24. Noah
Chapter twenty-four
Noah
T he station's been empty for hours, but I'm still here, surrounded by silence and questions I can't answer. I can’t believe I’m doing this, probing into her life without permission, but I need to know the truth.
The Sinclair Financial logo glares back at me, all sharp edges and pretentious gold lettering. Just like the business card sitting on the desk beside me, thick cardstock, embossed. Richard Sinclair, President.
I type Katherine Sinclair into the search bar again, like maybe this time the results will be different.
They’re not.
There she is on the screen.
It’s her, but not her . At least, the woman staring back at me isn’t the woman I thought I knew.
The woman in these photos is polished. Perfect. Honey-blonde hair swept into some intricate updo, draped in a dress that probably costs more than my truck. Smiling that empty, practiced smile rich people learn in the cradle. At some charity gala. At a fucking yacht party.
The worst part is the fact that some of the pictures are recent, like two to three years ago, and it makes my throat tighten.
I zoom in on one photo, she’s laughing, champagne flute dangling from manicured fingers. That’s the part that guts me. She looks comfortable; like she belongs.
I can’t reconcile it with the woman who showed up to T-ball practice with her five-year-old, the woman who lights up when I gift her a chunky bracelet, the woman whose leg I get tangled with under the sheet.
The woman who drinks tea from a chipped Star Wars mug in my kitchen and paints sunflowers on the backs of old receipts.
The real question is, how much of everything that we shared was real? What was her story? What else is she hiding? Why did she have to hide? Would she have ever come clean if her father hadn’t come down to town?
I don’t even know who she is anymore—and I’m still in love with her. God help me, I’ve already fallen.
Blaze whines at my feet, pressing his cold nose into my knee, but I hardly react. His tail thumps once, hesitant. He knows how I feel. Always does.
I scrub a hand over my face. My stubble rasps against my palm, and I watch as my phone lights up again on the desk. Kate . Sixth time tonight, and still I let it ring.
Because now, little things slot into place.
The way she flinched when Tara attacked her and claimed she had something to hide. How she never talked about her family. That one time she absentmindedly corrected my wine pronunciation…It’s cabernet sauvignon , not cab-er-net and then looked like she’d been slapped.
Fucking Christ.
I push back from the desk hard enough to make the wheels screech, and just then, I hear the station door creaking open and Blaze’s ears perk up.
I don’t need to check the cameras. I already know. Because I figured she’d come. Of course, she wouldn’t let me ignore this.
I step into the bay just as Kate walks in, holding a basket probably filled with food. Her hair’s coming loose from its ponytail, and there’s a smudge of paint under her nails. She looks nothing like the woman in those photos.
And everything like the woman I thought I knew.
“You weren’t picking up,” she says. Her voice is too light.
She can pretend that everything is normal, but I can’t. I can’t even get a word to pass through my tight throat, so the silence stretches between us.
Her smile falters. She shifts the basket to her other hand. “I brought dinner. Thought maybe you….”
“Why?” The single word comes out rougher than I meant it to.
She blinks. “Because you weren’t picking up and you skipped our dinner together.”
Ours . She makes it sound so intimate, as though everything was real.
Blaze whimpers, torn between us, but I ignore him.
“My arms are hurting, I’m just going to set this down, if that’s okay.” She rounds the desk to set it down, and I watch as her eyes dart to the computer still open, the business card gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
I remain silent and simply watch the color drain from her face, and she swallows hard before raising her eyes to meet mine. Her eyes are filled with remorse, and I can see her lips parting then closing again, as though she’s holding back the words.
Good. I don’t want to hear them.
But then her chin lifts, and her eyes meet mine. Hazel, gold-flecked, always so damn warm but now they’re shimmering with something that makes my chest tighten. Remorse. Fear. A plea I don’t want to acknowledge.
It suddenly feels like I’m the one who is holding back.
My jaw locks. I can’t stand that look from there, there’s a quiet expectation that I’m supposed to understand, that I shouldn’t be mad at her, that I should just nod and forgive because she’s standing here, because she showed up.
I turn away before she can see how much it’s getting to me.
"You should go." My voice is rough, scraped raw from the last hour of sitting in silence, staring at pictures of a life I didn’t know existed.
She doesn’t move, but I hear her breath hitch, just barely, before she speaks.
"Five minutes," she says. "Just… let me explain, and you can tell me to go afterward."
If she stays for a second longer, I will never be able to tell her to leave. "No." The word comes out sharp and almost harsh.
But I know Kate’s never been good at following orders; instead, the steps forward, the sole of her mules tapping against the concrete floor.
"My name isn’t Kate Montgomery," she says, quiet but firm. "It’s Katherine Sinclair.
There it is. She said it. I’d been waiting—half-hoping, half-dreading.
But hearing it from her lips twists something deep inside me.
I want it to mean something, that she's done hiding, that the truth is finally on the table.
But part of me is still braced, waiting for the next blow.
Waiting to see how much more I don't know.
She presses on, like if she stops now, she won’t start again.
"Montgomery is actually my mother’s maiden name. I didn't choose it to lie, I chose it to protect my son."
