Chapter Seven Noah
Chapter Seven
Noah
My bedroom’s drenched in darkness as my eyes spring open, my pulse racing like I just ran the hundred in the Olympics. Only the sound of my heart thuds in my ears. Holy shit. I blink rapidly, scrambling internally for my bearings, not unable to move but still heavy with fear.
Fuck. There’s sweat on my brow. I lift a hand to my forehead, slicking my hair away, before I try and swallow, but the sting of my nightmare seems to still be leaving its mark because my throat’s aching from strain.
I was trying to shout in my sleep.
Breathe, Noah. Just breathe. You’re home. In Boston. Focus on the now.
I don’t remember what I was dreaming about, but it doesn’t matter. The aftereffect is always the same. Damn, I haven’t had something like this happen to me in a long while. They used to happen a lot when I first left home, but it’s been months since I can remember feeling like this.
I let out a quiet exhale, trying to pin down what triggered it. But the reasonable part of my brain finally wakes up. Or maybe just stop being a fucking head case?
As if the universe knows to throw me a bone to pull me from my fucked-up mind, a soft sigh catches my dark, swirling thoughts, grounding them instantly as I turn my head and lay eyes on her. Goldie.
She’s snuggled up to me, head rested on my arm. Her rich, thick locks are strewn out over my bicep. So peaceful and . . . beautiful. My mind drifts away from the hairs on the back of my neck, still standing on end, and firmly to the memory of her straddling me.
And the way her body moved in response to everything I did made me half wonder in the moment if I’d have to say the thing no man wants to excuse—I swear this never happens to me . . . I always last longer.
The blanket falls as she moves, exposing a peek of her nipple.
So fucking gorgeous and soft and supple.
Like velvet.
I stare back up at the ceiling, having heard the words in my head like the old barbershop dude in Coming to America. My mind clears as I half smirk and refocus on the present.
Swallowing again, this time with more ease, I glance back at her, hoping to soak in some more calm and maybe another pervy look.
She’s so blissful. I want that.
Did I lock the front door?
The thought seems random, but it’s not.
It’s funny how peace triggers chaos. But I guess that’s the best description of life because one never veers too far away from the other. Unexpected bedfellows of sorts. So, I guess if she’s peace, then I’m admittedly chaos.
My eyes search the darkness. I’m still wondering . . . When we came in, we were going at it . . . did I remember . . .
Ever so gently, I draw my arm from under Goldie because there’s no point in second-guessing myself or debating from under warm sheets. I know, from experience, that the only thing that will quell the paranoia or ease my worry is to just fucking check.
She smiles in her sleep the moment I’m free, mumbling something I can’t quite make out. It makes me grin. And I swear my fingers act of their own accord, brushing an errant strand of hair from her eyes.
How is someone so cute when they sleep?
Easing off the bed, I look around the floor for my boxer briefs, noticing the time on my clock we apparently knocked off the nightstand. It’s lying on top of my underwear. I shake my head and tug them on before heading out of my room.
As I quietly shut my bedroom door behind me, I’m encased in more darkness.
None of the lights are on. But we didn’t bother earlier, too busy stripping each other down in the moonlight, like a pair of horny teenagers trying to bone before her parents came home.
Now, though, it’s as if someone’s stolen the moon.
Thankfully, my eyes have adjusted as I navigate the long straight shot through my kitchen into the living room. At least that’s what I think before I trip over my discarded shoes, then hers.
“Goddammit,” I huff, kicking the shit out of the way, walking off my stubbed toe.
With one hand running through my hair, my other reaches for the door handle, twisting it, even though I know it’s an automatic lock, before I check the dead bolt.
Unlocked. The click to secure it is as loud as my irritation.
Grinding my jaw, I draw back the curtain from my window to inspect the street, searching up and down the quiet. It’s exactly what 2:00 a.m. should feel like on a Friday night—empty and sleepy. Everyone’s either still partying, passed out, or grown up.
There’s nobody. But I still can’t shake the faint worry of somebody.
A car alarm sounds, making my head whip in its direction, but it’s cut off just as quickly.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, hating that I can’t make my mind stop.
