6. Noah
Chapter 6
Noah
“ I ’m worried about you,” Jude called from the floor as Tess crawled all over him.
I shook my head and continued to cut the blueberries into microscopic pieces. Jude was always worried about me. It was the natural order of the universe.
Gus was the responsible eldest brother and had been our father’s right hand.
Owen was brilliant, ambitious and diligent.
Finn, dedicated and focused, went straight into the Navy and became a pilot.
Jude and I were a matching set. Physically, at least.
We looked alike, but our temperaments couldn’t have been more different.
He was cautious and quiet.
I was his opposite.
Yin and yang, as my mother used to call us.
We balanced out well.
All our lives, it felt as though neither of us could exist without the other.
Even during all the years I stayed away, we’d remained close. Although we rarely did more than text, we were always connected, and we always understood one another. Even when we didn’t communicate, I could feel him.
“When are you not worried about me?” I quipped.
He picked up Tess and blew on her belly. “You know what I mean. Doing this all yourself? After everything that happened?”
I continued prepping Tess’s dinner, trying to ignore the sincerity in his voice. Though I wouldn’t admit it, I was screwed. I’d been placed in an impossible situation, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. “I’ve got this down.”
I’d come by my confidence naturally.
Failing or falling—part of my daily life—I’d pick myself up and move on to the next adventure or injury.
I didn’t sweat much. Being part of a big family had its advantages. My dad was too busy to pay much attention, and my siblings let me be me. My mom never pressured me to change or pursue a different path. She was busy enough trying to keep us all alive and fed.
I spent my childhood in the woods, running free with Jude, without a care in the world. School was challenging, and I struggled to fit in at times. But I had my brothers and a giant forest, and that was enough.
After high school, Lovewell felt too small. When the world called, I left. And I’d been making it work ever since.
“This is a good place to grow up,” I said.
He stood and buckled Tess into her highchair. Jude had only met her a week ago, and he had it down already. It was who he was. Thoughtful, thorough. It was why he was so good at what he did for the family timber business. It was why he was such an incredible musician. “The best place.”
“I want her to grow up surrounded by people who love her.”
“We’ll give her that.”
“But.” I sighed, my heart pinching.
He folded his hands over his T-shirt—today’s read “Catalina Wine Mixer”—and waited for me to finish. Jude had never been scared off by a little silence.
“I’m worried that I can’t do it. That I’m not built for this. That I’ll let her down and fuck it all up.”
His face went stony. “You will not.”
My gut clenched as I surveyed my little girl. “She’s already lost so much. And she’s stuck with me.”
Tipping to one side, he pressed a kiss to the top of Tess’s head. “You are so much more capable than you give yourself credit for.”
It was such a Jude thing to say. All wise and shit. But he’d spent the last decade growing and changing and becoming a responsible adult. I’d taken a different path.
“You don’t know that.” I popped open a jar of sweet potato purée and dug a baby spoon from the drawer. “You don’t even know me.”
He took a step back, his expression a mask of hurt.
Instantly, I regretted my words.
Lips pursed, he studied me. Behind his glasses, his eyes were the exact shade of blue as mine. We even had the same sandy brown hair. Jude kept his short and his beard full. We weren’t identical twins, but we fooled a lot of people when we were kids. Even now, in our thirties, it was sometimes like looking into a more responsible, more mature mirror.
With a grunt, he punched my shoulder.
“No violence in front of the baby,” I hissed, rubbing at the spot. Shit, that hurt.
“We shared a placenta, asshole. You can’t make statements like that.”
I glared at him, but before I could fire back, a loud knock echoed through the space.
“I’ll make myself useful,” he grumbled.
I sat at the table with the jar of sweet potatoes, smiling at my little girl, who was grinning and signing “more” over and over.
“Hi, Jude,” a feminine voice said. “Is Noah here? I wanted to drop this off.”
Tess kicked her feet and screeched, and the sound got louder as my neighbor appeared, holding my folded blue sweatshirt.
“Sorry,” she said, giving Tess a big wave and a smile. “I accidentally took this with me.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m headed out to pick up burgers from the Moose,” Jude said, sidling up beside her.
