Best Friends for Never

Chapter Fourteen Parker

Chapter Fourteen

Parker

“Well, that went to hell real fast.”

I groan, dropping my head into my hands as we walk down Axel’s driveway.

It’s nearly 2:00 a.m., and we’re just now leaving. About thirty minutes after Noel got there, all hell broke loose.

“You aren’t kidding. I’m just glad Matilda’s okay. And Axel too,” I say. “There was so much blood.”

“Nothing a few stitches can’t fix for the both of them,” Noel tells me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and dragging me to his side. I snuggle against him, his warmth and cologne enveloping me like a safety net I so desperately need right now. “She’s little but tough. She’ll heal up okay. And Axel will be fine too.”

“I know. Just scary, you know? And it could set us back a few weeks at the theater while his hand heals.”

“Nah. I’m sure he’s got his crew on it. Besides, you two have built a great business together. It’s not all going to fall apart because of this.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I sigh. “I can’t believe we didn’t even get to eat dinner. But that lasagna was ...”

“Charred? Completely burned to a crisp?”

“So, so burned. Does it make me a bad godmother if I was almost as upset over the lost dinner as I was about her getting hurt?”

I laugh. “I think it just makes you hungry.”

“Ugh. So hungry. I wish we had a twenty-four-hour diner around here.”

“I doubt we’d get as much foot traffic as you think.”

“Probably not, but it would cure my sudden need for bacon and eggs. Oh, and potatoes. No, wait. Biscuits and gravy. And wa—”

“Come back to my place.”

I halt, pulling him to a stop along with me. “What?”

“Come back to Gran’s with me. She’s got all those things and more in her fridge, and I can whip you up something to eat. I’m guessing since everyone else around town feeds you regularly, you don’t have much at your house.”

I don’t even bother trying to deny it. “I have a couple of eggs, if we’re lucky, and some ketchup. Maybe mayo. But that’s it.”

He shakes his head with a grin, swinging us in the opposite direction we were headed. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to Gran’s, and I’m making breakfast.”

“Are you sure Gran won’t care?”

“Nah. Not one bit. Hell, she’s so excited to have me home, she might just get up and make us food herself.”

“Noel!” I poke at his stomach.

“Hey, hey.” He tries to dodge me, but it’s useless. “I’m kidding!”

He is, and he isn’t. There’s no denying how much Gran loves having him here—we all do.

In fact, I don’t know what I would have done without him there tonight. When Matilda screamed, Axel jumped—as expected—and sliced his hand on the knife he was using to cut the garlic bread. Blood started gushing immediately, but he didn’t care. His only focus was his daughter, which is why he went running through the house, trailing blood everywhere, and scooped her up in his arms.

They both landed at the local clinic for stitches—Axel with ten on his hand and Matilda with four on her chin, which she’d busted open on the coffee table.

Somewhere in the mix of all the mess, dinner was forgotten and burned, sending the fire alarm blaring, which freaked the girls out even more, which freaked me out.

But not Noel. He was calm. Completely collected. He didn’t bat an eye or scream like I did when Axel started bleeding everywhere or when the triplets were screaming their heads off. He tossed me a towel, told me to keep pressure on Axel’s hand, then scooped up the crying Miranda and Mavis like it was an everyday occurrence for him and helped keep them calm while Mary tended to Matilda and I took care of Axel.

Even while Mary and Axel headed to the doctor, Noel stayed behind with me to watch Miranda and Mavis, despite it being so late and our evening ruined. He cleaned up the messy kitchen and the vase Axel broke in his panic to get to the girls while I fed them mac and cheese and got them ready for bed.

He was our savior, and I shouldn’t be surprised by it.

He saved me from falling into a pit of despair when my dad left, then saved me again every time Axel bullied me, or anytime anything bad ever happened.

And he’s about to save me again, this time from starving.

On cue, my stomach growls, and he laughs.

“Hang on,” he says, pulling us to a stop. Then he turns and crouches in front of me. “Up.”

