Chapter 14 Noelle #2
Every sigh, every too-long distracted pause in between responses, every night when I stare at my phone before taking him to bed—it’s all been absorbed by him.
And now it’s leaking out in the only way a five-year-old knows how to express themselves: attitude.
The guilt sits heavy in my chest as we turn down the baking aisle and he eyes the boxes of mixes.
I reach for a box of yellow cake mix and set it in the cart, watching him fiddle with the zipper on his jacket.
His hair’s sticking up in all directions, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and for a moment I just stop and look at him.
He’s the best thing I’ve ever done.
The only part of my life that makes sense.
And yet, here I am, dragging him through my mess all because I can’t handle my own shit.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing a stray curl off his forehead. “You know what kind of frosting Grampy likes?”
He looks up, suspicion written all over his little face. “The chocolate one that comes with sprinkles.”
I force a smile, trying to sound happier than I feel. “Yeah? Then that’s what we’ll get. You can help me put it all together when we get home.”
That earns me a small smile.
It’s not much, but it’s something.
As we move down the aisle, I focus on the simple things: the sound of the cart’s wheels squeaking by, the hum of the refrigerators, the faint chatter of other shoppers with their lists in their hands.
It’s almost peaceful if I close my eyes and listen hard enough, if I let myself pretend that the last few years haven’t been a slow-motion whirlwind of complete chaos.
I end up taking Eli out of the cart to stretch his legs and pray it gets some of his restless energy out of him.
He bounces around, touching everything within arm’s reach and asking for snacks like we don’t already have dozens of at home.
But I figure a few minutes of walking might burn him out.
We turn the corner into the next aisle, and my heart nearly stops. There, standing at the opposite end in front of the bread display is Dean, holding a loaf of sourdough like he’s just stepped out of a Lifetime movie and straight into this reality.
For a split second, my brain refuses to process it.
I blink, once, twice, but he’s still there.
Same broad shoulders under that dark jacket, same messy blonde hair that never seems to behave but always looks good anyway, same easy posture that looks both careless and steady at once.
His head turns, scanning the aisle, then his gaze locks on mine.
Everything in me goes still.
Oh, fuck.
“Dean!” Eli squeals the second he sees him, breaking free from my side to barrel toward him. His small arms wrap around Dean’s legs. “You’re here! Did you change your mind about leaving? Are you staying?”
Dean’s confusion flickers, but he recovers quickly, kneeling to Eli’s level, his smile soft but genuine.
He ruffles Eli’s curls. “Hey, buddy. We’re still deciding where to go, me and the guys. Not going anywhere just yet.”
His eyes flick to me, a question in them that I can’t at all answer.
My throat tightens and I can feel the blood drain from my face as I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
I try to act like this isn’t the exact nightmare I’ve been dreading for days, like I haven’t rehearsed this scenario a dozen times in my head on the off-chance I got caught in a lie.
The last thing I expected was getting caught not just by anyone, but by him.
He didn’t understand why I stormed out of the hotel.
He wasn’t there for the phone call.
All he saw was my fury as I left the suite just as he was returning from asking the front desk a question.
I can’t even bring myself to speak.
My fingers tighten around the cart handle because it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Eli’s face lights up, oblivious to the tension. “Come to dinner at our house tomorrow! For my Grampy’s birthday!”
Dean blinks. He stands, lifting Eli effortlessly into his arms.
The ease of it and the way Eli naturally folds against him hits me square in the chest.
“Family dinner, huh?” Dean says, his tone light and teasing, but there’s another tone underneath it. Slight caution.
Eli’s head whips toward me, curls bouncing, eyes bright and wide. “Please? Can he?”
My lips press together tightly.
I tell myself it’s practical to invite him, and the others.
That it makes sense to sit them all down and talk and explain everything I couldn’t through that phone call the other day.
To finally lay out why what they did was reckless and why they can’t keep storming into my life like they’re a group of vigilante heroes when all they’re really doing is painting targets on our backs.
But deep down, I know it’s not practicality that makes the words form on my tongue.
It’s the pull.
The magnetic, maddening pull of him, and them, that makes me want to say yes.
The memory of their hands on me, of warmth I haven’t let myself crave but can’t stop myself from missing.
I want to be angry.
I should be angry.
But all I can feel is that ache in my chest that’s been there since the day I walked away.
Rejecting them was so much easier over the phone.
I sigh, my resolve crumbling. “How about you all come over tonight. Dad’s helping at the station again, so the house will be free.”
Dean’s brows lift slightly, surprised. Then that slow, familiar smile spreads across his face. “That sounds good to me.”
Eli cheers, clapping his hands. “Yay!”
I really hope I don’t regret this.