Chapter Fourteen Noah
Chapter Fourteen
Noah
I grin, staring at the flat-screen in front of the conference room. Work isn’t just dragging by; it’s also towing my fucking patience with it. Because the keys to the new place are burning a hole in my pocket.
Fridays are supposed to be fun. People even label them that way, but this one feels like a tech-nerd last supper—we’re all gathered in the dark around a twenty-person table, watching a PowerPoint presentation that I’m pretty sure is boring me to death.
I just need to listen and be an adult for forty more minutes before I can call my girlfriend and turn back into a fool in love.
Fuck it. I sneak my phone under the table and type out a text to her.
Me: Well, sad news . . . I’m in the longest meeting to ever exist. In fact, we may never see each other again so we should probably say our goodbyes now.
Rexy: Don’t even joke like that. But at the very least send a courier with the keys first. Beacon Hill awaits.
Me: You only loved me for the location. I knew it. This hurts my feelings.
Rexy: Damn, now I feel bad because I actually only love you for your heart . But let me make it up to you. NSFW coming your way.
The grin on my face keeps spreading as I volley between the PowerPoint and the phone in my lap. This meeting just became completely worthwhile. But as soon as the picture populates, I huff a not-so-quiet laugh because Princess is staring back at me.
Rexy: Hey, don’t show anyone my pussy, okay?
My tongue darts out over my bottom lip as I think of something creative to text back until I hear a voice from the front. “Noah? Did you have a thought?” It forces my head up to a waiting set of eyes.
None I can share.
“Nope. Sorry, my throat’s just dry.” I rub my Adam’s apple for good measure.
Tech nerd number one goes back to his presentation about the use of the newest application that’s supposed to revolutionize the business, but my head stays in the gutter as I type back.
Me: Don’t worry, your kitty’s safe with me. I will say it’s a little hairy, but who am I to nitpick.
Rexy: Want me to shave her bald?
I laugh again, picturing a hairless house cat, and this time the entire table looks at me.
Shit. Since my smile isn’t going anywhere, I go ahead and stand, motioning to the door before excusing myself and clear my throat a few more fake-ass times.
But thank god for conference room shades—nobody’ll know I’m lying since my phone’s already to my ear as I call her.
“Picture’s not enough? You needed the voice too?” she answers.
I’m stalking toward my office, grinning from ear to ear. “Joke’s on you. I just got fired from getting a hard-on thinking about you and the kitty I like most, except now people think I jerk off to PowerPoints.”
She gasps, faking shock. “Wait, that’s not a thing? Well, now I feel awkward.”
Her amusement joins mine as I close my office door behind me.
“When are you coming to get me? I want to move in already,” she whines.
I grab my backpack and shove my water bottle inside. “Listen, killer. I’m not even planning on sitting at my desk. I’m packing my shit and leaving.” Thanks to this terrible dry throat that must be a sickness coming on. “I’m coming for my baby, so she better be ready.”
“I’m ready,” she squeals. “Love you.”
“I love you too,” I say as the call disconnects and my boss walks in.
He’s staring at me from the doorway behind black-rimmed glasses, wearing another signature turtleneck. It doesn’t matter how hot or humid the weather gets; the man always wears a turtleneck.
He’s like a broker but cooler version of Steve Jobs.
“Hey, before your fake tuberculosis settles in and you jet to that cute little nurse waiting, will you grab those files for the Knox/DeLuca project for Nike? I want to give them a once-over.”
Fuck. I look over my shoulder and nod. “Absolutely.”
I like my boss. He’s an older, no-bullshit kind of guy who doesn’t care what the hell anyone does as long as the work gets done. He’s also always been a big fan of mine.
As he turns to leave, he pauses and grabs the doorjamb.
“By the way, your work really impressed the people over there at Nike. They like your eye. I have a feeling I’m going to have to match a future offer, or I’m gonna lose ya to the West Coast. Either way, I just want to go on record as saying I’m proud of you, kid. ”
My mouth falls open as he walks out, a half smile wavering between full-on shock and Holy shit. I don’t even know how to process the possibility of what he just said.
Nike wants me . . . to design for them. What the fuck.
My thoughts feel disconnected, as if I can’t finish a sentence in my head before another happens. Goddamn. My mouth finally closes before opening again. Is this real life?
I reach for my phone to call my girl but stop short, still processing, because Goldie said this would happen.