I grin, thinking back on the countless times we’ve done this before, and hop onto his back like it hasn’t been forever since I’ve done it.

He stands, juggling me until I am in a comfortable position for him, and I hang on tightly to his back as he speed-walks us back to Gran’s. I giggle the whole way, unable to contain my childlike excitement.

Or maybe it’s just because I’m tired and the deliriousness is beginning to set in.

Noel’s shoes crunch up the short gravel drive to Gran’s house, and he drops me back on my feet before walking right inside.

See? Nobody locks their doors around here.

He pushes the door open and motions for me to follow him. We take our shoes off, then tiptoe into the kitchen I helped Gran remodel last year whenever I had some free time. It was a fun project and one that was long overdue. Plus, it meant spending more time with one of my favorite people. I couldn’t pass that up.

“What do you want?” Noel asks quietly, pulling open the fridge as I settle into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Pancakes. No, wait. Omelets. No—”

“Focus, Peter,” Noel interrupts with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Everything just sounds so good .”

“Fine. How about I pick, then? You grab us some glasses for mimosas. I’m pretty sure Gran has some champagne tucked away in the back of the fridge. No telling how good it is, but booze is booze, right?”

“You want orange juice? I can’t promise it’s organic or freshly pressed,” I tease him.

He rolls his eyes, turns back to the fridge, and begins pulling ingredients out, setting them on the counter. I go to the cabinet where I know Gran keeps her glasses and pull two down, then fill them up about halfway with the orange juice Noel left out for me. He’s already at the stove, cracking open eggs and dropping them into a skillet while another warms up.

“Score!” I snatch the bottle of booze off the counter and peel at the wrapper around the top. “The champagne isn’t open yet. Do you think she’ll be mad if we drink it all?”

“I most certainly will.”

My heart leaps into my throat for the second time tonight, and I whirl around to find Noel’s grandmother standing in the doorway, a pink robe wrapped tightly around her and a flyswatter in one hand.

“Shit. Did we wake you?” Noel asks as if he’s unsurprised to find her there.

“No. I’m just up for my nightly fly hunt.” She rolls her eyes at his redundant question. Of course we woke her up, and she was coming at us with a flyswatter, just in case we were burglars.

Noel winces. “Sorry. We’ll be quieter. Go back to bed.”

She ignores him, tosses her weapon onto one of the chairs, and shoves her grandson away from the stove.

“You’re doing it wrong.” She turns knobs and shuffles pans around. “Let me do it.”

“What? No,” Noel argues. “Seriously, Gran. Go back to bed. We got this.”

She points a spatula at the empty kitchen table. “Sit. Both of you. And pour me one of those mimosas, will you? If I’m going to be up at this ungodly hour, I’m at least having a damn drink.”

And so Noel’s grandmother makes us breakfast at 2:00 a.m., and when she’s finished, we scarf it down like we haven’t eaten in weeks.

It’s the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten, and the second I’m finished I want to cry because now I have to trek all the way back across town to my house.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” Noel says, grabbing my plate and putting it in the dishwasher. He’s already sent Gran back to bed, which is exactly where I want to be.

“I think the long day and even longer night are getting to me.”

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay the night. Gran doesn’t mind, you know that.”

“I can’t ...” I shake my head, picking up our glasses and setting them on the top rack while he loads everything else. “I can’t stay the night, Noel.”

“Why not? It’s not like you haven’t before.”

“Yeah, but we were kids then. Little kids. It was different.”

He pauses, looking up at me with a mischievous grin I don’t like one bit. “Why? Are you saying you don’t trust me to keep my hands to myself?”

“Do I think you’re going to fondle me? Absolutely.”

“You’d love every second of it.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, turning away so he can’t see how red my cheeks are. I continue cleaning the table and putting away the Tabasco sauce, butter, and syrup.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he offers.

“That’s sweet, but I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own home.”

“Then we’ll sleep together.”