It was a blatant lie. We had no such plans. Though I wouldn’t turn down a giant burger. Lovewell had minimal takeout options, and cooking meals for myself was not exactly a priority at the moment.
He darted a look my way, then focused on her. “Stay and hang out with us.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You aren’t. I promise. I didn’t realize the two of you were friends.” He arched a brow at me.
I could see the cogs moving. Fuck. I had to shut this down quickly.
Vic beat me to it. “He rescued me from a broken bathroom door yesterday morning at the coffee shop. And last night, when his endless pacing kept me awake, I came up to hang out with this cutie so he could get a little sleep.”
She waved at Tess again. My daughter waved back with one hand while stuffing blueberry pieces into her mouth with the other.
Jude nodded, his eyes darting from Vic to me and back again. He was a vault, the last person to ever gossip, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give me all kinds of shit.
“She’s a good neighbor,” I said lamely. “And Tess likes her.”
“Tess”—Vic stepped closer and ruffled the baby’s hair, giving me the perfect view of her cleavage—“has excellent taste.”
“She does,” Jude agreed. “I’ll pick up the food. Help yourself to a beer. I brought some over, since this guy’s fridge is usually empty.”
Keeping my attention locked on my neighbor’s face rather than her tits, I made a mental note to punch my brother later.
The way Vic smiled at Tess banished the annoyance building inside me. In fact, watching the two of them together made me melt a little.
She looked different today. I’d seen her business-professional look, and I’d seen her in pj’s. But tonight, she wore dark jeans that molded to the curve of her hips, red sneakers, and a slouchy black T-shirt.
Fuck, she was pretty. Her eyes were bright and her lips were full. And fuck if the dimples that appeared when she smiled didn’t bowl me over.
Once Jude left, she and I fell into an easy rhythm. She gave me the rundown of the work she was doing at the food pantry and played on the floor with Tess while I cleaned up and marveled at how effortless she made it all sound.
“You’re good at what you do.”
She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I’ve learned a lot from Aunt Lou. And I have a background in corporate communications, so I’m keeping my head above water, but I wouldn’t say I was good.”
“Still, taking on the existing needs of the community while growing the offerings and connecting with new potential donors?”
“It’s the first time in my life I’ve had a job I’m passionate about,” she admitted. “For so long, I went through the motions, and now, it doesn’t feel like work. It feels like a calling.”
My heart thumped against my sternum. Her calling. I was familiar with the concept. With being called to serve a greater purpose. For years, I woke up day after day, knowing that it could be my last but that it would be worth it if I could save just one more person.
Until several months ago, I knew who I was and how I wanted to exist in this world.
Now?
Now I was an unemployed single dad without a clue.
“You okay?” Vic was suddenly standing next to me, holding Tess. “You were kind of staring into space.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I do that sometimes. Get stuck in my own head.”
“I don’t mind. You seem upset.”
Usually, I would brush off a moment like this with sarcasm or by laughing at myself. But the way she looked at me, like she was genuinely concerned about me, made me think better of it.
She was close, very close, and Tess was comfortable with her. Yesterday, she’d been a stranger, and now she looked like she belonged in my house, holding my child.
There was something about her, something sad and complicated, that made me feel a little less alone.
I opened my mouth, searching for a way to explain what was going on in my head, but my words were cut off by the buzzer for the door downstairs.
“That’s Jude,” I said, scooping Tess out of her arms.
I expected him to come in with waffle fries and lumberjack stories and provide a necessary distraction from the unease swirling in my gut. Instead, he claimed there was a “work emergency,” handed me a bag of delicious-smelling food, and took off.
He was full of shit. It was spring, which meant there was far too much mud to make the roads to any of the logging sites navigable. On top of that, it was eight p.m. on a Friday night.
But Vic didn’t seem bothered. She happily pulled plates from the cabinet and beers from the fridge while I put Tess in her jammies and brushed her teeth. She was sleepy, but there was no way in hell she’d miss out on hanging with Vic, so I grabbed a wrap from the dresser in her room and got her situated.
When I walked into the kitchen, Vic froze with a French fry halfway to her mouth.
“You did not wrap up that baby and come out here to eat a burger.”
“Sure did.” I pressed a kiss to Tess’s head.
