CHAPTER 7. Noah #3
We walk in silence, the only sounds our footsteps on the dirt path and the occasional call of a bird overhead.
I keep my eyes on the ground, counting my steps, trying to empty my head of everything except the rhythm of walking.
One, two, three, four. Don’t think about Connor. Don’t think about the kiss.
The trail slopes upward, winding between tall pines that block most of the morning sun. Light filters through in broken patches, shifting across the forest floor.
I make myself think about Rick instead, because apparently that hurts less than thinking about how badly I seem to have screwed things up with Connor.
And once I do, my mind goes straight to this morning, to how shocked I was hearing Rick and Cassidy having sex.
Which is ridiculous, really. They’re engaged.
Of course they’re having sex. Of course he’s sleeping with her. Of course he probably enjoys it.
Still, some part of me must have been holding on to the idea that he ended things with me because the pressure of being with a man got to be too much.
That it hurt him too. That, in some small miserable way, he was as wrecked by it as I was.
And maybe that thought made it easier to live with, even if I never admitted it to myself.
But hearing them through the wall, knowing he’s moved on—really moved on—hits harder than I want it to. And I hate that it still makes me sad.
“Noah.”
I look up and find Connor watching me, his eyes serious, almost sad.
“Yeah?” I say, trying to keep my face under control. The trail keeps winding uphill through the trees, and only then does it hit me that we’ve been quiet for more than ten minutes.
“Can we talk about what’s going on?”
The question hits hard enough to make me a little dizzy. So this is it.
“Uh,” I say, my whole body going hot and cold at once. “Sure. About what?”
Connor looks at me for a second, like he’s trying to decide whether I’m really this dense or just dodging. I keep walking, because I’m afraid if I stop, everything in my chest is going to spill out.
“Well,” he says, his voice careful, “you’ve barely looked at me since last night.”
“Have I?” I say, slowing a little but keeping my eyes on the trail. At least he’s kind enough not to mention the boner. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Something in the way he says it gets right through me. I stop walking and stare up through the trees, blinking hard against the sudden burn in my eyes.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then Connor says quietly, “Is this about the kiss?”
My heart stumbles.
“What? No,” I say too fast. Heat rushes up my neck anyway, which is deeply unhelpful. I look away before he can read anything in my face and grab for the explanation that feels safer. “It’s just…this morning really got to me.”
Connor watches me in silence, like he knows I’m leaving something out but isn’t going to push.
“Hearing Rick with her like that,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Obviously I knew they were sleeping together. I’m not an idiot.
But hearing it was…a lot.” I let out a breath and shake my head.
“I think part of me still wanted to believe he ended things because of fear, or pressure, or his family. That it wasn’t really about me.
And then this morning I had to listen to him sounding perfectly happy with her, and all I could think was maybe it was me after all.
Maybe I was just this phase he needed to get through before he could have the life he actually wanted. ”
Something shifts in Connor’s face at that. It isn’t pity. His expression closes off, his jaw tightening.
“We were together for three years,” I continue.
“Three years of him promising someday, someday, someday. And now he gets to have all of it out in the open. The relationship. The engagement. The future.” I laugh once, without humor.
“And I’m still getting wrecked by hearing him fuck her like some pathetic idiot who can’t let go. ”
Connor exhales through his nose and looks away, like he’s trying not to say exactly what he thinks. Then he turns back to me.
“You’re not pathetic,” he says, and I swallow, meeting his gaze. “He hid you for three years, Noah. Then he dumped you, showed up here engaged, and made sure you heard them.” His mouth tightens. “I think that idiot’s jealous. I think he only fucked her because he saw us making out last night.”
My cheeks heat at the words.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
“So if you want him back, we can make him even more jealous,” he says. “I’m sure he’ll come crawling back.”
“Yeah,” I say again, my heart kicking harder. I don’t want Rick back. Not after everything he put me through. But the thought of maybe kissing Connor again sends a rush through me so fast it almost makes me lightheaded. “It’s a good idea,” I add, my mouth suddenly dry.