I nearly drop the saltshaker I’m setting back by the stove, barely catching it before it clatters to the countertop and wakes Gran up again.

He says it so casually, like sharing a bed in his grandmother’s house wouldn’t be totally disrespectful to the woman who helped raise me. Sure, we’re adults, and I truly don’t think Gran would mind, but it still feels like we shouldn’t.

Noel laughs from beside me, taking the shakers and setting them down in their place before I break them. “I’m teasing you. Sort of. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”

I swallow. It’s not that I don’t trust him. I do. It’s just ... Can I trust myself?

A yawn slams into me out of nowhere, and I know then that yes, I can trust myself. I’m far too tired for anything other than sleep.

“Fine,” I relent. “But I mean it.” I point at him. “No funny business.”

He holds his hands up. “Swear it.”

“Then let’s go, because I’m about to fall asleep arguing with you.”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s true. We used to talk on the phone at night and debate anything and everything. Sometimes, the arguments would go on so long that we’d fall asleep and I’d kill the cordless phone battery.

My mother was always so upset with me for that.

“Come on,” Noel says, taking my hand and leading me from the kitchen.

He turns the lights off as we go, stopping once we walk into his bedroom.

It’s strange coming back in here. Of course I’ve been inside his room many times, but not as an adult. Gran has always kept the door closed, and it’s another instance where we’ve pretended Noel didn’t exist.

Noel closes the door, then crosses the room and flips on the light beside his bed, casting the room in a low, yellowish light.

Save for the luggage in the corner and the tux hanging off the back of his closet door, the room is the same as when he left. The walls are littered with movie posters, his action figures and awards are still sitting along the top of his old wooden dresser, comics and thrillers line his bookshelf, and—

I burst out laughing.

“What?” Noel asks, brows drawn tightly together. “What’s so funny?”

I roll my lips together, trying to contain the laughter. “Nice sheets.”

He glances down at the bed and shrugs. “You loved Spider-Man as much as I did. Maybe even more, Peter .”

“Stop it,” I hiss, pointing to the bathroom. “Safe in there?”

He rolls his eyes because he knows I’m referring to the time I walked in there when he was peeing and he made a mess all over the bathroom. We were both mortified, but it’s not my fault he didn’t lock it.

“Yes. Here.” He turns to the dresser, pulls out a shirt, and then hands it to me. “You’re short. This should work as a nightshirt.”

“Rude.” I take the shirt anyway, stepping into the bathroom.

I do my business, wash my hands, then grab a washcloth from the cabinet and clean my face the best I can. I strip out of my clothes and pull Noel’s shirt over my head. He’s right—I am short compared to him, and it hits midthigh on me. He’s so big it hangs off me nearly everywhere. I like it, being in his clothes like this. He’s lent me jackets or hoodies before, but those didn’t feel the same as this does.

This feels ... intimate . Before, it was innocent, but things are clearly different now. Being in his clothes feels like I’m announcing I’m his.

But then again, I guess I always have been in one way or another.

I squirt some toothpaste onto my finger, using it as a makeshift toothbrush. Then I pull my hair from my trusty bun and redo it, only to finally settle on keeping it down.

I’m stalling. I know I am.

I don’t know why.

No. That’s a lie.

I do know why.

I’m about to spend the night next to Noel. I’ve done it before, but that was before I had sex with him. Before I knew what it felt like to orgasm on his face. Before I practically confessed that I had feelings for him.

Everything feels so different now. So much ... more .

And it scares the heck out of me.

I inhale slowly and exhale even slower. I do this several more times before placing my hand on the doorknob.

“Go out there, Parker. It’s just Noel,” I whisper to myself. “It’s just the boy you used to love and could possibly love again, but big deal. You’ve faced harder things. You got this.”

I take another deep breath, open the door, and come face-to-face with Noel.

He’s naked.

Okay, so he’s not naked naked, but he’s in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs, and they leave nothing to the imagination.

