Cross My Heart

12. TYLER

Chapter 12

TYLER

21 YEARS OLD

N oah was gone for six months.

Six months of training to be done with the first couple of schools for his new job. Training has been intense, but he says it’s nothing in comparison to what he’ll have to complete in order to join the Regiment. Ranger School and RASP being at the forefront. If he’s lucky, he’ll have another six months to go before he’s in the unit he desires. And he’s doing well—just as I knew he would. So why does that make me sad instead of happy for him?

I can’t lie, there’s a part of me that wishes for his failure every day. It’s fucked up, but I can’t help it. Because said failure would push him right back into my arms, even if they’re already full with Scarlett. I’m selfish, clearly, a fucking asshole for even thinking that. But the thought of him being back home for good is too strong to ignore. And also unrealistic. I know no matter what happens, he’ll never stay in Peachtree City. But now he’s here, and my stomach doesn’t know how to behave.

For the entirety of the time he was gone, I ignored the situation as long as I could. I smiled every day. I acted normal. I even joked around. But right before my head hit my pillow at night, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I turned my face into the soft fabric of the pillowcase and sobbed until it hurt. Sobbed over my mistakes. Sobbed for my doubts. For the cracks in my love for Scarlett. My weakness for Noah. I sobbed for the failure I felt I was. For the boy who had stars in his eyes for a world Noah had created for me with his bare hands, and yet that world couldn’t be further from my grasp. I sobbed for everything I was and everything I wasn’t. And in the end, I just sobbed because it was all I had left to do.

What a fucking joke I am.

Not having him was painful. I’ll admit it. But having him back now? In the flesh? Watching as he grins at me from a distance as he gets out of his Mustang and then walks toward me completely unaffected by my presence? Well it’s devastating. It feels like I’m being gutted from the inside out, my intestines scooped out of my body. It’s uncomfortable. Excruciating, even. And I want it to end.

The problem with those feelings is that they’re always conflicted. At the moment, I wish for him to be gone. I wish it more than anything, with so much ferocity that I even believe it will happen from sheer might. But when he finally, finally leaves, I mourn the loss of him. It feels as if my insides have been put through a blender, and all that’s left of me is an empty chest cavity ready to be filled with all things Scarlett. Even that’s not enough. It never is.

Because once it’s over, I want to scrap the feelings. Take them back. Wish him back. I want to go back to the moment he smiled at me and treasure it forever. I want to keep the memory tucked under my rib cage, next to my bruised and confused heart. And then I want to do it over and over. Make more memories to torture myself with later.

But he’s fleeting.

Adrift.

Gone before I can blink.

And no matter what I do, I can’t seem to bring him back to me. I can’t seem to keep him from sifting through my fingers. My tightening grasp is futile. And so, I bear the pain with a smile of my own. But I look tortured—because I am. And when I look into his eyes, Scarlett sees my pain too. She doesn’t acknowledge it though. Instead, she looks away from the truth. Because she’s scared to face it. We all are. The truth doesn’t always free you.

Sometimes it shackles you.

Today is Scarlett’s twenty-first birthday, and Noah is only going to be here for ten days. He planned his vacation days perfectly to be here for this—for her . And an irrational part of me wonders if this is how it will always be from now on. He’ll show up for her, but not for me anymore. Because showing up for me in any capacity now would be like screaming “ I love you” into the void. And I wonder how I should feel. Should I be grateful? Outraged? Sad? Scared?

I can’t say I blame him though. It’s probably not easy to hide things from Scarlett anymore. I’d say it’s downright impossible. A small part of me believes she’s all-knowing. That she’s aware of every detail of Noah’s and I’s relationship—down to the shared moans on his bed six months ago. Then part of me knows how irrational that sounds, and it makes me roll my eyes. There’s no way she knows . No way she could know. It’s not as if she was there for it. But something tells me that we’re not as discreet with our feelings as we should be. And that at the very least, she knows we feel something for each other.

I don’t want to think about it though.

Not today.

Today is about her, and how much fun we’re going to have.

“Noah,” I whisper as he walks toward me with purpose, sky-blue eyes wide and dilated. He doesn’t stop until our shoes are touching, toe to toe. I look around, trying to see where the hell Scarlett is, but she’s inside the bar already, waiting for us. He snakes a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, our foreheads pressing together, our lips brushing lightly for just a split second. I close my eyes to the fleeting sensation of our shared breaths—hoping, praying, that he will close the millimeters of distance between us and put us out of our misery. But instead, he pulls away.

Not me.