We look at each other, and something in my chest gives way. I feel stupid standing there like this, so transparent, so completely at the mercy of what I feel for the guy in front of me. The guy I can’t have. My eyes start to sting before I can stop them.
He must think it’s about Rick, because his expression softens. Then he steps closer and pulls me into his arms, one hand sliding to the back of my head, the other wrapping around my waist as he folds me against him.
I should pull away. I should keep at least a little of my dignity intact.
But Connor is warm and solid and so fucking good to lean into that the second my face presses against his chest, I’m done.
A sob tears out of me, humiliating and helpless, and I grab at his shirt, bunching the fabric in my fist as I try to hide the sound against him.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his hand moving through my hair.
That only makes it worse.
So I cry for all of it—for the years I wasted, for the shame I carried, for the anger still lodged inside me.
I cry because Rick gets to move on like none of it cost him anything while I’m still trying to drag myself out of the wreckage.
I cry because Connor is holding me so close I can feel every breath he takes, and because some awful part of me wants to stay here, tucked against him, for far longer than I should.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, wrecked by the fact that this is happening at all. “For all of this.”
Connor’s arms tighten around me. “You’re allowed to be upset, Noah.”
I let my eyes fall shut and just breathe.
I don’t know how long we stand there like that. Long enough for my breathing to slow. Long enough for the worst of it to pass. When I finally pull back, it’s only a little, just enough to look up at him.
His hand is still at the back of my head. His other one is still on my waist.
I should move. I should step out of his arms and laugh this off and say something self-deprecating to make it less mortifying. Instead I just stand there, close enough to feel his warmth under my skin, my fingers still twisted in the front of his shirt.
Connor looks down at me, and the air changes.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
My heart gives one hard, painful thud.
For a second neither of us moves. I can feel my own breath coming too fast. I can feel his hand tighten just slightly at my waist, like he’s thinking about it too. Like he’s right there on the edge with me.
I tilt my face up before I can stop myself. Connor’s eyes flick back to mine. His mouth parts a little. Then he goes still.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” I say, because I can’t seem to say anything else.
I let go of his shirt. He steps back. And just like that, the moment is over.
“Let’s go take some pictures before your mom kills us,” Connor says, giving me a quick smile.
I snort and follow him up the trail. We keep going for a few more minutes, breathing harder as the path climbs through the woods, the trees thinning until we reach the ridge.
The sun is bright now, and from up here the lake and the cottages below us look like something out of a postcard.
Light flashes so sharply off the water I have to shade my eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, filling my lungs as a gust of wind cuts across the ridge.
“It is,” Connor says, stopping beside me. He pulls out his phone. “Come on. We should get proof we were actually up here.”
I take out mine too, and for the next fifteen minutes we wander around taking pictures of the hills, the lake, the valley behind us. A few of ourselves too—me with the water behind me, Connor with the ridge at his back.
“It’s going to look insane here in summer,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “When everything’s green.”
“Yeah.” Connor nods. Then he steps closer and says, “Let’s take one of us together. For your parents.”
I nod, even though the ache in my chest tells me this fake breakup is going to suck badly enough without photos to prove it happened. Still, I can’t bring myself to say no. Not if it means I get to keep this.
I pull out my phone again and move in beside him, my arm stretched out in front of us. Connor slides a hand around me and draws me against his side until my shoulder presses into his chest.
Jesus Christ.
He’s barely touching me, and my whole body lights up.
We both look at the screen while I take a few quick shots, trying not to focus on the fact that my hand is shaking a little, or that my face on the screen is bright red.
When I lower the phone, Connor turns to me and says, “Let’s do one with a kiss. For your mom.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.
Connor blinks at me, then tips his head a little as he leans in.
And instead of giving myself one second to think, I close the distance and kiss him.
He freezes for the briefest moment.
Then he kisses me back.
His lips are warm and ridiculously soft, and the second they move against mine, a rush of heat goes through me so fast it makes me dizzy.
Blood rushes straight to my cock with humiliating speed, and when I feel myself hardening in my jeans, I remember with a jolt that I was supposed to be taking a picture.