His legs are long and muscled, his abs—which I’ve memorized every ridge of—are perfectly sculpted, and his arms are completely jacked. His dark hair is untamed in a way that should look messy, yet it doesn’t. His blue-green eyes are bright and command my attention.

I can see why Hollywood loves to cast him as the leading man, because he truly does look like a movie star.

He quirks a single brow. “Enjoying yourself?”

I give myself a mental shake, then walk past him as if I wasn’t just checking him out and climb into his bed and under his Spider-Man sheets.

He laughs, then goes into the bathroom, only to reappear moments later as my eyes drift shut.

The bed dips as he crawls in next to me. He slides his arm under me, tugging me closer, and I go willingly, mostly because I don’t have the energy to fight him on it.

He fits me against him like I was made to be there, then kisses my forehead.

“’Night, Peter.”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, and either he laughs so hard he shakes the bed, or I’m just that far gone.

Either way, it’s the last thing I remember before I drift off to sleep.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

I look up and find Noel standing at the edge of the Goodman Theater’s stage in his favorite faded Ramones T-shirt he found when we went thrifting over Christmas break.

“You aren’t either,” I tell him.

He shrugs, climbing the stairs, his Chuck Taylors that he let me doodle all over squeaking loudly against the floor. “Yeah, well, looks like we both broke the rules.”

He settles down next to me, his feet dangling off the edge like mine. The cologne I got him for Christmas wafts toward me, and I inhale the scent as best I can, committing it to memory, especially since I’m not sure when I will get to smell it again.

He sighs, then runs his hand through his hair, the same thing he’s been doing for as long as I can remember. “I can’t believe this place really got shut down.”

I look around the theater. It’s dark and quiet, save for the floodlights that are still on for some reason. “I know. But I guess that’s what happens when a tree falls through it and causes so much damage it’s ‘non-repairable.’”

“These big-ass trees around here ...” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to miss them, that’s for damn sure.”

I’m sure he won’t, given his history—losing his parents in an instant to a dark night, a slick road, and a tree.

“I still don’t think it needed to be shut down,” he says, changing the subject like he always does when we get too close to talking about his parents.

“Me neither. I bet anyone with the right skills could repair this place.”

“They could tear it down and rebuild it. Make it better.”

“No. There’s no need to tear it down. It has good bones. It just needs some ...”

“Magic?”

“Magic,” I agree. I let my eyes wander over the high ceilings and down to the old, worn-out chairs that desperately need replacing.

“Well, who knows? Maybe the right person will come along someday with the magic this place needs.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So.” He grins down at me. “Are you going to miss me, Peter?”

“Of course I will.”

More than he knows.

If my best friend weren’t leaving for LA tomorrow to try to become an actor, I’d tell him how I really felt, but I can’t do that because he is leaving, and it sucks.

I’m happy for him. I really am. I want to see him get everything he wants out of life, but I’m also sad to lose my best friend and the boy I’ve loved for the last year.

I don’t know exactly when it happened or how I knew, but one day I looked at Noel and thought, I could love him.

Then I realized I already did love him, and it wasn’t just like a friend loves another friend. It was more.

The thought scared me so much I didn’t talk to him for three days. When he asked why I was hiding from him, I blamed it on my period. He was either too embarrassed to ask more about it or bought it completely because we never spoke about it again. It was the longest we’d gone without talking since he went to camp when he was twelve, but even then, he left early because he hated being away from me—something he didn’t tell me until long after.

It was like that with us. We were inseparable. Best friends. But that’s all we were. All we were supposed to be. Then I messed it up by falling in love with him.

He snuck up on me, and suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about him in ways I never had before. Like how tall he was getting and how much I liked that he towered over me. Or how pretty his eyes were, framed by his dark lashes, and how it was my favorite thing in the world when they were trained on me. Or how his laugh was infectious, and I’d give anything to hear it. Everything about him made my body feel like it was on fire, and it’s been so, so hard to ignore.

I think I’ve done a good job hiding my feelings. I don’t think Noel suspects a thing—or, at least, I hope he doesn’t. That would be embarrassing.

