Chapter Twenty Goldie #2
I have to press the phone to my ear harder to hear because everyone at the party starts cheering as my chest starts to rise and fall faster. But I don’t notice it as I repeat what she said, hearing Noah’s voice in the back of my mind as I do.
“I’m from a nowhereville little fishing town between here and Maine.”
I blink as the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prick and goose bumps bloom over my arms. It all draws my attention as a slow buildup of everything imprisoned behind the wall inside my mind suddenly starts to fall, brick by brick.
All the unknown intakes of information that have been happening start colluding to wake me up—the Mets hat, the drunk in the background, the phrasing, and the name . . .
They join forces, and three things happen: Noah jogs toward me, holding a box in the air. Our eyes connect.
And a memory hits.
I smile as I tip my eyes up at Noah’s profile, only really thinking about how his friend dropped the word “girlfriend” in front of him, and he didn’t even flinch.
“Hey, man . . . hey—I know you. How’ve you been?”
I look over my shoulder to see that some guy in a Mets hat is smiling at Noah.
Noah’s brows draw together in seeming confusion before he has an easy smile. “Sorry, man, we’ve never met. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
The man shakes his head, slightly slurring when he speaks but insistent.
“No, it’s me, Peter . . . Ronnie’s cousin. You’re, umm . . .” He snaps his fingers. “Davis, right?”
“Hey . . .” Noah’s out of breath as he stops in front of me, yanking me from my thoughts. “I’m back . . . with your present.”
I stare at him, blinking a few times quickly as my lips part, my breath stuttering, but no words come out. I’m so confused by what I just remembered that I don’t even register his phone at my side, or that the call’s been disconnected.
He’s beaming at me, his eyebrows wagging. “Did you miss me?”
This doesn’t make any sense . . . how can he be . . . no . . .
I feel numb as I nod, trying to smile. Except I can’t process everything fast enough. Too many thoughts are happening and bouncing off each other. And they don’t make any sense.
I’m not just questioning myself; I’m fighting.
Noah isn’t Davis . . . That has to be a coincidence. That’s the only reasonable explanation. I know him like I know myself.
He smiles as he dips down to kiss me, but I just let him because the pit in my stomach keeps growing. Why can’t I shake this off? That guy never even said his last name. There are a thousand people named Davis just in Boston, I’m sure of it.
But then why are those the prints that were found on the bike.
Goddammit. Why won’t my gut stop gnawing at me like the way I am at the inside of my cheek.
Just ask him. There’s a reasonable explanation.
“Noah,” I whisper, closing my eyes for a beat because it feels weird to ask. “You got a call . . . it was from . . . umm. For your . . .” ID. She said he lost his wallet.
I hold out his phone, something in my mind making me not finish the rest of my sentence. He grins and takes it. He’s bubbling with excitement over the gift, which he lifts for me to see again.
My smile is weak as my other hand softly touches the bottom of his jacket pocket, cupping my hand around it, like a dare to prove myself wrong. But the fabric doesn’t wrinkle under my touch because it’s heavy, like it’s filled with something bulky.
“Do you want your wallet too?” I say softly, motioning with my head down to his jacket.
“No. Leave it there.” He grins.
He lied.
Noah puts his hand back out for me to take, his face lit with exuberant happiness. “Tell me about the call later. I want you to open your gift first. I can’t wait.”
He looks over his shoulder motioning to Chase as I blink slowly. My chest feels shaky, and I can hear my own breath. He lied.
I don’t understand . . . I don’t. Why would he lie? This doesn’t make sense. I want to say more, ask more, but my fingers slide into his palm anyway because this is ludicrous. He’s Noah . . .
Maybe he found his wallet; maybe he just didn’t want the hassle. Why am I questioning him?
You know him, Goldie, better than anyone.
But the moment we touch, everything slows and we’re in that familiar bubble of him and me, and that’s when the truth barrages me.
I laugh as I’m spun around into the shadows of a convenient alley, my back gently pressed to the wall as he lifts a hand against it, trapping me between him and the brick.
The way he’s looking down at me makes butterflies explode.
“Boyfriend, huh? You sure? . . . Because I am.”
“Me too.”
“Then I guess I should come clean. I’m an upstanding citizen originally from Hempstead—”
The memories are vivid, making each step I take feel heavier than the first because they’re hitting like waves. But that’s the thing about hindsight—it’s twenty-twenty, and that’s pretty fucking clear.
“One more question. Where’s your boyfriend from?”
“Hempstead,” I snap. “It’s in New Hampshire, in case you’re unfamiliar.”
