Pictures, like broken memories and the pieces of her shattered heart, scattered along the floor of Haley James' bedroom. The couple pictured in the photos taunted her; their beaming smiles and his crooked smirk were bathed in a haunting, ghostly glow. How was it that not too long ago they were perfectly happy? Where did it all go wrong?

She knelt down to pick up one of the photographs; they were on the beach, just outside of his house, smiling at the camera. Her hand was pressed against his shirtless chest, and his lips were pressed to her sunburnt cheek. Brooke had taken it and given it to them on their one year anniversary just a few months ago.

A tear carved a path down Haley's cheek, falling through the air until it landed, like rain, onto the profile of his face. The picture blurred and she almost laughed. Ironically, seconds after Brooke had snapped the photo of them on her phone, it started to pour. Instead of running inside like the rest of their friends, they'd stayed rooted in the sand, making out. The rain had always been their thing— they even met in the rain. He'd offered her his umbrella as they walked from the parking lot to their shared office building. She was in publishing, the floor right below his law firm. They traded flirty smiles on the elevator for the next week until he mustered enough courage to ask her to dinner.

The rest was history.

But history was short-lived, and now here she was, staring at the past, wishing with all she had, to live in the world where the memories existed beyond just pictures.

The photograph slipped from between her fingers and sailed through the air, falling silently onto the floor. Haley reached for her third glass of wine and sipped until the numbness kicked-in. With her free hand, she fiddled loosely with the buttons of his old shirt, remembering how his fingers felt against her skin. Beneath the numbness, a much stronger feeling scratched for freedom from between her bones: need. Pure, utter need for Nathan Scott.

"God," she groaned. She couldn't take this anymore. It was torture; the walls of her bedroom constricted her breath. She was living in her own hell.

With shaky hands, Haley placed the near-empty glass of wine onto the dresser and switched it for her phone. The time stared at her: a quarter after one.

He was probably sleeping. Or worse— no. She wouldn't let her mind travel into the darkness. But she couldn't fight it anymore. Her fingers dialed the familiar numbers as her teeth sank into the bottom of her lips.

Voicemail.

There was so much she wanted to say but didn't know where to start. Did she ever cross his mind? For her, it happened all the time.

The electronic beep startled her and Haley did what she does best; ramble.

"Um, hi, Nathan. It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now. I know I said I wouldn't call but I lost all my control and I need you now. And I just— I don't know how I can do without you—" the edge of the word vanished into the air. It was too late; she could end the call but the damage was already done. She'd thrown herself from the cliff and couldn't catch herself. There was no net beneath her. He'd hear her message; the desperate need coated in the sound of her voice. She was practically begging him.

"Oh my God," Haley repeated to herself. She stared at the phone in her hand as if it were an asteroid heading for earth. She was helpless. There was nothing she could do but run. Overcome with pure panic, she hung up, turned her phone off and threw it somewhere onto her bed.

What had she done?

. . .

"Hey, sorry I missed your call but just leave a message after the beep."

At the sound of her pre-recorded voicemail, dejection sagged like heavy stones between Nathan Scott's shoulders and words started to stumble from between his whiskey-lined lips.

"Hey, uh, it's me. I've just been thinking about everything tonight and uh, I don't know. I just miss you so much. Give me a call back when you get a chance."

He slammed his head against the bar. What the hell was he thinking calling her? It had been months since they'd ended things. She probably hated him. She probably moved on by now. Yet, here he was, sitting at the bar, another shot of Whiskey at his fingertips, staring at the door hoping she'd appear.

A scoff sounded from the back of his throat. He was a loser— a pathetic loser who couldn't get over Haley James. He missed her. He needed her.

Another shot of Whiskey. It didn't even burn anymore. His eyes landed on the door again. A group of drunken women stumbled inside the bar. None of them were her. He slumped deeper onto the stool and groaned.

He couldn't stop thinking about her; did she ever think of him? Did she ever need him the way he needed her? How the hell was he supposed to go on without her?

He couldn't, he decided. Sure he had a little too much to drink and was definitely way more than a little drunk, but he had to have her.

Nathan stumbled from his spot on the stool, swung his coat over his shoulders and hastily hailed for a cab once outside, mumbling Haley's address to the driver.

On the way to her house, just as he was about to call her again, he read the notification: one missed call. One voicemail. Haley James.

He blinked. Was he seeing things?

Better yet, was he hearing things? The sound of her low, husky voice filled his ear from the speaker of his phone.

All he heard was "I just need you now…" and nearly fell out of the cab when it pulled up to her house.

Nathan threw whatever money he had at the driver before sprinting towards her door.

Haley appeared seconds later, confused and rendered silent.

He smirked. She was wearing his old button-down and still looked sexy as hell.

"Nathan," Haley squeaked. "What- what're you doing here?"

His answer was wordless; he pulled her in for a slow, deep kiss. Instantly, her hands wound around his neck and their tongues intertwined in a battle for dominance. Need became the only language they could speak.

"I just-," he smiled against her lips as they struggled for oxygen, "I need you, too."