed like she couldn"t make up her mind about us, about what she wanted.

Shouldn"t she know by now whether she loved me? If she wanted to be with me despite whatever societal expectations we were subverting? The questions echoed in my mind, taunting me with their lack of answers. I wanted to shake some sense into her, to make her see that what we had was real, that it was worth fighting for.

But even as I railed against Carly in my mind, a part of me knew that the blame didn"t lie solely with her. I had pushed her into a corner, given her an impossible choice to make. And now, whiskey amplifying my emo thoughts, I couldn"t help but wonder if I had pushed her away for good.

I sighed heavily, the weight of my own foolishness settling like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I didn"t want to lose Carly, didn"t want to lose the chance at the happy home and family I had envisioned for us. But it seemed like the more I tried to hold on, the more she slipped through my fingers.

"This is bullshit," I grumbled to myself. I wasn't sure, at first, to what exactly I was referring, though I looked at the stupid fucking zebra-print pillow on my sofa that Carly would hate and punched it onto the floor. Of course, it didn't make me feel better. Much.

"Fuck this," I said, seeming to repeat myself in my half-drunk stupor. I dialed Logan on my phone, putting it on speaker and setting the stupid thing on the sharp-edged glass coffee table that certainly wasn't appropriate for any future toddlers I wanted to have with Carly. He was my best friend. Who the hell else was I supposed to call?

"Hey, Nate," Logan's voice sounded through the phone. And wouldn't you know it? He sounded like shit, too. He always sounded grumpy, but I knew him well enough to know when he was grumpy-normal, grumpy-mad, or grumpy-sad. This was the latter, for sure.

"Logan, man, I need you to come talk some sense into me," I blurted out, my voice thick with liquor and suppressed emotion. "Think you can come over? I have bourbon, if that sweetens the pot." I let out a quiet belch that tasted spicy, as if to punctuate my point.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Logan answered. "Yeah, sure, I'll be right there."

True to his word, Logan arrived at my apartment not long after, a six-pack of beer in hand as a supplement to my bourbon bottle, which was nearing empty, anyway. He took one look at my disheveled appearance and shook his head. "You're a fucking mess."

I sighed heavily, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. "I screwed up, Logan. I shouldn't have given Carly that stupid ultimatum. I don't even care anymore," I lied. "I just want her back. Her and Ella."

Logan took a seat beside me, cracking open two beers and handing one to me. "Shit, me too," he said, his voice full of exhaustion. "But all we can do is trust Carly to make the right decision for herself."

"I know," I muttered, taking a long sip of beer. "But what if she doesn't choose us? What if she decides she doesn't want this life?"

Logan placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Then we'll deal with it. But until then, we have to have faith in her, and in us, too."

I nodded, the words sinking in. Logan was right, as usual. We had done all we could. It was up to Carly now to decide if she wanted to be brave, to embrace the life we wanted to build together.

"I just want her to be happy," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Logan gave me a knowing look. "I know, Nate. We all do. That's why I don't want her to keep working at Forge."

"You're firing her?" I exclaimed, sitting up too quickly in my sudden burst of anger and making my head spin.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Sit down, drunkard. It's just that I'm accepting that no matter how much Forge fulfills me, it's not for everybody. And being a fucking waitress or even a manager could never make her happy the way photography does."

I nodded in agreement, a sense of determination swelling within me. "She's so brave in so many ways, but not at all when it comes to her fucking dreams. I kinda feel like… we need to give her that strength, if we can. Make her feel safe enough to just fuckin' go for it, y'know?" I was babbling, but Logical Logan was nodding like I made perfect sense, so it couldn't have been too bad.

"Exactly. We need to show her that we believe in her, that we're willing to do whatever it takes to make her dreams a reality."

I felt a surge of gratitude toward Logan, a sense of relief washing over me. Maybe we had been going about this the wrong way all along, but now Logan had an idea, and I knew he would do everything in his power to make it work. My big brother was a lot of things, but powerless and pathetic wasn't his bag—hell, it wasn't mine, either. I just needed his help, a good push in the right direction, to get myself back into the groove.

"You got your computer around?" Logan asked, standing up like he was on a mission. "I need to write something out. For Carly."

Oh, hell yeah. Suddenly, even my sad whiskey was giving me hope.