She says it like it’s obvious. Like protecting Parker is reason enough for all the secrets—and maybe it is. Hell, if I were her, maybe I’d have done the same.
I don’t turn around to face her, but I can’t walk away either. So, I remain rooted to the spot while Blaze whines, his tail thumping reassuringly against my leg.
"I didn’t lie about who I am," she continues. "Everything we shared was real. I’m still me, I just left behind the name, the money, and the life I had."
Her voice wavers, just for a second. I hear her take a shaky breath before pushing on.
"I won’t bore you with sympathy stories, but I was raised in a gilded cage. Every part of my life was controlled. What I wore, who I spoke to, what I was allowed to want." A bitter laugh escapes her.
"The only time I rebelled was when I went to college. I met Parker’s father there, he’s name was Ethan, and then I got pregnant with Parker. They told me to get rid of him and stop seeing Ethan, but I refused, and so I left."
My fingers curl into fists at my sides.
"I moved in with Ethan. We were happy, barely managing, but happy. Then, when Parker was eighteen months old, the accident happened…" Her voice cracks. "I spent everything trying to save him. But he died anyway. And I had nothing. No money. No support. Just Parker."
My gut twists. I didn’t know about Parker’s dad. I didn’t know any of this. God, she’s been carrying all that alone.
A muscle in my jaw jumps.
"I called my parents for help because I had no choice, and somehow I thought they would change their mind after bonding the Parker. But they wanted control. A few months back, they tried to force me to marry some business associate’s son. And when I refused…"
My jaw clenches. Of course they did. I don’t even know these people and I already hate them.
Her breath catches. "My father threatened to take Parker from me."
That finally makes me turn. What kind of man threatens his daughter with his grandson?
She’s standing there, arms wrapped around herself as though she’s barely holding herself together. Her eyes are wet, but her voice doesn’t shake.
"So, I ran. Started over. And yes, I have a trust fund. I haven't touched it before now. I was afraid if I used it, they’d find me, and they'd take my son from me. That was how I ended up in Porthaven.
The firehouse feels too small suddenly, the air too thick.
"I used some of it for the fundraiser," she admits. “Not to impress you. Not to lie. Just… to help. I funneled it through an old trust account they don't monitor anymore.
Her fingers twist the hem of her shirt. "I’m not sorry for protecting Parker. But I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner."
Silence stretches between us, but I couldn’t say a word.
Then, she adds softly, "I just wanted you to see me . Not the name. Not the money. Just… me." Her words hang in the air, raw and honest. “I just wanted you to know everything we shared is real, my real name changes nothing.”
Finally, she exhales, shoulders slumping. "You deserved the truth. Even if it means you walk away from me."
Goddamn it. I want to tell her I’m not going anywhere. But the truth still stings like it’s fresh, and the part of me that trusted her without question is still bleeding.
I want to reach for her. Just one step. One word. But the storm inside me won't clear.
Blaze whimpers, pads over to her, and nudges her hand, but she doesn’t pet him. So Blaze just stands there, waiting.
And I….I don’t know what the hell to say. So, I continue to remain silent, the silence stretches and presses against my eardrums, thick and suffocating.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows across Kate’s face as she waits. One second. Five. Ten.
Her fingers twitch at her sides before curling into loose fists. A slow breath leaves her, and I watch the way her shoulders rise and fall with it as if she’s giving up and bracing herself for some kind of impact.
Then she moves.
One step. Two. Her mules thud against the concrete floor, the sound too loud in the empty station. She rounds the table, coming to stand directly in front of me, closer than she’s been since she walked in.
Close enough that I catch the faint floral scent of her shampoo, mixed with the soft and delicious vanilla smell still clinging to her skin.
She doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t have to because she has my full attention.
Her gaze locks onto mine, unflinching. I can see every fleck of gold in her hazel eyes, the way her pupils dilate just as she searches my face. For what? Anger? Understanding? Some sign that I’m still in there, still the man who kissed her like he was starving for it just days ago?
I don’t give her anything.
Her lips part, then press together. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. Raw .
"Maybe hiding the fact that I’m a rich heiress isn’t really the problem for you." She waits a beat and allows the words to hang between us, sharp as shattered glass.
"Maybe this was the excuse you were waiting for," she continues, softer now. "to hide from your feelings. To deny what you’re feeling."
My chest tightens.
"If that’s what you want," she says, holding my gaze, "nothing I say will change your mind."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us crackles with everything unsaid, every late-night conversation and cuddle, every accidental brush of fingers, every time I let myself imagine something more.
Then she turns.
Just like that.
It takes everything in me not to stop her. One word. One step. But I stand still—frozen by pride or fear, I’m not even sure which anymore.
Her footsteps echo as she walks away, steady and sure. No hesitation. No begging. No desperate glance over her shoulder.
And God help me—
I’ve never wanted to run after someone more.
My muscles tense, my fingers twitching at my sides like they might reach for her on their own. Blaze shifts beside me, restless, like he feels the tension in me.
The bay door creaks open. A gust of cold night air rushes in, carrying the promise incoming rain.
Then it clicks shut behind her with a finality that makes my heart echo.
And still, I stood there, because heartbreak and pride are both hell to climb through.