She wiggled, trying to get a peek at her new friend, but she loved the pressure of the wrap. The research I’d done indicated that it helped regulate a baby’s nervous system.
“She loves to sleep snuggled up like this.”
Grinning, Vic shook her head. “I should take a photo and post it to Instagram. We’ll go viral.”
I rolled my eyes. Her attention made me feel slightly shy and embarrassed. And those were not sensations I normally experienced.
We settled on the couch and watched Schitt’s Creek , which Jude had originally come over to force me to start. We laughed through the first two episodes, and I successfully demonstrated how I could eat a double cheeseburger without dropping so much as a dollop of ketchup on Tess’s head.
“So,” she said. She loaded the dishwasher while I walked around with an almost asleep Tess. “I propose shifts. I’ll take first watch, and you can go downstairs and sleep in my bed. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch.”
“No need. I have a bed.”
“An ancient twin with a threadbare blanket.” She scoffed. “I saw the closet you call a bedroom while I was here last night. There’s no way you can’t hold your arms out and touch both walls at the same time. And I bet your feet hang off the end.”
She was right, of course, but the apartment was temporary. A place to land while we figured things out.
“I have a king-size bed with a memory foam mattress and high thread-count sheets,” she said. “Did the laundry this morning. I’ll give you a few hours before I have to crash.”
No. I couldn’t impose more than I had. And sleeping in her bed? We were neighbors who really didn’t know each other, and that was far too intimate.
Even as I mentally rejected the idea, exhaustion settled deep in my bones. Tess was still acting like her crib was an active volcano, and I wasn’t sure when I’d get another offer this good.
“I’ll think about it.” I bounced gently as I walked. “But first, I want to watch another episode.”
With a hum, she looked at her watch. “Okay. One more.”
Around eleven, Vic shoved her keys at me. “Don’t judge me for the mess, but my bed is really comfortable. And you look like shit.”
If I had any energy at all, I’d be offended by the comment. Sure, I missed the person I used to be, but I couldn’t imagine my life without my little bean. I wouldn’t trade the days I spent caring for her for anything.
It was the paradox of parenthood, I supposed.
The first-floor apartment was warm and inviting and a tiny bit chaotic, just like its inhabitant. One wall was covered in overflowing bookcases and an oversized chair. The kitchen appliances were colorful, and the walls were covered in pretty photographs. Everything had a place. I wasn’t sure what she thought she had to apologize for.
I locked the door and placed the keys on the hook beside it, then toed off my shoes. Like my apartment, the main bedroom was off the living room. As she’d promised, when I entered, I was greeted by a king-size bed with an ornate wooden headboard. It took up so much space there was barely room for the two nightstands.
The area rug beneath it was soft, and the duvet looked like a fluffy green cloud.
Okay, maybe this sleep plan would be easier than I’d anticipated.
The moment I made contact with the high-end mattress, I let out a groan. My back still hadn’t recovered from sleeping on the couch last night. I stretched out, grateful for the dozen or so pillows, and made a mental note to buy more for myself. Maybe they would make my pathetic twin a little easier to bear.
As I closed my eyes, my mind immediately went to the smile on Vic’s face when she saw Tess and how delighted my little girl had been in return. I was falling asleep in her bed while she walked with my baby one floor up. Surely that made us friends. My chest expanded. I liked that. More than ever, I needed a friend.
The easy sensation was quickly replaced by guilt. Emily and Jack were the best friends I’d ever had. They’d been gone for nine months now, and I couldn’t imagine having that kind of bond with another person. The ache would never go away, and it only got worse when I looked into Tess’s beautiful eyes. More and more, she was looking like her mother. Some days just the sight of her made it hard to breathe.
That was the funny thing about grief. It was always there, in the shadows, waiting to step into the light as a reminder of how bad things could get. A testimony to how much a person had lost.
The day I stood in front of a judge and learned that I would be caring for this child changed me on the cellular level.
Months later, I was still processing it all. As much as I loved being her dad, the loss she and I both had suffered was an ache that would never go away. Every smile, every giggle lifted me up while breaking my heart, because her real parents weren’t here to see it.
And they were dead because of me.