Chapter 3: The Rain-Soaked Confession
The rain hasn't stopped. If anything, it's gotten worse, hammering against Hannah's window like it's trying to get in, like it knows something I don't. I'm still pressed against the wall in her bedroom, my heart slamming so hard I can feel it in my teeth, and I'm trying to remember how to breathe.
The floorboards creak as Hannah's footsteps approach, slow and deliberate. She pushes the door open and finds me there, frozen, my back still against the wall like it's the only thing holding me upright. Her eyes are soft but firm, and she doesn't say anything at first—just studies me, reading the panic written across my face like it's a language she's fluent in.
"He's still out there," she whispers, her voice barely carrying over the drumming rain. "He said he'll wait. He said he'll wait as long as it takes."
My breath catches. I move to the window, my legs unsteady, and pull back the curtain just enough to see. Harry is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, rain plastering his curls to his forehead, his shoulders slumped like he's carrying the weight of every mistake he's ever made. He's not looking at the door. He's just standing there, letting the storm soak him through, like he's waiting for some kind of absolution he doesn't think he deserves.
The pull is immediate and visceral—that magnetic ache I've been trying to bury for two months. I want to hate him. I want to let him stand there and drown in his own regret. But the part of me that remembers how his hands felt on my skin, how his voice sounded when he whispered my name in the dark, that part is screaming at me to move.
Hannah steps closer, her voice dropping to something almost tender. "You don't have to decide anything tonight. You don't have to forgive him, you don't have to take him back, you don't have to do anything but talk to him."
I shake my head, tears burning behind my eyes. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything." She reaches out, brushing a strand of damp hair from my face. "Just listen. And if you need to walk away after, you walk away. But if you let him stand in that storm without even a word, you'll regret it more than any truth you could speak."
The thought lodges in my chest like a splinter. She's right. I know she's right. I've spent two months replaying every moment, every word, every touch, wondering what I could have done differently. And now he's standing outside, offering something I never thought I'd get—a chance to hear his side.
I press my palm against the cold glass, watching the way the rain beads and streaks around my fingers. He looks smaller than I remember, less like the confident frat boy who owns every room he walks into, more like the scared kid he's always tried so hard to hide. And despite everything, despite Nessa and the lies and the two months of silent torture, I feel my walls starting to crack.
"Okay," I breathe, the word barely there. "Okay."
Hannah hands me a hoodie from the back of her chair, and I pull it over my head, the fabric swallowing me whole. It reeks of her lavender detergent, and I hate that it doesn't smell like him. I hate that I'm even noticing.
I walk to the door, my hand hovering over the handle. "If I'm not back in ten minutes—"
"I'll come find you." Hannah's voice is steel wrapped in warmth. "And if he hurts you again, I'll make sure he regrets it."
I almost smile at that. Almost.
The door swings open, and the rain hits me like a wall. Cold, relentless, drowning out every sound except the thundering of my own heart. Harry looks up, and when his eyes find mine, something in his face breaks open—relief, desperation, fear, all tangled together in a mess he can't hide.
"Nikki." His voice is raw, cracked, barely audible over the storm. "I didn't think—I didn't know if you'd come out."
I step onto the porch, letting the door close behind me, and the world narrows to just the two of us. Rain drips from the awning, forming a curtain between us, but neither of us moves to close the distance.
"I don't know why I'm here," I admit, my voice shaking. "I don't know what you want from me, Harry. I don't know what any of this means."
He takes a step forward, then stops, like he's afraid I'll bolt. "I want to tell you the truth. The whole truth. About me, about my dad, about why I ran."
"I don't want your excuses."
"Then don't take them as excuses." His jaw tightens, and his eyes are blazing now, fierce and desperate. "Take them as the truth I should've told you months ago. The truth I was too scared to say out loud."
I cross my arms, hugging myself against the cold. "I'm listening."
He exhales, long and shaky, and the rain pounds between us like a heartbeat.
"My dad didn't just treat my mom like furniture," he says, his voice dropping to something raw and wounded. "He made her feel like she was invisible. Like she was a prop in his life, something to be used and discarded when it wasn't convenient anymore. I watched him break her down piece by piece until there was nothing left but the shell of the woman she used to be."
I feel my throat tighten. I never knew this. He never told me any of this.
"And when I met you—" He breaks off, running a hand through his wet hair, water flying everywhere. "When I met you, I felt something I'd never felt before. Like you could see through me. Like you could break through every wall I'd built. And it terrified me, Nikki. It terrified me because I knew I'd destroy you eventually. It's what I do. It's what I'm made of."
"You think you're the only one who's scared?" The words come out sharper than I intended, a crack of thunder in the storm. "You think I wasn't terrified? I was falling for a guy who wouldn't even hold my hand in public, Harry. I was giving you everything while you kept me hidden like a dirty secret."
