Chapter 59 Noah
Chapter fifty-nine
Noah
Mercer’s voice cuts through the loud, intrusive thoughts that have plagued me since the moment he called Sawyer. I force myself to look up at him.
Guilt, shame, and so much fucking anger roll through me as I take in the state of my best friend.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be wearing a sling, nursing a significant injury.
I hate myself right now.
Yet he and Sawyer and Tytus are all watching me timidly, and I hate the idea of disappointing them more.
Sawyer steps forward first, extending her hand. “Do you want me to drive?”
I’m in awe of this woman. She saw the worst of me today: the panicked, frightened, self-loathing version I try so hard to keep hidden from the world.
She saw the mess I become when grief sinks its claws into me.
Yet she didn’t falter.
I was triggered, but she was steady.
I crumbled like I’ve done so many times before, like I’m bound to do again, but she didn’t shy away from the reality of my pain.
She sat with me in my grief. She held me as I sobbed and lashed out. She promised there wasn’t any version of me she couldn’t handle.
I believe her.
After today, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I can trust her with my darkest days.
With a steadying breath, I rise to my feet. I kiss Sawyer’s forehead. Then, wordlessly, I wrap Mercer in a gentle, one-armed hug.
“I’m fine,” he insists.
I tap him on the back and ease him closer. “Just let me hold you for a minute and convince myself you’re okay,” I whisper. I resist hugging him as tightly as I normally would. He’s injured, and—
“This wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, cutting off the intrusive thoughts. “Just like what happened to Meg and your parents and Gran wasn’t your fault.”
I shake my head, heart wrenching, rejecting his compassion.
He cuffs my shoulder and holds me at arm’s length. We stand like that until I finally work up the nerve to meet his eye.
“It’s okay if you can’t accept it right now. But I’ll remind you every day until you start believing the truth.”
“Me too.” Sawyer sidles up next to me and takes my hand once more.
“Same here,” Tytus adds, standing beside Mercer.
Mercer cups my face. “You have to let go of this idea that you can prevent horrible things from happening. You’re an incredible man, but you’re not superhuman,” he teases.
Sawyer squeezes me around the middle. “I don’t know. He does possess some superhuman abilities…”
Shaking my head, I ruffle her hair. I force a small smile, then straighten my spine.
It’ll take a lot more work—and a helluva lot of patience—to climb out of the deep pit of self-loathing and blame I’ve lived in for so long. It’s hard to justify letting go of shame for my own benefit. But I think, with time, I can learn to let go for them.
“Come on. Let’s go home.”