Chapter 17 Noah
Chapter seventeen
Noah
I’m usually pretty good with directions, but I can’t for the life of me navigate all the unmarked paths that weave through this campus.
I studied the map before making the drive out here.
Made sure I had the name written down and knew the room number, too.
Even so, I’m nervous as heck.
Using the library as a benchmark, I scan my surroundings. The library is the tallest building in the county, and according to the map, the dorm I’m looking for is on this side of it.
I regret not bringing Shiloh with me. She’s a damn good icebreaker, especially for what I assume is about to be a tense interaction. But I don’t know if pets are allowed in buildings on campus, and I won’t let anything or anyone stand in my way.
I turn another corner, shifting the bags I’m carrying, and when I look up again, it’s there.
Birch Hall.
Over and over, scenarios of how this encounter might go have played in my head. I only hope that the goods I snagged from the bakery this afternoon will bring a little ease to the situation.
I approach the front of the building, my chest tightening with anxiety and my mind frantically considering what to say to the person at the front desk so they’ll let me up.
I’m not sure what the procedure is here. Will they call up and announce my presence? Will I have to plead just to be seen?
In an odd stroke of luck, three girls are exiting as I reach the door and hold it open for me. The urge to scold them for letting an old man who’s clearly not a student into their residence hall is strong, but my arms are full, so I can appreciate their kindness.
There’s a circular desk in the middle of the lobby, but it’s unoccupied.
Right.
Okay, then.
My pulse picks up as I look around. Quickly, I shake off the paranoia. There’s no one here to stop me from just going up.
The real challenge will begin upstairs.
With the bags held out in front of me so I don’t jostle the contents, I hike up a narrow stairwell.
I navigate down the hall, and when I find room 207, I stop and square my shoulders.
There’s a good chance I’ll be turned away and I’ll leave here with an assortment of baked goods and a bruised ego.
But there’s also a chance this could work.
Maybe this is the bridge we all need to start healing.
This could work.
This has to work.
With my heart in my throat, I pound on the door three times.
There’s a faint shuffling sound, but the door doesn’t open immediately, and as the seconds tick by, sweat breaks out on my brow.
When the door finally opens, I find myself staring into dark eyes narrowed in critical assessment.
“What are you doing here?” Tytus asks, the words gravelly, like maybe he was asleep. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of athletic sweatpants. There are several patches of gauze taped over his abdomen and almost all of his exposed skin is marred with deep, dark bruises.
Swallowing past the emotion rising in my throat, I force myself to look at his face.
It’s one thing to know that he was hurt. It’s another completely to see physical evidence of the injuries sustained on my watch.
“Hey, man. I’m Noah. I brought you some things,” I offer, holding up the bags. “Thought I would come by to check on you. How are you feeling?”
He shifts back slightly and crosses his arms over his bare chest, the move akin to erecting a thick wall between us.
“Define ‘some things.’”
I frown, taken aback by his attitude. Though maybe I shouldn’t be.
He doesn’t know me from Mercer, a.k.a. the professor who assaulted him, locked him up, and caused all these nasty, painful-looking injuries. I’m sure we’re connected in Tytus’s mind, and fairly so.
I don’t know much about him, either. I dismissed so many of Mercer’s accusations, assuming he was catastrophizing the situation. Maybe that was a misstep on my part.
Anger and defensiveness roll off him in waves. He doesn’t want me here. Of course he doesn’t. It was na?ve, I guess, to think that if I showed up with gifts and sincerity, he’d at least give me a modicum of respect.
I inhale deeply and power through, holding up the first bag. “There’s an assortment of baked goods in this one. Cookies and a few apple dumplings. I brought disposable plates and forks, too. Wasn’t sure what you’d have here.”
I tip my chin, gesturing to the dorm he still hasn’t invited me into.
“Careful when you go to unpack it. There’s a whole pumpkin pie at the bottom.”
He scoffs, his hard eyes disbelieving. “You brought me a whole pie?”
I shrug. “My aunt makes them from scratch, and this is one of our most popular during the holidays. I assumed that if you can’t play or attend practice, you probably don’t have to follow such a strict diet right now. Figured I might as well bring you the good stuff.”
He scrutinizes me, studying me warily, but his expression has softened a fraction.
He lets out a low grunt. “Pumpkin pie isn’t any good without whipped cream.”
I hold back a smile. “Brought that, too. It’s in the other bag, along with apple cider, tea bags, honey I harvested myself, homemade cold brew coffee, and a few flavored creamers.”
Tytus’s eyebrows knit together, his defensiveness bubbling up to the surface once more. “Honey and frou-frou coffee? Did you pack this for me or for her?”
I shrug, working to keep my posture relaxed. “I brought it for you. Sawyer loves the stuff, and knowing how close you two are, it was a fair guess you’d like it, too.”
He goes rigid at the sound of Sawyer’s name. “She’s not here, you know.”
The words are flippant, but it’s so clearly a front. He’s hurt.
“Didn’t think she would be,” I answer honestly.
Though I had hoped.
Regardless, seeing her wasn’t the goal of this mission.
My intention was to check on Tytus and forge a connection. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t have picked this kid out of a lineup. Now he’s intricately woven into the heartache and despair plaguing the two people I love most in this world.
I don’t expect him to have any answers for me. I didn’t come here thinking I’d come anywhere close to compensating for all the damage that’s been done.
But I’d like to start to make amends.
For several seconds, the two of us only stare at each other.
He doesn’t move, and I don’t falter.
This is a test.
From what I know about Sawyer’s past, it’s safe to assume this kid won’t be keen on trusting me anytime soon. Even without the trauma from what happened at the event, I suspect he’d be wary.
But I’m a patient man.
I can wait. Bide my time. And push, just a little, when I deem it necessary.
And right now, it’s necessary. So with a loud breath out, I hold both bags a little higher. “Please don’t make me carry this all the way back across campus.”
That cracks him.
“Why not?” He snickers. “Afraid your back can’t handle it, old man?”
“Hey now,” I warn, keeping my tone light. “Do you want this or not?”
He lowers his arms and gives a solemn nod. “Yeah. I’ll take it. Thanks, man. I can’t lift anything while I’m healing. Do you mind bringing it in for me?”
I keep my expression even despite the hope surging through me. “Sure thing.”
Inside, I set the bags on top of the nearby dresser and unpack the items.
As I’m pulling out the disposable cutlery, Tytus sidles up beside me.
With his focus set on the sweets spread out in front of us, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t seen her or even talked to her since the hospital.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach.
“I hate to admit it,” I tell him, “but I haven’t seen or heard from her either.”
My already broken heart cracks further as the reality of our shared confessions sinks in.
I’m bleeding out, desperate to help, and just so fucking sad it’s come to this.
For him.
For her.
For all of us, honestly.
Because if Sawyer’s ignoring my texts, avoiding Mercer at all costs, and hasn’t even talked to Tytus in over two weeks—who’s she leaning on, and who’s actually supporting our girl?