“I’ll miss you too,” he says quietly.

His pinkie brushes against mine, and I don’t think much of it. We’ve always been that way with one another. But then he does it again. And again.

It’s getting to be too much to ignore.

I glance over at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at where our hands meet, his eyebrows turned inward in concentration.

He’s quiet. Something’s up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“It’s . . . nothing.”

“Come on.” I bump my shoulder against his. “You can tell me.”

“I . . . I really can’t.”

Now it’s me drawing my brows together. “Why not? I thought we were best friends. We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”

I know how hypocritical I’m being right now, but my secret is different. That’s the kind of secret that can ruin friendships, not strengthen them.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I know. You just said that.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m really going to miss you, Peter.”

“I’m really going to miss you, too, Noel.”

He sighs. “You’re not getting it.”

I tip my head. “I guess I’m not.”

“It’s just ...” Suddenly, he shoves to his feet and begins pacing the stage, back and forth and back again.

He does it countless times, running his hand through his hair every time he turns.

I’m about to ask him what’s going on when he stops, looking right at me with his hands on his hips. “You know I care about you, right?”

I rise to my feet, dusting off the back of my jeans. “I know. I care about you too.”

His lips pull up into a sad smile. “Not like I care about you.”

“I doubt that.”

And I really do. He has no idea how I feel about him. How every night I fall asleep thinking of him and wake up every morning with him still on my mind. He’s the person I want to tell everything to. He’s my confidant. My best friend. He’s my whole world, and tomorrow, he’s gone.

He crosses the stage to me, standing so close I have to tip my head back to look up at him. This summer, he went through a growth spurt, adding another two inches to his already tall frame.

He’s staring down at me with a look I’ve never seen from him before, a mix of uncertainty and something else I can’t quite place my finger on. It sends my heart racing and makes my spine tingle with anticipation.

He reaches out, brushing a hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear, then cradles my face, his thumb stroking against my cheek. Again, his touch isn’t surprising, but this ... It feels different. Like that look in his eyes.

“Can I ...” He rolls his tongue over his bottom lip. “Can I try something?”

I nod, and he steps closer, the distance between us now nonexistent. His hard body is pressed against mine, and it’s too much and not enough.

He grabs my chin, tipping my head back. His gaze bounces between my lips and my eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I know that look. I’ve seen it countless times in those Hallmark movies I watch with my mother.

Desire.

I swallow thickly because I know what’s coming, and even though I shouldn’t want it because tomorrow he’ll be gone and I’ll still be here, I can’t help it. I do. I want it so, so bad.

Another brush of his thumb, another shallow breath.

“Can I kiss you, Peter?”

“Yes.”

The word is barely out before his lips are on mine. They’re softer than I expected them to be. He’s softer than I expected him to be. Gentle. Tentative even.

His tenderness doesn’t last but a moment before he’s kissing me hungrily and expertly.

I’ve been kissed three times before. The first was during a game of Spin the Bottle with Axel Cooke, the second last year on my first date with Henry Redding, and the third at the Homecoming dance. None of them can compare to this.

Noel’s lips move against mine like he’s kissed me hundreds of times before and knows just what he’s doing. His tongue sweeps against my lips, and I instinctively open them.

Then suddenly, his tongue is in my mouth, and I’m melting against him. I have no idea what I’m doing, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too busy snaking a hand around my waist, holding me tighter to him.

He’s kissing me like he may never kiss me again.

I love it, and I hate it, and I never want it to end.

But it does. Far too soon.

Noel pulls his lips from mine, his breath sharp as he presses his forehead against mine. “Come with me.”

I jerk my head back. “What?”

He slides his tongue over his bottom lip. “Come with me. To LA, I mean.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m really not.”

And I know by the look in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. He wants me to come with him.

My mouth falls open. “You can’t be serious. I can’t ...” I shake my head. “I can’t come to LA with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.”

His nostrils flare, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s not a reason. Give me one.”

