Chapter 22 Noah #2
“It was like pulling teeth to get her to laugh. I remember the first time I met her she told me she doesn’t do dogs.
Didn’t really do people, either.” I shake my head, watching Lily run around, allowing Max to chase her.
Her relationship with Max could rival my own at this point.
“Still feels like it’s impossible to truly get close to her. ”
This would be the moment my mom gives me a sarcastic remark, but there’s silence. So much so, I look over my shoulder to see her staring off at a rustling branch as it shakes off a few leaves.
“Oh, my boy,” she says. “Don’t you see? That right there is a girl in pain. I couldn’t begin to imagine what she’s been through. Give her time.”
My head rears back. I’m not sure Lily told my mom about what happened to her.
Hell, she barely told me, and that was under stress.
No, my mom is picking up on Lily’s past just from being around her.
They both have that screw-the-world attitude, and I know my mom’s is part personality, part of a way to cover up past hurt. That’s most likely Lily, too.
“I know. I’ve given her time, I just wish I could help more.”
She nods. “She’s fragile. Give her time to heal. Give her time to love. Give her time because you know she’s worthy of it. She’s worthy of you, and you her.”
I didn’t mean to wait, but now that I’ve met Lily, it’s clear—I’ve been holding out for something I didn’t have a name for. Until her.
I can give her time. Will give her time. But I also need her to know I want to give this a shot. To tell her that kiss is all I can think about, and I want more. More of her snark, more of her laughter, more of her time.
I drag a hand down my clammy face. I need to tell her.
Lily’s distant chuckle as she chases Max is faded and too far to hear thoroughly.
It caps off my frustration, and I inwardly groan at the drive to get closer to her.
I turn, eyeing my mother who seems to enjoy the growing anguish written all over my face with a smirk.
Her nose wrinkles, oxygen and all, as she grins at me.
Standing, I make my way down the steep steps into the backyard.
It’s not overly big and most of the property’s yard—if you can call it that—is the front yard.
However, the grass in the back runs into the pasture fence and that goes on forever, so it’s like the yard is nearly endless when you look out over it.
Max alerts when I finally step off the last step, and he trots over to me for me to pat his head.
When I look up, Lily is smiling at me unabashedly, and my stomach dips.
Those glowing eyes travel over my all-black uniform, used for training days, and down to my combat boots still strapped tight.
Being so focused on getting over here, I didn’t even change.
Moving toward her, I gesture over my shoulder, up to the porch. “The chairs … wow. They’re great. Thank you—thank you for doing that for her.”
Wow? They’re great? Awesome … words are foreign right now.
Though, I wish she’d let me help her, knowing she managed these two chairs up to the house herself, to give my mom a place to sit outside …
As I reach her, I wrestle with the urge to tug her into me. To wrap my arms around her. It seems she does the same, her body gravitating toward me until she realizes what she’s about to do and freezes.
We both stand there. Awkwardly.
Lily chews her lips and slips some of her hair, which is tousled wavier today, behind her ear, and I wish I’d been the one to do it. “Figured I might as well buy the chairs I almost got arrested for.”
She looks up at me and smiles a wicked smile, and I can’t help but notice her nude dry lips, uneven and clearly nibbled on. She must’ve been deep in thought writing.
“Besides, I happened to have some extra money, thanks to someone.” She shifts her weight to one side, cocking her hip, and both her hands come to rest on her waist. “Noah …” She deliberately narrows her gaze at me.
“Helping with the labor was more than enough, too much actually. You didn’t have to pay for my car. ”
I look down at her, pinching my lips together to keep from laughing at her stance and the defiance she’s so terribly conveying.
“When is the last time you let anyone take care of you? I wanted to help you, Lil. Look how much you’ve done for my mom.
And I need you to have a working car because I want you to meet me somewhere after your morning shift at the diner on Thursday. ”
I freeze—I’ve called her Lil again.
Lily raises her eyebrows. “Meet you somewhere?”
“A trail, unmarked. I think you’d enjoy the hike.”
“You’re not going to take me out there to kill me, are you?” As soon as those words leave her mouth, her smile freezes mid-curve. The light in her eyes flickers and dims like a sudden gust has taken it out. It’s as if a memory strikes her out of nowhere, stealing the joy right off her face.