Go back to bed, and it’ll stop. I let the curtain close and shake my arms out. We do still have the counter and the floor to accomplish.
The tension in my shoulders dissipates slowly, easing off as I inhale.
I’m turning around to head back to the gorgeous woman in my bed, and as I do, my eyes drop down to the floor.
I’ve left the curtains open just enough that the streetlights created a streak over the carpet, exposing the large, dingy brown envelope peeking out from under the couch.
I narrow on it, my jaw tensing.
When I kicked the shoes out of the way, I must have shoved one under and hit it. I glance toward the hall that leads to my bedroom before I bend and drag it out.
Unable to stop myself, I tug at the rigid string wrapped around the button that holds it all closed, unwinding it before I open it and reach inside, sliding out the first thing I touch.
The worn newspaper clipping is barely readable save the headline as I stare down, feeling the familiar hollowness in my chest as my heart picks up pace.
Massacre Leaves Broken Hearts in Small Town
I glance toward the hallway again before choosing another.
Body Never Found
Adrenaline floods my system in waves. I’m shivering but not cold. I glare at the thin paper between my fingers, fixated on those three words: Body Never Found.
My skin tingles like I’m wired. Like every nerve ending in my body’s sparking at the same time, my jaw instantly sore with the power with which I grind my teeth.
The only sound in the room is my breath, heavier and more audible as my chest rises and falls faster and faster.
I’m helpless to stop it. Helpless against the anger inside me. To the rage that bubbles right under the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
The world around me begins to disassociate, like the blurred edges of a fire, until suddenly, all the air evaporates from my lungs, a back draft of consciousness sucking out all the oxygen before an explosion of realization.
My head snaps to the right.
The crisp feeling of cold slices across my cheek first, like a slap that wakes me up. I can’t feel the paper I’m holding as my eyes narrow into tunnel vision directly on the thing that’s wrong.
The back door. It’s open.
A breeze billows in, making the hinges squeak, disturbing the silence as the wood frame sways.
Shadows tucked in corners of the room dance in my periphery, like taunting demons, but all I can process is the fucking moonlight that’s illuminating the kitchen island.
Everything inside me stills, all that I’m feeling transforming into unnerving calm. Because there are only two options: Someone’s in my house. Or they just left.
I shove the papers back inside the folder, then squat and hide them again, never taking my eyes off the door.
As I stand, slowly and quietly, my hands ball into fists, and corded muscles in my back flex. But my feet are already moving as I search the space like a predator, stalking toward the back door.
Passing the hallway leading to my bedroom, I double-check that it’s still closed before the quiet sound of a whetted blade punctuates the space as I swiftly and expertly slip a butcher knife from the block.
I sneak behind the door, not making a sound, the only line of sight the crack in the door between the frame and the hinges.
I lift my chin as I strain for a better look, the heavy steel knife dangling in my hand brushing my skin, but I’m glued in place.
I don’t even swallow, twisting the glinting metal around and around, trying to stay hidden in the shadow.
The silence stretches out longer and longer as I listen.
Leaves rake over the porch, crawling over each other, grating the quiet, and wind chimes from the neighbor’s house softly play, alerting anyone who’s listening that the night’s awake.
But I only hear the footsteps that grow closer.
There’s shuffling and the knock of a chair from the porch as another breeze sways the door harder, but I touch the handle, controlling it.
Seconds tick by like an old wall clock. Tick, tick, tick. But still, I don’t move. Like the man who watched us tonight. I’m still. Waiting.
The whining in the wood gives away weight on the threshold, so I fling the door open and draw back the knife, aimed to the gut.
But a screaming meow erupts, along with a bloodcurdling cry. Fuck.
“God flucking! Shiv!”
A streak of calico launches at me, bouncing off my bare chest as Goldie’s arms flail toward the night sky. I immediately tuck the butcher knife behind me as I step away from the doorjamb. Bile rises to my throat.
She’s wide eyed, half spun around herself as she stands in one of my T-shirts.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I shout, feeling panicked, motioning with my head over my shoulder. “You were sleeping. I didn’t know . . .”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She laughs. I frown.