Not Tyler, Scarlett’s fucking boyfriend.

Him .

And it breaks my heart just a little more. The fissures of the cracks in my armor continue to splinter, and I hold my breath at the devastation I know Noah Milner will be leaving in his wake when this is all said and done.

“Noah,” I repeat, and we make eye contact. “I?—”

I missed you.

I want you.

Come back to me.

But he seems to read between the lines and shakes his head, rendering me immobile. He turns his back on me with finality. A period at the end of a sentence. A door slamming shut. And it hurts.

So. Fucking. Bad.

He keeps walking away from me, then enters the bar, leaving me outside. My hands find my knees immediately, and I gasp with the need to draw in breath as I choke on the very air that was suddenly hard to breathe due to his proximity. I contemplate all the ways I could get home without drawing too much attention to the situation but come up empty. Scarlett isn’t stupid. She will know something is terribly wrong if I back out now. It’s her fucking birthday, for fuck’s sake.

So even as tears sting the back of my eyes, I straighten my spine and clear my throat. I watch the walls go up inside my mind, locking out all the bullshit. Today is about Scarlett. Not me.

Not. Me.

Entering the bar, I wrinkle my nose at the smell of beer, liquor, and sweat. The lights are dim except for the ones above the bar top and as I gaze up, my eyes connect with Scarlett’s.

She grins, dipping down as she twerks on top of the bar. She’s barefoot, looking playful and happy, and everyone is eating it right up. The patrons are cheering her on, hell, even Noah is. He looks content, and yet I know something is missing. I know he’s hiding it from me—and doing it so well, I’m wondering if I’m imagining it in the first place. Then again, I know nothing between us has changed in the last six months. Not really.

Scarlett extends her hand toward me, reaching for me, and when we connect, I pull her off the bar. She leans into me, wrapping her legs around my waist on the way down. Her face buried in the crook of my neck feeling too intimate all of a sudden. My chest heaves with the force of my quickening breaths, and my eyes connect with Noah’s.

Pain.

There and gone.

But I know I didn’t imagine it when he turns away from me quickly as if I’ve burned him.

It feels like a wave of relief crashes over me when Scarlett disentangles herself from my body, and I look away from her to hopefully not show how much I want this night to be over. If she notices, she pretends not to. Instead, she wraps a hand around mine and tugs me toward a high table where a pitcher of beer and a dozen shots or more litter the table. I guess it helps to have friends who work here and are willing to make this birthday her best one.

I should be trying to do the same, I know that. And I’m a horrible person because I know what I should do and yet can’t bring myself to do it. Because when I close my eyes, it’s not hazel orbs that assault my dreams. No, it’s sky-blue ones. And I know how wrong that is. How fucked up it makes me. And I hate myself a little more every day over it.

After a while, I lose count.

The hours blend together, and the drinks rack up until I can’t remember how many I’ve had anymore. I’m drinking more than she is, and from time to time, she shoots me a quizzical look. Then one of concern. And lastly, one of pity. Now, I don’t know why she’d pity me, but of course, it raises all my metaphorical red flags. All the bells are ringing— blaring —in my ears at the last look.

Does she feel bad for me because I’m going to be hurting tomorrow? Or is there more? Does she feel bad for me that Noah is practically casting me aside? Rejecting me? Acting as if I don’t even exist? And does she know? Does she know about us?

Does it even matter?

Noah is at my side immediately, steering me toward the nearest restroom, and once we make it in, he shuts the door and locks it behind us. My knees hit the tiled floor, and I land ungracefully in front of the toilet.

Silence.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” I whisper, feeling vulnerable. My stomach churns, and I inhale deeply, trying to keep my shit together.

“Is that what I’ve been doing?” There’s a smirk in his voice, and it makes me want to punch his pretty face. I nod once. “No, Tyler. I’ve been giving you the space you deserve to spend with your girlfriend . The birthday girl.”

“Is that so?” I scoff. But I don’t miss the way he practically spits out the word girlfriend . “Where’s the Noah from six months ago? Where’s my Noah?”

“Your Noah is gone,” he says grimly, and for a second, I believe him. But then I shake my head vehemently. He’s not gone. He’s just being an asshole.

Before I can say anything else, my stomach heaves, and I empty about a dozen drinks into the toilet. He doesn’t speak again, instead, he rubs my back in soothing circles as I continue to dry heave. I knew I should’ve eaten something before coming here, but if I’m being honest, I didn’t know seeing Noah would fuck me up like this.

Of course it did, though.

I’m always fucked up over him.