She hesitates, her lips falling into a tight, thin line partway between a grin and a grimace.
Turning from me, her gaze drifts over the fence and beyond.
Maybe she’s peering at the group of horses grazing, the shin-high grasses swaying, or the clouds gliding across the distant horizon.
Either way, she’s unfocused and the air around her shifts.
Instead, the lighthearted moment where I ask her out on a date is stifled by a heaviness that has her shoulder subtly tensing under some invisible weight.
Drifting away from me, she folds her arms across her chest and makes her way over to the fence.
At first I’m confused, but then she reaches down to retrieve her journal from the trampled grass at the fence line.
While she brushes it off, I approach, unsure really if I should leave this alone, or if I should push her a bit. Surely when my mom said to give her time, she didn’t mean only ten minutes, but I’ll be damned if I let this moment pass like I did in the car.
“Lily,” I say. “I’d never hurt you. I hope you know that.”
She continues to stare at the front of the leather-bound book in her hands, but I don’t miss the single tear escaping from the cornering of her eye.
“I write, you know?” She tsks. “Of course you know. I yelled at you in the hospital for flipping through it.”
I move my hands and tuck them into the pockets of my uniform pants. That garners her attention. “What do you write?”
“Poems mostly.”
I slowly nod, willing her to expound. What kind of poems? Are they just for fun? I doubt it. Part of me wonders if a therapist somewhere down the road told her writing would help her, that it would be therapeutic.
We stand there in silence while she contemplates, and I lift a hand to place on her shoulder.
“I’m not broken,” she blurts. “I know I dumped certain information on you, but I’m not broken. The writing helps me. Helps me make sense of my feelings. It’s been years, one would think I would’ve moved on, was able to stop running.”
I hate she feels that way. “Someone took something from you that wasn’t theirs to take. No one would blame you for carrying that around for the rest of your life, but I also don’t think it has to be a burden you carry alone. I want to help you, be there for you. I hope you can see that.”
“I’ve never wanted to tell anyone before you. That includes my parents.”
My mouth drops open. What?
Her own parents don’t know. I hate the man who did this to her. I hate him with everything I have. I’m not naturally a violent person, but I won’t ever let this go if I find him. He’ll pay. With his life. He won’t be able to—
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says.
“I highly doubt that.”
With a sigh, she grabs for my hand with her own, pulling me up closer before she turns. My chest brushes her back as my arm drapes over her shoulder—loose yet protective. As if I could keep any outside threats from her.
Forearms resting gently along her collarbone, my fingers relax just above her clavicle while Max nudges himself at her feet in the heel position. I don’t think I’m the only one ready and willing to protect her.
“Braver Hund,” I whisper, and he sits at attention.
“I still have nightmares … or did. To be honest, since I’ve been helping your mom and spending time with you, they’ve been few and far between. Guess that’s good.” She shrugs, and I inhale the fresh scent of smoky vanilla and salted honey layered in her hair as she leans her head back against me.
My heart pounds, and it’s irritating. Her closeness, her nearness …
Listen, I chide.
“I met him when I was sixteen. His parents were divorced—mother lived in Alabama, and his father … his father was the sheriff of Ruin, my hometown. I guess his mom was having some trouble handling him. He was experimenting with different drugs, and she couldn’t deal, so she sent him to live with his father for a short stint.
She thought he could sort him out. At least, that’s what he told me.
“He didn’t know anyone when he came to town, and because his mom still technically had custody, he was homeschooled.
Though his father never did anything with him and left him alone most of the time.
He was around the same age as my older brothers, and there was something about him.
His jet-black hair, those piercing dark eyes—he walked around like he didn’t give a shit, and for a small-town girl like me … well, I was enraptured.”
My jaw clenches. It’s a classic story—good girl falls for the bad boy. One many enjoy and romanticize. When it works, it works. When it goes wrong …
“All the girls in my school were interested in the alluring bad boy from out of town, especially since he kept to himself most of the time. Occasionally he hung with another homeschool kid, I guess, but he was a loner.
“I’m not sure how, or why, but I managed to snag his attention and boy did it make me feel special. Most boys didn’t bother with me in school, too afraid of my brothers Liam and Adam, but not him.”