“Because . . . because . . . I’d have to ask my mom.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You’re an adult now, Peter. You can do whatever you want. Besides, Astrid’s cool with me going. I bet she’d be fine if you tagged along and got out of this shithole town.”

I bristle at his words. This town isn’t as bad as he claims. I like it here. No. I love it here. And I don’t want to tag along to LA to escape it like he does.

And don’t even get me started on “tag along.” What, like I’d be latching on to his dreams and following him there because I had nothing else better to do?

I do have something to do. I’m going to take college classes online and work at my mom’s shop until I decide what I want to do with my life. I’m not some lost creature who needs Noel to step in and rescue me from my small-town life.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I don’t want to come with you.”

“You ... don’t want to come to LA with me?”

He stumbles away from me, his mouth falling open like he can’t believe I’m denying him. “Why not?”

“Because I have college.”

“You can take the courses there.”

“But I want to take them here.”

“Why? We can share my room, and there are so many restaurants where I’m going. I bet you can find something there. Maybe wait tables. That’s what I’m going to do between the acting classes I’ve signed up for and auditioning. Then we can save up money and get our own place. We can leave this town, not be tied down here. We can explore the world together. It’ll be amazing.”

I shrug. “I know you don’t like it here, but I do, Noel. I don’t want to leave Emerald Grove right now. Besides, if you really wanted me to come with you, you’d have asked me sooner than the night before you left.”

“That’s ... that’s not true, Peter. I ...” He shakes his head. “That’s just not true.”

“But isn’t it? You weren’t going to ask until we ...” I can’t say it, mostly because I still can’t believe it happened.

“I was. I was going to ask, but I was afraid that this would happen. That’d you tell me no.”

“So, what? You thought you’d butter me up by kissing me?” I huff. “You can’t just play with me like that.”

I turn away from him, stomping across the stage to the exit, needing to get away.

“Peter, wait.”

I don’t. I keep moving.

Why would he kiss me when he didn’t mean it? Doesn’t he realize what that means to me? Doesn’t he realize what I feel for him?

“Come on, stop.”

“Why should I?” I yell over my shoulder.

“Because I love you!”

I skid to a stop, my heart thumping so loudly in my chest that I can hear it in my ears.

I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in breath after breath, trying to calm it.

He loves me? I know he just kissed me, but kissing is a heck of a lot different from loving. Could he really mean that like I want him to mean it?

“Parker?” he says quietly, nervously. His footsteps echo as he crosses the stage toward me. He’s at my back. I can feel his heat. “Did you hear me? I love you.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He grabs my elbow, and I let him turn me to face him, my eyes still closed.

“Parker, come on. Look at me.” He cups my face with his hands. “ Please. ”

The pleading in his voice is my undoing, and I peel my eyes open slowly.

He’s staring down at me with nothing but sincerity, and I know at that moment it’s true—Noel Carter loves me.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He’s leaving tomorrow and choosing to tell me he loves me now?

Why? Why is he doing this to me? And now ?

“I’m not asking you to come with me out of pity or obligation or anything else. And I didn’t kiss you because I was trying to butter you up. I kissed you because I’ve wanted to, because I’ve been dying to kiss you for years.”

Years? He’s wanted to kiss me for years ?

“Around the same time that I realized I was in love with you, actually.” He laughs to himself. “I ... I don’t know what happened. I don’t. We’ve never ... That’s never been our thing. We’ve just been Noel and Parker, and that’s it. But then suddenly, I realized you weren’t just Parker. You were more, and I wanted more. I tried so fucking hard to not think of you like that. Tried to put it out of my mind. Tried to move on. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop loving you.”

“But—”

“I know the timing is shit,” he continues. “And I’m really fucking sorry about that. But I had to tell you before I left. Even if you don’t feel the same—and it’s okay if you don’t—I want you to know. I love you, Parker Pruitt, and not just like a friend loves another friend. I’m in love with you, and that’s why I want you to come to LA with me. Because I can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to. So please ... please come to LA with me, Peter.”

