Fated to a Human

Chapter 22

The boardwalk buzzed with the soft lull of ocean waves, flickering neon signs, and the aroma of fried dough and saltwater. Nathan and Rory strolled side by side, their cones long gone, the warm breeze wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Streetlights painted golden halos across the pavement as their footsteps echoed along the wooden slats.

“There they are, my favorite hot messes!” Peter’s voice rang out from a bench near the edge of the railing.

Rory laughed. “We’re not hot messes.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nathan muttered, then smirked as Peter stood and walked toward them with his usual swagger.

“Smoke break at my place?” Peter offered, lifting an eyebrow.

Rory grinned. “You know I'm always down.”

“Thank God,” Peter sighed dramatically. “I’ve had a day.”

They made their way back to Peter’s massive house, the familiar gated driveway and sleek stone pathway welcoming them in like old friends. Inside, the fireplace in the living room crackled softly, its warm glow dancing across the hardwood floors.

The TV mounted above the fireplace was enormous—90 inches of pure luxury—and the massive L-shaped sectional was already calling Rory’s name.

She kicked off her shoes and launched herself onto the chaise, landing stomach-first and propping herself up on her elbows, legs bent at the knees and crossed in the air.

Nathan swallowed hard.

His eyes trailed the graceful line of her spine, the dip of her lower back, the perfect, round curve of her ass pressing against her jeans. Thoughts rushed in like a tidal wave—dangerous, graphic ones. Images of her bare body sprawled across his bed, the same way she laid now. His head buried in the softness of her lower back. The way she’d moan if—

No. Nope. Stop.

He shook his head, trying to shove the thoughts out of his brain.

Nathan quickly took the floor instead, grabbing the oversized popcorn bowl from the coffee table and settling cross-legged directly in front of Rory. Safer. Distance. Focus.

Peter flopped down next to Rory dramatically, grabbing the remote.

Nathan raised a brow. “What are we watching?”

Peter grinned like the devil. “Fifty Shades of Grey, baby.”

Nathan groaned. “Seriously?”

“I’m in a mood,” Peter said in a sing-song voice, scrolling through the streaming apps. “Don’t ruin it.”

Before Nathan could argue, the movie began, and the first sultry notes of the soundtrack filled the room.

They sat watching for a while, they got to the scene of the s*x montage—silk ropes, red lips, whimpers.

Nathan cleared his throat and stared at the popcorn.

Don’t react. Don’t move. Don’t think about her laying right there behind you like—

The couch shifted.

He felt it.

The subtle rise of fabric. The brush of her body.

Then Rory leaned forward slowly, reaching for the bowl of popcorn in front of him.

Her chest—her breasts—pressed lightly against the back of his head. Soft, warm, real.

Nathan stiffened.

He froze in place, his hand midway to his mouth. His jaw clenched as heat surged through his body like wildfire.

Rory casually rested her chin on the top of his head, her arm draping over his shoulders like it was no big deal. She reached down every now and then, fingers brushing his as she picked popcorn from the bowl.

Nathan stared straight ahead, breathing through his nose like a man in a trance. His heart thundered in his chest, and he prayed she couldn’t feel the rise and fall of his breathing getting heavier.

Control. Control. Control.

But every time she inhaled, he felt her chest move. Her breasts pressed rhythmically against the back of his neck with every breath.

Slow. Steady.

Innocent? Maybe.

Casual? Hell no. Not to him.

Down below, his pants were getting dangerously tight.

His only saving grace was the bowl of popcorn strategically covering him.

Think of something else. Think of football. Dead puppies. Calculus. Grandma knitting—

“Damn,” Rory whispered above him, her voice tickling his ear, “he really tied her up like a Christmas roast.”

Peter snorted. “That’s like… barely a six on the kink scale.”

Rory laughed. The sound vibrated through Nathan’s body, and he shifted slightly, trying not to squirm.

She’s your friend. Just your friend. No she's not she's your mate. You’re fine. You're so not fine.

Rory reached forward again, brushing his hand with hers. Nathan looked up, just briefly, and caught the glint of her mischievous smirk.

She knew.

Oh, she knew.

And she wasn’t stopping.

Nathan couldn’t take it anymore.

Between the sultry moans echoing from the speakers, the soft weight of Rory's body against his back, and her scent filling his lungs—he was going to explode.

“Be right back,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly as he stood up quickly, keeping the oversized popcorn bowl in front of him like a shield.

He practically bolted to the kitchen, every step tight with tension, gripping the fridge door harder than necessary once he opened it and found… nothing he actually wanted. He didn’t need food. He needed to breathe.

Nathan paced around the kitchen, dragging his hands through his hair. His heart was pounding like he’d just run a mile, and the pressure building in his jeans wasn't helping.

Get it together, Grey. She’s your friend. She doesn’t even know what you are. She just wanted popcorn. It’s nothing.

The soft sound of bare feet padded across the floor behind him.

“Nate?” Rory’s voice came gently, uncertain. “You okay?”