“It was the weirdest thing. We couldn’t find a Noah Adler from Hempstead.”
The lights grow brighter as we rejoin the party, and he walks me past the tables in the middle of the grass, but my mind is fragmented. I’m confused and scared.
I don’t understand what my mind is telling me, but it feels like the moment before a car crash—you can see the destruction coming, but you’re powerless to stop it.
He looks at me, those sapphire eyes connecting to mine. The ones that belong to the man I love. But who is that man . . . Is he Noah?
Like a cruel answer, the full memory from before takes hold like a hand around my throat.
“Hey, man . . . hey—I know you. How’ve you been?”
I look over my shoulder to see that some guy in a Mets hat is smiling at Noah.
Noah’s brows draw together in seeming confusion before he has an easy smile. “Sorry, man, we’ve never met. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
The man shakes his head, slightly slurring when he speaks but insistent.
“No, it’s me, Peter . . . Ronnie’s cousin. You’re, umm . . .” He snaps his fingers. “Davis, right?”
I press my face against Noah’s shoulder, smiling because this guy is so drunk.
“He’s a Noah, not a Davis,” I say with humor.
The dude frowns, his eyes locked with Noah’s as he works out whatever thought he’s having. But I feel Noah tense under my cheek as his eyes go to the hand still on his shoulder before the guy takes it away.
“Wow. I could’ve sworn . . . my apologies.” He gives us a salute before adding, “You look so much like a friend of my cousin’s. I used to visit him every summer in Darkwater Bay . . .”
Darkwater . . . I’ve heard that name somewhere. Where . . . where the fuck have I heard that? My eyes drop to the gift being held out in front of me, feeling my pulse throb as I go numb.
My thoughts are racing. So much so that I’m barely aware of the fact that Noah’s said “Open it” while motioning to the gift. I tug the ribbon, feeling a lump grow in my throat.
The bow opens before the fabric floats to the sides of the box, and I reach inside and pull out my gift, feeling sick.
How can he be someone he’s not . . . He’s Noah.
My Noah—the man who bought out all the flowers in my shop to tell me he loves me. The one who listens when I speak and holds me when I need a soft spot to land. No. This doesn’t make sense. I’m wrong. My memories are wrong.
I hear myself exhale as I lift my gift out of the box. Noah’s voice calls my eyes.
“The first night we met, you told me you wanted custom shoes for your birthday, but when I asked you when it was, you said I’d have to ‘stick around to find out.’ Well, I stuck around and made the shoes I designed in my head that night, because I only had to lay my eyes on you once to see you for exactly who you are . . .”
He is the one person who sees me exactly for who I am. But have you ever seen him? my mind asks before the last memory cuts directly through my heart.
Dark Days in Darkwater
A dark cloud hangs over this small community as five teens are found dead in what officials believe started as a lovers’ quarrel and ended in a massacre.
I gasp as if I’ve been shocked by lightning. Oh my god. No . . . no. Just ask him. Make him explain.
“Noah—” I start, but then reality grabs me by the throat. Who are you. What have you done? I can’t trust you. You’ve lied about everything . . . How can I trust anything you say?
“Killer, don’t cry,” he rushes out, cutting me off. “Just let me get this out because I can’t hold it in anymore.”
Tears cloud my eyes, and my pulse races. I’m blinking fat droplets of sorrow down my face as I only faintly notice the party encircling us. My chest feels so tight I can barely breathe because this can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
Did he do something? Did he hurt people? No, no, no, no. I can’t even hold space for that thought or I’ll crumble to the ground. Not Noah . . . He’s gentle and kind and loving and my everything.
He lied about who he is.
He unties something from some shoes . . . the shoes that are in my hands. I don’t even know when I took them out because I can’t focus on anything, only the war inside my head.
My face whips to the side to my mom, who’s smiling and crying, but I’m screaming on the inside.
Why is this happening? Someone make it stop. Make it go away. He has to be him. He couldn’t have lied to me all this time. I can’t believe that. But I know it’s true.
Sobs wrack my body, and I can’t move. I’m frozen in place, even if it feels like the ground doesn’t exist underneath me because I have no anchor, no home . . . no Noah.
He takes a step back as he lowers himself down to one knee, and I almost buckle.
“Noah,” I cry, but he takes my hand and kisses the top.
My chest burns with agony and truth—Noah isn’t Noah. And that means my entire world has imploded.
My hands shoot to cover my mouth to try and stop the pain from spilling out. I want to beg, to hit him and demand it all to be untrue. But deep down I know it is. With every ounce of my being, I know he’s a stranger.