Chapter 4 Noah
Chapter four
Noah
Along yawn escapes me, my mouth open so wide my jaw cracks. Dawn is breaking, the hazy first light of a new day infiltrating the cab of my truck as I ease onto the road that leads home.
It was a hell of a night. A fantastic show. One I almost missed because Meg wasn’t feeling up to it. I fought her and Mercer when they urged me to go, and now I’m thankful I did.
In the passenger seat, my best friend is asleep, with his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies.
We pregamed hard.
We post-gamed harder.
It’s a miracle we made it home before the sun has officially risen.
We’re no strangers to the abysmal parking situation at Blossom Music Center. We figured we’d take our time after the show.
What we didn’t count on?
Waiting so damn long for the lines of cars in front of us to drive through the grassy hills that we ran out of gas and had to walk nearly three miles to a gas station in the middle of the night.
At least the walk afforded us time to sober up.
I fight back a grin, only for it to morph into a yawn.
It was a hell of a night.
Muscle memory kicks in, and I compress the brake, preparing to turn into the gravel drive of the orchard.
The truck hasn’t even straightened out when my heart jumps into my throat and my body locks up, jerking the vehicle to an abrupt stop that makes Mercer’s head loll back against the seat with a soft thud.
There are lights.
Bright lights. Oscillating lights. Red and yellow lights. Red and blue lights.
There’s light Everywhere. Illumination on the barn and the storefront and the house. Everywhere it shouldn’t be.
It’s too early.
It’s too bright.
The colors are all wrong.
“What’s going on?” Mercer sits up straighter as I get my wits about me enough to accelerate through the parking lot.
A choked sob gets caught in my throat.
“What is all this?” He lurches forward, his tone full of urgency.
Why the fuck are there fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars all over my property?
I park haphazardly, positioning the truck close to the small crowd of people.
“Where is she?” I dash out of the truck without bothering to turn it off.
People are clustered everywhere. All uniformed.
Except Edna.
When I find her, I rush toward her. “What happened?”
She’s sobbing in the arms of a man dressed in fire rescue gear.
Fire. I pull up short and spin, looking for the flames.
I find none.
I assess the house. The barn. Look out toward the apiary.
There’s no smoke. No fire.
And yet…
The lights.
Goddamn these fucking lights.
“Noah.” Edna’s voice cracks as she flings her fragile body into my arms. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
A handful of uniformed officers. The fire chief. When the flashing lights bounce off his crisp white shirt, they’re even more intense.
Every person leads with condolences.
Every one of them telling me how sorry they are for my loss.
Losses.
There was gas. They found Gran in the kitchen, in her nightgown.
We can’t go in. We can’t enter or recover the bodies until they complete their final walkthrough and ensure the house is clear of carbon monoxide.
They’re sorry.
So sorry.
So sorry.
It’s lucky I wasn’t home, they insist.
Lucky that I stayed out so late.
Lucky that I didn’t even have the chance to fucking try to save them.
Eventually I tune them out. Close my eyes. Shut it all out to protect myself from the striking, brilliant, blinding lights.
Not all that long ago, an accident here changed me forever.
But tonight was no accident.
Tonight’s incident was an intentional, targeted strike. It was planned and purposeful. Mercer may not have known how far this would go, but he always intended for there to be course-altering consequences.
I knew his intent. I’m complicit, because I didn’t stop him.
We did this, Mercer and me.
We hurt that kid.
But why? Because we couldn’t find the courage or decency to initiate an adult conversation?
Across the open space, Sawyer grabs the bar on the side of the ambulance and hoists herself into the back of the vehicle.
It makes sense that she would go with him. That she’d stick by his side. He shouldn’t be alone.
But that doesn’t stop the painful ache coiling in my chest. It doesn’t temper the hurt of watching her leave with him without even a glance my way.
“Mercer,” I bark again, louder.
I can’t do this. I can’t keep it together in front of all these kids. The lights. I can’t hold back the devastation that floods me, drowning me little by little.
Mercer still hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting on the ground outside the barn.
He’s unreachable.
He’s gone, just like she is.
And just like the worst night of my fucking life, I’m well and truly alone.
I shake away the agitation gnawing at my insides. Now is not the time to turn on the people I care about. The only real path forward is to deal with this situation head-on.
I survey my best friend again. Note the way his shoulders sag and his head is bowed. He better get his shit together and get his ass over here. I need help, god dammit.
“Mercer Christopher Eden,” I yell once more.
Several of the students in the vicinity turn toward me, blinking, then look to him. Under this level of scrutiny, he has to reply.
Slowly, he rises to his feet, his shadow elongated and illuminated red as he trudges over.
When he’s close enough, he lifts his head, his expression a torrent of self-loathing.
Arms crossed, I meet his gaze, willing him to man up and power through. At least until we get the students cleared out.
When he’s close enough to hear me over the chatter from the crowd, I give the students my back and lean in close.
“Keep it together.” I squeeze his neck, trying like hell to keep my voice calm. “Help me get everyone out of here. Then we can go to the hospital.”
Eyes widening, he stumbles back a step.
“Unless you don’t—”
“No,” he insists, the interruption clipped. “We need to be there for her.”
My thoughts exactly.
I don’t bother voicing my fears—that she won’t speak to us, or that we’ll make this worse by showing up.
But being there, whether she wants our support or not, is the only option in my mind.
Sawyer swore she’d never forgive us for this.
I’ll never forgive myself either. But I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try to make this right.