She’s laughing? She’s fine. It’s fine.
Goldie puts her hand on her chest like she did when that guy at her sister’s party scared her, completely oblivious to the cold metal in my hand.
“Apparently, getting the shit scared out of me. I couldn’t even cuss correctly. What the hell, Noah?”
Pull it together.
“Me?” I try and smile, swallowing hard, finally feeling my pulse again. “You’re sneaking around like a creeper. I could’ve killed you with my bare hands.”
She chuckles again like I’m joking. The knife twitches, nicking my thigh.
I eat the pain, keeping my mouth shut as she walks back inside.
“Well, Jason Bourne, your ex was making a ruckus outside your window. Which doesn’t open, by the way. You should fix that.”
She passes me into the kitchen, still breathing hard. I shift, keeping what I’m hiding hidden before closing and locking the door. My head’s still swirling, trying to process, finding success with each second.
“Anyway, I figured she was yours, so I snuck outside to introduce myself. You know, kitty to kitty. Didn’t want her sneaking in to shit in my shoe.” She chuckles at her own dirty joke. “I thought you heard me while you were spying on your neighbors from the window.”
“I didn’t see or hear you.” This is why you don’t bring women home, Noah.
The urge to double-check that what’s under the couch is still hidden scratches at my mind, but I keep my eyes trained on her.
She shrugs. “Huh, must’ve been the car alarm.”
I’m smiling with as much sincerity as I can muster, but it’s fake because I’m still teetering on the edge.
“Yeah, it was nothing.”
I follow Goldie around the kitchen island, then quietly slide the knife back into where it belongs when she turns away from me. My face lifts to hers as she opens the fridge, lighting up the room.
“Why are you up, anyway?” She looks over her shoulder to my fingers, still on the tip of the knife’s handle. I let go, leaning against the counter nonchalantly.
“Midnight snack,” I lie while she hands me a water before she gets her own.
I twist the top. But then she smiles, and the magic of it makes me remember our previous plans.
It restarts my focus, letting me be Noah again.
She bites her lip. “I could eat . . . if you’re offering.”
I smirk, letting my eyes drift over her, knowing I’m going to turn my white lie into the truth. Until an annoying meow between my feet drags my attention away.
“No way, troublemaker,” I groan, discarding my water. “You had your chance to be my one and only. Out—you’ve been replaced.”
I stand to walk past Goldie, back to the door, enjoying the sound of her laugh as she protests, “No, let her stay. I just went to all the trouble to smuggle her in. Plus, we’re friends now. And it’s cold out.”
I shake my head, but my eyes lock to hers just as her fingers skim my chest. “It looks like I’m her only friend, though. She got you here and somehow on the back of your leg too. There’s blood.”
My eyes drop to my chest, seeing the reddening scratches, knowing exactly what got the back of my thigh.
I grin. “In fairness, you threw her at me.”
Her eyes gleam, her smirk teasing. “In my defense, anything’s a weapon when someone sneaks up on you.”
“I live here,” I say flatly, grabbing her waist and making her squeal as I plop her down on top of the counter.
“Yeah, well . . . I . . .” Whatever retort she was hoping to sassify doesn’t make it off the tip of her tongue.
I raise my brows. “Done trying to win? ’Cause I’m suddenly starving.”
The smile on her face is bright enough to light the room, even though the goddamn fridge is still open. Fuck it, that’s one door that can stay that way.
We’re fixed on each other wordlessly before I start bunching my shirt up over her hips. She audibly inhales, licking her lips when I expose the fact that she’s not wearing underwear.
“I couldn’t find them,” she whispers.
“Good.”
I take a step back, my fingertips skimming over her knees as I admire my meal.
“What do I get for a snack?” Her voice is the embodiment of sex.
“I’ll make you a grilled cheese when I’m done.”
I slide my hands up the inside of her thighs before gripping them and jerk her to the edge of the counter. She shrieks, her palms smacking the counter before I dip my shoulder, flinging her directly over it.
“What are you doing?” she squeals, laughing, her hands hitting my lower back.
“Job security, killer.”