Chapter 9 Noah
nine
Noah
“Woop!” Willow cries as we make our way out of the Sphere, carried by the crowd.
“Ohmygod best day of my life,” she continues.
She takes her phone out of her back pocket and leans against me to bring us to an empty spot.
Then she turns us into selfie mode. “Awww look at that smile on you!” Her eyes are dancing, locking with mine on the screen of her phone.
She angles the phone so that the Phish logo is in the frame, then takes several shots.
Tucking her phone back in her pocket, she turns serious.
“We should probably post on ECHoes,” she drops as we walk toward the rideshare line.
“It’s the middle of the night over there.”
“Pushing this off won’t make it any easier.”
“True. But this was a good day. Best day in a long time. No need to ruin it yet.” My phone buzzes, telling me our ride is already here. I hold the door open for her.
“Good concert?” the driver asks us once we’ve confirmed our destination.
“Epic,” we both answer.
“Newlyweds?” he says, glancing at us in the rearview mirror.
“Um… y-n…”
He doesn’t catch onto to our hesitation, just beams at us and wiggles his fingers in the air. “I can tell. You have that uh…” He swerves to avoid another car, muttering under his breath. Then he glances at us again with a larger smile. “You have that glow. Congratulations, huh?”
“Thank you,” we both answer, looking at each other uneasily.
The atmosphere becomes heavy between us as we grasp the depth of what we just did. Of how this is going to make one big problem go away for me, but create a myriad of others for the both of us.
Willow stares at her phone, as if it has any answers for her. “If I post now, they’ll see it when they wake up, and by the time we’re up they’ll have calmed down. And we can deal with all the comments in one shot, on our way to the airport.”
I groan. She’s right, I know she is. I was just hoping for a few more hours of peace. Once I text my siblings, chances are they’ll blow up my phone with stupid jokes. I don’t know that I have the patience right now. “Shouldn’t you talk to your mom first?”
She bites on her lip. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right.” She sighs and shuts down her phone. “Tomorrow, then.”
The next morning, she answers my knock with a tight smile. Her phone is squeezed between her shoulder and her ear as she zips up her travel bag and sets it next to the door. “Well this is me telling you, Mom. I’m sorry it didn’t happen the way you were hoping but…”
That familiar feeling of guilt squeezes my stomach, and I clench my jaw. Willow’s mother is upset, rightfully so, and it’s creating a rift with her daughter—all because of me. Fuck.
Willow rolls her eyes at me while she’s being interrupted.
Setting the phone on the bed, she does a check of the room—crouching under the bed, opening the closet and each and every drawer.
Her mother’s voice is still coming out of the phone, her tone upset bordering on angry, her words unintelligible.
Willow’s gestures grow snappier, the last closet door banging shut.
She storms past me, goes into the bathroom and lets out a muffled growl.
Should I go in there and see what’s wrong?
Maybe not. Better to sit this one out. Her mom is still going on, and I have the feeling this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Willow seems to know her mother’s rant isn’t anywhere near done.
When Willow finally marches out of the bathroom, she picks up her phone.
“Mom, I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you at home.
We land tomorrow.” Without any more warning, she stabs the phone off and slides it in her back pocket.
“How’d it go with your family?” she asks in a casual voice.
As if all this was nothing. As if I couldn’t see the blotches on her neck, the cold fire in her eyes, the set of her jaw.
“What were your mother’s concerns?”
She frowns, pretending to be confused as if she just hadn’t been yelled at for five minutes straight by her mother. “What?” She picks up her bag.
I press on it to force her to set it back on the floor. “What were your mother’s concerns about us getting married?”
Willow swallows. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
She looks up at me, a little shock in her eyes and what looks like…
maybe the shadow of a smile? She bites her lip.
“She thinks I should have told her before.” She blinks tears away, but she doesn’t look exactly sad.
It’s a storm of emotions I can’t quite figure out.
“She’s wrong. I don’t owe her that,” she adds in a whisper.
“I know she’s my mom and all, but even though it’s gotten better recently, we don’t really have that type of relationship.
” She looks at me with defiance, and I know better than to ask more.
She’s opened up to me way more than a fake marriage would ever warrant, and I’m grateful to her for that.
I jump on what she said. “About that. I’ll be taking care of her medical bills.”
Willow opens her mouth to protest, but I interrupt her. “There’s no discussion,” I say, keeping my voice firm but soft. I know how she feels about this, but she needs to benefit from this arrangement as well.
Her pupils widen, and I get that surge of warmth that I always do when I take care of my family.
Except now, it twists lower, settling down in my dick.
“When we’re back in Emerald Creek, I’ll expect to see medical charges on the credit card I gave you.
” Willow doesn’t understand how much she’s helping my family out.
The least I can do is to help hers out. What I don’t understand is why this is giving me a hard-on.
“Maybe this’ll win her over,” I add.
“I doubt it,” Willow mumbles. She takes a deep breath. “But thanks.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
“So you’ll do it,” I state.
“Do what?”
“Pay her medical bills with the credit card I gave you.”