His face crumples. "I know. I know I did that. And I hate myself for it. Every single day I hate myself for it."
"Then why?" My voice breaks, and I don't care anymore. "Why did you choose her? Why did you choose the one person who would make it impossible for me to escape?"
"Because she was safe." The words come out like a confession. "Because she doesn't know me. She doesn't know about my dad, or the way I flinch when someone raises their voice, or the fact that I've spent half my life trying to prove I'm not him. With Nessa, I get to be the person everyone expects me to be. The easy grin. The careless charm. The frat boy who doesn't take anything seriously."
"And with me?"
It's the question I've been afraid to ask, the one that's been eating me alive since the moment I saw them together. Harry takes a step closer, and this time I don't move away.
"With you, I'm real." He reaches out, his fingers brushing my arm, and the touch sends electricity through my rain-soaked skin. "With you, I don't have to pretend. You see me, Nikki. All of me. The good, the bad, the parts I'm still trying to understand. And that terrifies me more than anything in the world, because I've never had that before. I've never let anyone have that before."
I look at him, really look at him, past the rain and the desperation and the two months of silence. I see the boy I fell in love with, the one who traced constellations across my skin and whispered secrets in the dark. I see the cracks he's always tried to hide, the ones he's only ever let me see.
"You should have told me," I whisper. "You should have trusted me enough to tell me."
"I know." His voice cracks. "I know I should have. And I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me."
The rain continues to fall, soaking us both, but neither of us moves. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, the decision hanging in the air between us.
"I can't give you an answer tonight," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just forget everything that happened. I can't just pretend it doesn't still hurt."
"I'm not asking you to." His hand finds mine, and he squeezes gently. "I'm just asking for a chance. A chance to prove I can be the man you deserve."
I look at our hands, entwined in the rain, and I feel the smallest flicker of something I'd almost forgotten—hope.
"I'll think about it," I say, and his eyes light up with a fragile, trembling light. "But I'm not promising anything, Harry."
"That's all I can ask for," he says, and the smile that crosses his face is small but genuine. "That's more than I deserve."
I pull my hand away, but I don't step back. The rain continues to fall, but somehow it feels less cold now. Less final.
"I should go inside," I say softly. "I need to think."
He nods, wiping rain from his eyes. "I'll be here."
I turn to leave, taking a step toward the door, when I stop. I don't look back, but I speak, loud enough for him to hear. "What about Nessa?"
The pause is heavy, and I can feel it. When he answers, his voice is steady, sure he never sounds when he's talking about her. "There is no me and Nessa. Not anymore."
I walk inside, letting the door close behind me, and I press my back against the wood, trembling, feeling the rain drip down my face like tears I'm too numb to shed.
Hannah's waiting for me, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "Well?"
"I don't know," I say, and the words feel like the truest thing I've said all night. "I just don't know."
She nods slowly, and then she wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that feels like shelter. "You don't have to know tonight," she murmurs against my hair. "You don't have to have it all figured out. Just take it one breath at a time."
I close my eyes, letting her hold me, listening to the rain as it starts to slow outside. And for the first time in months, I feel like I can take a breath that doesn't hurt.
Tomorrow, I'll have to face Nessa. Tomorrow, I'll have to figure out what this means. Tomorrow, I'll have to make a choice that could change everything. But tonight, I let myself be held. Tonight, I let myself breathe. And the rain continues to fall, washing away the silence I've been drowning in, leaving something raw and new in its place.
The rain slows to a whisper against the window, and Hannah's arms are still around me, warm and steady. She doesn't let go until my breathing evens out, until the shaking stops, until I feel like I might actually survive the night.
"You need to eat something," she says, pulling back and studying my face. "And you need to change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia."
I look down at myself, at the soaked hoodie clinging to my skin, and I realize I can't feel my fingers anymore. The cold has seeped in deeper than I thought, settling into my bones like a familiar ache.
"Shower," I manage, my teeth chattering. "I need a shower."
Hannah points me toward her bathroom and tosses me a towel that smells like her lavender detergent. "I'll make tea. You take as long as you need."
The hot water is a shock against my frozen skin, and I stand there for a long time, letting it scald the numbness away. Steam fills the tiny bathroom, fogging the mirror, and I watch my reflection disappear into the mist like it's a metaphor I'm too tired to unpack.
When I finally step out, wrapped in Hannah's oversized robe, I feel lighter in a way I can't quite explain. The weight of Harry's confession is still there, pressing against my chest, but it's no longer crushing me. It's just present. Bearable.
Hannah hands me a mug of chamomile tea, and I curl up on her couch, the warmth seeping into my palms. She sits across from me, her legs tucked under her, and waits.