He turned a little too fast and cleared his throat, quickly shifting so the kitchen island blocked her view of… his current situation.

“Uh—yeah. Fine. Just… needed some water.”

Rory tilted her head. “You sure?”

Nathan nodded and grabbed a glass from the sink, filling it with water, pretending to drink more than he actually did. He could feel her still watching him, her presence magnetic and unshakable.

She stepped forward slowly, fingers twitching slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “So…” she started, her tone light but her eyes uncertain, “do you have a date for prom yet?”

Nathan blinked, lowering his cup. “Um… nope. Not yet. You?”

She shook her head, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

A small silence stretched between them before Rory exhaled, looking down at her hands and fidgeting with her fingers. “Well, since neither of us do… I was thinking… maybe we could go together. You know… as friends.”

Nathan felt his heart stumble, like it missed a beat. A warmth flooded through him, so fast and so deep he forgot all about what was going on in his jeans.

He smiled—no, grinned, like a complete i***t. “Yeah,” he said, too quickly, then tried again with more cool. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Rory smiled shyly, meeting his eyes for only a moment. “Cool. Um… my dress is black and burgundy.”

He gave a soft chuckle, heart still thudding like crazy. “Noted.”

Before they could say anything else, Peter’s voice rang out from the living room like a siren. “You guys are missing a very hot s*x scene!”

Nathan rolled his eyes, but Rory giggled. “Guess we better go back before he starts narrating it.”

They returned to the living room, and Nathan sat back down on the floor in front of Rory’s spot on the chaise.

This time, Rory didn’t hesitate. She reached forward again, but instead of just grabbing popcorn, she gently wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin on the top of his head.

Nathan felt a pulse of comfort move through him. He leaned back instinctively, pressing the back of his head into her chest, nestling into the softness like it was where he belonged.

And then he swore he felt it—

Her arms tightened just slightly.

And the faintest brush of her lips kissed the top of his hair.

It could’ve been accidental.

But it didn’t feel accidental.

Nathan’s breath caught for a moment, and for once in his life, he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want to question it.

For now… this was enough.

Rory's phone buzzed on the armrest beside her.

She glanced down. The name on the screen made her stomach twist.

PAUL.

“f**k,” she muttered under her breath.

Without a word, she slid off the couch and hurried into the kitchen, answering on the third ring.

“Yes, Paul,” she said flatly.

A heavy sigh came through the other end. “Aurora… why did I get a call from the school saying you broke some girl's nose?”

Rory leaned against the counter, gripping the edge. “Why do you care? It’s not like you’re here to deal with it.”

“I am your father,” he said, tone sharpening. “Of course I care.”

She scoffed, eyes hardening. “You don’t get to play dad just because your trophy wife is making you feel guilty.”

“Rory—”

“No. Let’s go over the definition of a father, Paul. A father doesn’t give his thirteen-year-old daughter a black Amex and abandon her with a housekeeper while he gallivants across Europe with a woman barely old enough to rent a car—just because he’s having a midlife crisis.”

His sigh this time was harsher, angrier. “You think this is easy for me? If your mother were still here—”

“She’s not!” Rory snapped, voice breaking before she reined it back in. “And neither are you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and something inside her was cracking wide open. “Stop pretending. You’re not a parent. You never were. You’re just calling because Haley told you to.”

“Rory, don’t—”

But she didn’t let him finish.

The screen went dark as she hung up.

Her breathing was shallow. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

He brought up Mom…

She clenched her jaw, trying to push down the memory bubbling up—but it crashed through anyway.

Rain. Blinding rain.

She’d begged her mom to go out, despite the storm. It was for her dad. Back when she thought he was a hero. She just wanted to buy him something nice.

Her mother didn’t want to go. She said the roads were too dangerous, but Rory had insisted.

And then—

The bison.

Huge. Dark. Looming out of the storm.

Her mother swerved. Tires screamed. Water swept the car like it weighed nothing. The flips came so fast—metal crushing, glass shattering, her head slamming into the window.

Her mom… she hadn’t been wearing her seatbelt.

Rory did. It was the only reason she survived.

She saw her mother’s body lying on the wet asphalt before the world went black.

Rory wiped away the single tear that escaped.

Then, like she always did, she buried it. Pushed it deep where no one could see.

Composed, cold, detached—she walked back into the living room like nothing happened.

Nathan noticed the change immediately.

She didn’t flop behind him with a joke or tease Peter for his movie choices. She curled up on the far end of the couch, knees tucked under her, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She stared at the TV, not really watching.

Her head rested on her fist, blank expression locked in place.

But Nathan heard it. Her heartbeat wasn’t steady. It was faster. And the waves of heat and bitterness rolling off her told him she wasn’t okay.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.

Whatever happened, she didn’t want to talk about it. And Nathan respected that.

Peter felt it too. The shift in the air. The loss of lightness.

Even he stayed quiet for once, letting the movie play on while the room settled into an unspoken hush.

And in the middle of it all, Rory sat like stone.

Tough.

Untouchable.

Alone.