“What if they love your work so much, they’re like, ‘We have to steal him away to design shoes for us.’ That’s your . . .”
Dream. My fucking dream.
I let out a breath as I slowly sit in my chair, a laugh brimming. This is happening. It’s fucking happening . . . the job, the girl, the life.
I run my hands through my hair before it all finally settles in, and I explode, boxing the air in celebration, swinging my arms out in front of me so hard it makes my chair spin sideways. I have to smack my hands down just to stop myself.
“Fuck yeah,” I breathe out, drumming a little on the desk. I’m breathless, my head falling back as I stare at the ceiling before I whip it back up. “Shit, what was I doing?”
I look around the room, totally thrown off before laughing to myself as I remember, so I lean over and pull open the bottom drawer of my desk.
It slides out gently, making all the files sway, and I root around, a smile still plastered on my face. I walk my fingers past project after project, my mind still whirling over all the possibilities I’ll be offered, not really paying attention to what I’m doing.
Will I have to move? Would she go with me?
The last thought hits me like a brick, drawing a deep V between my brows as I accidentally flip past what I’m looking for and land on what I’ve been hiding.
It’s as if my touch recognizes the worn paper, because my eyes are instantly drawn to the brown envelope bending under my finger. I swallow hard, all my happiness dulled and all thoughts quieted.
Any peace I felt before is doused by the chaos of life. Those two fucking unexpected bedfellows.
I slowly slide it from its spot, glancing up at my door to double-check that nobody’s coming in. I’d brought it from home when Goldie began sleeping over more often. I couldn’t risk her finding it or the questions she’d ask when she did.
That first night we were together was too close for comfort.
My eyes close for just a second, helping me steady myself before I lay it on my desk and stare down at the weathered material.
There are fingerprint oil–stained marks scattered around the top, soaked in over time from my skin because I’ve opened this envelope too many times to count. But here I am anyway.
My jaw tenses as I unwind the fraying string that holds it closed before I upend it. The familiar news articles scatter across my desk before I reach for the first one.
Dark Days in Darkwater
I close my eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and pull the rest of the headlines closer. Reading each one and lingering.
Massacre Leaves Broken Hearts in Small Town
Body Never Found
Lone Survivor Drops off the Grid
My office chair creaks as I lean back, staring at the history, before I reach back inside for the notes—four of them written on yellowed papers that have served to define my whole life. I hate these notes.
But like a fucking sadist, I start pulling them out anyway . . . then stop. My eyes fix on the colored paper just peeking out as my jaw works.
“Why am I doing this?” I whisper to myself, but I don’t have an answer.
For so long, I’ve lived trapped in this fucking folder along with these articles and letters. But since meeting Goldie, everything’s changed. The impossible feels real and right within my reach. When am I going to trust that I can live the life I deserve?
I almost hear that last part of my thoughts in my mom’s voice.
Without warning, the memory of the cops standing at the door makes my throat tight.
Police lights swirl around the sky, bleeding into the small windowpanes. I turn over my shoulder and eye two cop cars parked in front of our house.
Everything after I stand feels like it’s happening to someone else—my soda missing the table, tumbling to the floor . . . me walking to the door as another officer shakes his head as he comes up the path.
It’s all lagging as I try and focus on my breath, but I only hear it inside my head. I swing open the door, the knocking registering after the fact, my eyes volleying between them.
The older of the two takes his hat off, pressing it to his chest.
“Son, we’re so sorry to be here . . . We did everything we could to save her . . .”
My chest feels like it’s caving in as I shake my head quickly to pull myself from that place—the one I don’t want to live in anymore.
Because I don’t have to. I can leave this now. I can just be Noah and Goldie.
“Focus on the here and now,” I breathe out, past the sadness, because there’s no point in looking backward.
My mother lived her life looking at the past, but I’m free.
I’m here doing exactly what she wanted for me. Living the life she couldn’t give me. Not with her always having a reason to look over her shoulder and a hammer waiting to drop.
“It’s time,” I say, taking one last deep breath and finally letting it all go—my past, the worry, and the goddamn burden of it all. “Be done with it.”
I lift my head and stare into the middle space as the chaos stops feeling like it’ll always win out. Goldie, and this life . . . Nothing beats this peace.
As I leave the office, I make two stops, one to see my boss and the other at the dumpsters out back. And this time, I don’t regret tossing the folder. That’s the thing about starting over—you can’t look back.