"He told me about his dad," I say, staring into the amber liquid. "About how he watched his mom disappear piece by piece. About how he's terrified of becoming that."
Hannah's eyebrows lift slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.
"He said he ran because he was scared of destroying me," I continue, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "And I want to be angry. I want to tell him that's not his decision to make. But I also understand, Hannah. I understand what it's like to be so afraid of hurting someone that you hurt them anyway."
She's quiet for a long moment, turning her mug in her hands. "Do you still love him?"
The question hangs in the air, sharp and unavoidable. I open my mouth to answer, but the words get caught somewhere between my heart and my throat.
"I don't know," I finally say. "I don't know how to stop, even when I want to."
Hannah nods slowly, like she expected that answer. "You don't have to figure it out tonight. But whatever you decide, I'm here. We're all here. Aria, Spencer, Emily, me. You're not alone in this, Nikki."
I feel tears prick at my eyes, but they don't fall. I've cried so much tonight that I'm not sure I have any left.
"I think I need to sleep," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "I think I need to just close my eyes and stop thinking for a few hours."
Hannah stands and leads me to her bed, pulling back the covers and tucking me in like she used to when we were kids, when the worst thing in my life was a bad grade or a boy who didn't text back. She turns off the light, and the room falls into darkness, save for the faint glow of the streetlamp through the window.
"Nikki?" Her voice is soft from the doorway.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever happens tomorrow, you're going to be okay. I promise."
I want to believe her. I want to hold onto those words like a lifeline. But as I close my eyes, all I can see is Harry standing in the rain, his face raw with desperation, and I don't know if I'll ever be okay again.
---
I wake to the sound of my phone buzzing against the nightstand, the screen lighting up like a beacon in the gray morning light. I groan, reaching for it, and my heart stutters when I see the name on the screen.
Nessa.
I let it ring. Then it buzzes again with a text.
Nessa: I know you stayed out all night. Don't think I don't know where you were.
I stare at the words, my stomach twisting. How does she know? Did she see Harry leave? Did he go back to their dorm last night and tell her it's over?
Another buzz.
Nessa: We need to talk. Today. No hiding.
I type out a response, my fingers trembling, and delete it twice before I settle on the simplest answer.
Nikki: Fine. Where?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Nessa: The coffee shop. Noon. Don't be late.
I let the phone drop onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars Hannah stuck up years ago are still there, peeling at the edges, and I remember the night we put them up—how we were so sure we'd have our whole lives figured out by now. We were so young then.
Hannah is already in the kitchen when I emerge, dressed in jeans and a oversized sweater, making coffee with the kind of efficiency that comes from years of practice. She looks up when I walk in, and her face immediately shifts to concern.
"Nessa texted," I say, cutting off her question before it can form. "She wants to meet. Noon. The coffee shop."
Hannah's jaw tightens. "You're not going alone."
"I can handle her."
"I know you can." She hands me a mug, her eyes steady. "But you're not going alone."
I want to argue, but I don't have the energy. Instead, I take the coffee and let the warmth seep into me, trying to gather the pieces of myself I lost somewhere in the rain last night.
By the time we reach the coffee shop, I'm a bundle of nerves disguised as calm. Hannah walks beside me, a silent sentinel, and I'm grateful for her presence even if I'll never admit it out loud.
Nessa is already there, seated at a table in the back, her posture perfect, her latte untouched. She looks like she's been waiting for a long time. When she sees me, her smile is sharp enough to cut.
"Nikki," she says, drawing out my name. "So nice of you to finally show up."
I slide into the seat across from her, leaving Hannah at the counter to order. "You said noon. It's noon."
Nessa's eyes flicker to Hannah, then back to me. "I see you brought backup. Cute."
I don't take the bait. "What do you want, Nessa?"
She leans back, crossing her arms, and her smile turns predatory. "I want to know what you think you're doing with Harry."
"I'm not doing anything with Harry."
"Don't lie to me." Her voice drops, sharp and cold. "He came back to the room last night, packed a bag, and told me it's over. He said he "needs to figure things out." And I know it's because of you."
I feel my heart stutter, but I keep my face neutral. "That's between you and him. It has nothing to do with me."
"You're such a liar." She leans forward, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You think I don't know about you two? About all those little "study sessions" and "late nights at the library"? I'm not stupid, Nikki. I've known since the beginning."
The confession hits me like a slap. I'd been so careful, so sure I'd covered my tracks. And she knew the whole time.
"Then why did you date him?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
Nessa's smile twists. "Because I wanted to see what would happen when he had to choose. And I wanted to watch you crumble when he didn't choose you."
The words are so casual, so cruel, that I have to remind myself to breathe. This whole time, I thought she was just a girl who fell for Harry. But she's been playing a game I didn't even know existed.
"You're sick," I say, my voice shaking. "You're actually sick."