Her gaze is full of challenge. “I’m in discussions with her insurance.”
I knew it. She wasn’t going to do it. “Until her situation is sorted out with the insurance, you’ll pay the bills with the card I gave you.”
She shakes her head, goes to pick up her bag again. “It’s really not necess—”
“Fine then. I’ll go see your mom, ask her for her bills, and pay them off myself.
Will she object to her son-in-law helping out?
” I fucking swear to god, I will do this if I don’t see pending charges on Willow’s credit card when we get home.
No way in hell am I going to be the only one benefiting from this fake marriage.
Willow’s gaze snaps up to me, and there’s something that looks close to fear in her eyes. “Don’t, please.”
I feel shitty for scaring her, and I’m not sure what to make of it. But at least we’re getting somewhere. “Great. Then take care of it yourself.”
She shuts her eyes for a brief moment. “Fine,” she concedes. Then she puts her hands on her hips. “Are you going to call your siblings now?”
“I thought I’d text them from the airport.”
She huffs. “Coward. Come on, rip off that Band-Aid,” she adds with a tilt of her chin. “Who are you going to tell first?” She sets her handbag on top of her travel bag and crosses her arms.
If she can handle the wrath of a mother whose only child seems to have committed the ultimate betrayal, I can face whatever reaction my siblings have for me. I remember changing diapers, wiping noses, putting Band-Aids on.
Taking out my phone, I click on our group chat. “Send me that selfie of us in front of the Sphere, please?” I ask Willow while I type a factual update. Went to Vegas. Married Willow Fontaine. Saw Phish. Back late tomorrow night. Don’t wait up for us.
The whooshing sound of an outgoing text fills the room, then I forward the picture that just landed on my phone.
Our faces are slightly distorted by the angle, but we look happy.
Carefree. Might be the slight margarita-induced buzz.
Might be the aftermath of that concert. Narrowing my gaze on Willow’s expression in that picture, I can’t quite figure it out. She looks… at peace.
Hours later we’re on the plane, and it’s still crickets from my siblings. Do they not care at all? Did something happen in Emerald Creek and they’re waiting until I’m home to break the news to me?
I suddenly feel old. So old. So fucking lonesome too. No one to talk to about this shit. I’m tired of all this. My jaw clenches just at the idea of going back to Emerald Creek, and the back of my neck pinches. The wedding part of the getting fake-married turned out fun, and that’s clearly over.
Seeing Phish in concert was epic and not something I would have done on my own. Probably not something I’ll ever do again. I glance at Willow, wanting to thank her for the idea. It was her enthusiasm that made me get us tickets.
But she’s already sleeping, eyebrows furrowed, hands in balled fists like she’s about to fight someone. Yeah, I get it. Mom’s wedding band gleams on her finger. Am I an asshole for giving her this band instead of buying a brand new one without any charged history?
It’s just a fucking old ring, even if I like seeing it on someone’s hand.
Lane doesn’t want it.
Griff and Beck certainly don’t give a shit.
Besides, this marriage is fake. It’s not like the ring can do anything more to curse it. If questions are raised about the reality of our marriage, surely giving her this ring would prove my feelings were real?
And when the time comes to break the marriage, I’ll simply let the gossips accuse the ring again and call me a fool. Who cares?
“Can you check your wife’s seatbelt, please?
” the flight attendant asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
It takes me a beat or two to realize she’s talking about Willow.
My wife. The thought makes me nervous as I tighten her seatbelt around her hips.
My fingers brush hers—cool and tense. I grab the airline blanket and spread it over her, reassured to see her immediately relax. She was only cold, nothing else.
She shifts in her seat, and her head rolls against my shoulder right as I’m settling in to watch a movie.
Her warmth is comforting, making me drift in and out of consciousness, the surreal last two days replaying in my head.
The concert, especially, starts taking up a disproportionate amount of my headspace.
What possessed me to wrap her under my arm as if she were my real wife?
I was expecting her to swat me away. Instead, she fit under me like the missing piece of a puzzle, her heat and delicate female scent bringing my dick alive, my fingers barely managing to avoid the swell of her breast as she jumped up and down with the music.
I have no right to think about that moment in this way, because I know that for her, she was just enjoying the scene. I was only there to keep her from falling over the people next to us who were invading her space.
But after a few minutes I had a raging boner, and I didn’t even realize my hand was kneading her shoulder, drawing her closer to me, while I imagined what her skin might feel like without the tight T-shirt.
Needless to say, I didn’t touch her after she had to peel herself from me to use the bathroom. Too fucking dangerous for my sanity.
It was all kinds of wrong but I’ve been too damn long without a woman.
And now—fuck.
Now, I can’t even have a woman given that I’m fucking married.
The irony.
She shifts and burrows deeper against me, digging my arm up with her head until she’s wrapped under it.
Then she gives a huge sigh of contentment, all while sleeping deeply.
I lower the back of my seat and drift off to the warm rhythm of her breathing against my chest. I know it’s wrong, but she feels… right.