Desperation clings to every word. I’ve never heard him like this before. Never heard him so frantic.

He wants me to come, and truthfully, a part of me wants to go with him.

But I can’t. I can’t leave my mom. I can’t leave behind my town. Can’t leave when I’m about to start college. My whole life is here, and I’m not ready to give that up yet.

I love Noel—so much more than he could ever know—but I can’t go with him.

When I don’t say anything back, he sighs. “You’re not coming, are you?”

“No.” The single word comes out as a whisper. I’m afraid if I say it any louder, it’ll make this that much more real, and I really don’t want this to be real.

“Not now or not ever?”

I swallow. “Not now. I’m just ...” I shake my head. “I’m not ready.”

He nods. “Okay. Okay. I can work with that. I can work with not now .”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, because I am sorry. But I’m also not ready to take the leap he’s asking me to take.

“It’s okay. It is. So you’re not coming now. But maybe in a few months, yeah? I can go out there and get settled, and then you can move out with me.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “That ... that sounds good.”

And it does sound good. Truly, truly good. It sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted—a life with Noel.

But it doesn’t feel right .

Why doesn’t it feel right?

“Yeah? That’s the plan, then?”

“That’s the plan. I promise.”

Promise. The word stings on my tongue, but I can’t take it back. Not with him looking at me like he is—his eyes lit up and a smile stretched across his face.

It’s easily the most excited I’ve ever seen him, so why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like my world is about to implode?

“Good. You’ll come out there and fall in love with it, and I’ll become an actor, and you can work on sets, and we’ll get to be together forever. It’s going to be amazing.”

“So amazing,” I agree. “I can’t wait.”

And I can’t wait. I want that too. I really do.

But something feels wrong. Off. My chest feels heavy, and not with elation. It’s something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Fuck, me neither, Peter.”

Then he’s kissing me again, and it’s just as incredible as before.

No. It’s better .

I lift my hand to touch him, to pull him closer, but it never connects. Why doesn’t it connect?

I pull away, opening my eyes.

Noel’s still there, but he’s fading by the second.

What’s happening? Where is he going?

“Noel?” I call out to him, but he doesn’t answer. “Noel?”

Again, no answer.

“Noel? Noel? Noel ?” I yell, each call of his name becoming more frantic.

But it’s pointless.

He’s gone.

And I’m left standing on the stage alone, still calling out his name, tears rolling down my cheeks as sobs begin to rack my body.

He’s gone. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.

“Parker?”

I hear his voice. It’s clear and loud. I whirl around, looking for him, but he’s not there.

“Parker?” he says again, and the stage shakes.

What’s happening? Is this an earthquake?

“Parker!”

More shaking.

“Peter!”

I wrench my eyes open, gulp in a big breath of air, and sit straight up.

I blink, looking around the room, expecting to see the Goodman Theater, but it’s not there.

I’m in Noel’s room, in his bed.

It ... it was all just a dream. Or a memory, really.

It was the night Noel asked me to go with him to LA. The night I turned him down. The night we kissed for the first time. The last night I’d see him for a long, long time.

But he isn’t gone. He’s here, next to me, sitting up with the Spider-Man sheet bunched around his waist. His brows are pulled together with concern as sweat rolls down my back.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, rubbing my back.

I nod. “I—I’m okay.”

“Bad dream?” he guesses.

He doesn’t know the half of it.

“Yeah. Bad dream.”

He frowns. “You were whimpering. It woke me up.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Just come here.”

He pulls me back down, tucking me against him like he did before. He continues to rub my back soothingly.

We lie like that until sleep begins to nip at me again. I’m almost pulled under its spell, but I fight it, too scared it’ll happen again.

“Sleep,” he says, like he knows what I’m up to. “Sleep, and I’ll protect you, Peter.”

He kisses my forehead, hugging me tighter, ready to fight my demons.

If only he knew what I really needed to be protected from was him.