"I'm honest." She shrugs, picking up her latte and taking a sip. "There's a difference. And now, I'm going to give you some free advice, since I'm feeling generous. Stay away from Harry. He's not yours, and he never will be."
I push back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. Hannah is already moving toward me, her eyes blazing.
"We're done here," I say, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.
Nessa smiles, and it's the coldest thing I've ever seen. "For now. But I'll be watching, Nikki. And when you fall, I'll be there to make sure everyone sees it."
I walk out of the coffee shop, Hannah close behind, and I don't stop until I'm three blocks away, my heart pounding, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall.
"Nikki?" Hannah's voice is gentle, careful. "Talk to me."
"She knew." The words come out broken, raw. "She knew about me and Harry the whole time. She's been playing us from the start."
Hannah's face hardens with fury, but she doesn't speak. She just wraps her arms around me, holding me together when I feel like I'm falling apart.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a quieter thought surfaces. If Nessa knew about us, and she was playing games, then what exactly is Harry's side of this story?
I pull out my phone and type a message, my fingers moving before I can second-guess myself.
Nikki: We need to talk. No games. The library. In an hour.
The reply comes faster than I expect.
Harry: I'll be there.
The library is quiet when I push through the heavy glass doors, the familiar smell of old paper and floor polish wrapping around me like a second skin. It's the kind of silence that feels sacred, the kind that holds secrets in its walls, and I've spent so many hours here hiding from my own life that it almost feels like coming home.
Almost.
I find our usual table in the corner, the one tucked behind the poetry stacks where no one ever looks. It's where we used to meet, back when "study sessions" meant something different, back when his hand would find my knee under the table and the words on the page would blur into meaningless shapes. I sit down and wait, my fingers tracing the grooves in the wood that we carved over months of stolen moments.
He appears in the doorway like a ghost, his curls still damp from a shower, his eyes scanning until they find me. He's wearing a plain gray t-shirt and jeans, nothing special, but my chest tightens anyway because I know exactly how those clothes feel against his skin. I know the way that shirt stretches across his shoulders when he reaches for something on a high shelf. I know the way those jeans sit low on his hips.
"Hey," he says, sliding into the chair across from me. His voice is cautious, like he's testing the ground before he commits to standing on it.
"Hey." I don't look up from the table. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course I came." He pauses, and I can feel his eyes on me, searching. "You said no games. I'm here to be honest."
I finally meet his gaze, and the weight of everything we haven't said settles between us like a third person at the table. "Nessa knew," I say. "She knew about us the whole time."
Harry's face goes pale. "What?"
"She told me this morning. She's been playing both of us from the start. She dated you because she wanted to watch me crumble when you didn't choose me." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Guess she got what she wanted."
Harry runs a hand through his hair, his jaw working. "I didn't know. I swear to you, Nikki, I didn't know."
"I believe you." I do. For some reason, I do. "But that doesn't change what happened. You still chose her. You still left me without a word. You still let me believe I was the problem."
"I know." His voice cracks, and he leans forward, his elbows on the table, his hands reaching for mine. I let him take them, let his warmth seep into my skin. "I know I did all of that. And I can't take it back. I can't undo the hurt. But I can tell you why I did it, and I can promise you it'll never happen again if you give me the chance."
I look at our hands, his fingers intertwined with mine, and I remember all the nights we spent like this—connected, electric, feeling like the only two people in the world. I remember the way he'd trace patterns on my palm when he thought I was asleep. The way he'd pull me closer when the nightmares got too loud. The way he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.
And then I remember the way he looked at me across the bonfire, the way he chose Nessa, the way he let me fall.
"Why should I trust you?" I whisper. "Why should I believe you won't just do it again?"
"Because I can't live without you." He says it simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I tried. I spent two months pretending I could, and I was miserable. Every time I looked at her, I wished she was you. Every time she touched me, I flinched because it wasn't your hands. I'm not saying that to hurt you, I'm saying it because it's the truth."
I pull my hands away, wrapping them around myself like armor. "That's not enough, Harry. Wanting me isn't enough. I need to know you're not going to run again when things get hard."
"I'm not—" He stops, exhaling long and slow. "You're right. You're right, and I can't promise I won't be scared. But I can promise I'll stay. I can promise I'll talk to you instead of running. I can promise I'll choose you, every time, out loud, in public, no more secrets."
The words hang between us, heavy and fragile. I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him. But the scar he left is still fresh, still aching, and I don't know if I'm ready to let him touch it again.
"Can I tell you something?" he asks, his voice soft. "Something I've never told anyone?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He takes a breath, and when he speaks, it's like he's pulling each word from somewhere deep. "The summer before college, I almost didn't come here. I got into a program abroad, and my dad wanted me to go. He said it would be good for my future, good for the family name. But I told him I was staying.