18. Noah
18
Noah
W alking away from Zoey James after discovering how sweet she tastes is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, especially knowing that she’s still up there in her closet, probably on the ground with tears streaming from her beautiful green eyes.
I saw the second she realized that this changes nothing, and damn it, I wish it could. I watched her break right in front of me, desperately wishing I could take her pain away. If I could be the man she deserves, I’d hold her until our dying days, but that’s not possible.
That kiss though.
Fuck, I’ve kissed plenty of girls over the past three years, each one of them for the sole purpose of trying to dull the ache in my chest, but not one of them made me feel as though I could breathe again. Not one of them was Zoey. It was everything I knew it would be, and damn it, I’ve never wanted to do something so badly again. If I could be back up there kissing her right now, I would.
I don’t know what I expected to come out of tonight, but that sure as hell wasn’t it. When I followed her into her closet, I expected her to scream at me. I wanted to give her the chance to get it all out, to say everything she needed to say, but she didn’t stop me or push me away, and the second my lips came down on hers, I felt the darkness lift. Don’t get me wrong, it was still hovering close by, ready to infect me all over again, but for those few minutes with my lips against hers, I felt like I was finally the man she always needed me to be.
When you finally realize that you deserve to be happy, come back to me.
Those words haunt me as I make my way downstairs and meet my mom by the front door. Come back to me. Shit. I wish it could be that easy. But there’s no denying it, the three years of distance have done nothing but make my need and attraction for her all that much stronger.
In that closet, all that existed was her. Her touch on my body, her lips on mine, her soft, breathy moan as my arm wrapped right around her back and pulled her against my chest. It only proves how much she belongs with me. We’ve always been two halves of the same whole, and when we came together, it was like our souls coming home. It was nothing but a stark reminder of everything I’d given up and the pain I’d caused her.
It was never my intention to hurt her, but she has to understand that it’s best this way. If I were to finally give in to those urges, to be her whole world like she is mine, I would eventually drag her down. Zoey James was born to fly, and I . . . I was born with nothing but poison in my veins.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I give Zoey’s parents a forced smile and thank them for dinner, grateful neither of them bothered to ask where I’ve been. They know without being told, so what’s the point of coming up with a lie?
Glancing at Mom, I find her with one hand braced against the wall to keep her upright. “Shit, Mom. Just how many glasses of wine have you had?”
“Is that really any of your business?” she questions, trying to fish her car keys out of her purse, and after trying for far too long, I take the purse and grab the keys myself.
“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath. “Can you even walk?”
Mom bursts into laughter, and it’s only seconds before Zoey’s mom is snickering right along with her, needing to grip her husband’s arm to keep from toppling over. “I guess we’re about to find out,” she tells me, bouncing her brows and grinning like a child.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I reach around her and open the door before pressing a hand to her lower back and leading her out. I rarely see her like this, and that’s mostly because she’s always had to be her own designated driver. I haven’t exactly been here to ensure she gets home safely. But clearly, she took advantage of her opportunity tonight.
After leading her out and getting her settled in the passenger’s seat, I drop down into the driver’s seat and recline it all the way back, not knowing how the hell she could stand sitting so close to the steering wheel.
Backing out of Zoey’s driveway, I head home, and the drive is silent for a few minutes before Mom lets out a sigh and gives me a sad smile. “You broke her heart again, didn’t you?” she questions.
I keep my stare focused on the road, knowing if I were to meet her saddened eyes, I’d surely break. “She deserves better, Mom,” I murmur, my voice barely audible in the silent car. “The sooner she’s able to figure that out and move on, the better. I’m only going to hurt her.”
“What could possibly be better than you and the bond you two share?” she asks me. “You’re selling yourself short, Noah. I think sometimes you forget that I know what’s on the inside. I know your heart, the real you, and while you’re hurting and buried deep in this pain, eventually, you’ll be able to overcome it. I just hope that when that time comes, you haven’t pushed her so far away that you’ll never be able to get her back.”
I don’t respond, not really knowing what to say, and after a few moments of intolerable silence, Mom hits me right where it hurts. “She still loves you, you know?” she says, reaching over the center console and gripping my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Even after all the distance and hurt, I still see it when she looks at you. You haven’t lost her yet, and maybe if you’d let her, she’d be able to pull you out of this sea of despair.”
“Mom,” I sigh, a subtle warning in my tone, begging her to stop.
“I’m sorry, my love. I just worry about you,” she says, trying to force an encouraging smile. “I see how much pain you’re in, and it kills me.”
“I know,” I say, squeezing her hand. We keep driving, and we’re just reaching our street when I glance over at her, she’s deep in thought, and I know without question, she’s thinking about a possible future for me and Zoey. She thinks about it more than I care to admit, but I suppose that’s what happens when one of your children dies too young without getting a chance to live life to its fullest. She doesn’t want that for me. She wants to make sure I’m happy and that I get everything I’ve ever wanted in life, and she and I both know all too well that has everything to do with Zoey James.
“Mom,” I say as I bring the car to a stop outside the house that hasn’t felt like a home in three long years. “Can I ask you a question?”
Her brows furrow, and she turns to look at me, giving me her undivided attention, not even daring to reach for the door handle. “At dinner, you called Zoey your little warrior. And I know you used to call her that all the time, but I don’t really understand why. When I asked Zoey, she looked at me like I’d slapped her across the face.”
“Ooooh,” she says, scrunching up her face. “That probably wasn’t your best move.”
“Mom,” I groan. “Just put me out of my fucking misery and tell me what that’s all about.”
Her face falls, and for just a moment, I think I see pity flashing in her eyes. “Oh, honey,” she says with a heavy sigh, reaching out and squeezing my hand again, this time refusing to let go. “Do you really not remember?”
“Remember what?”
“When Zoey was six, she was very ill.”
“Of course I remember that,” I say with a grunt, frustrated that I’m still missing the point. “We were at the hospital with her all the fucking time. I’d sit in her bed with her playing her stupid girly games on the iPad. But she was just sick for a while, and then she got better.”
“You were only seven at the time and didn’t fully grasp what was happening,” she explains, a heaviness plaguing her eyes. “I was trying to shield you from the magnitude of what was going on. I didn’t want to tell you just how sick she really was, Noah. I didn’t want you to shoulder that burden so young. If you knew just how severe it was, you would have been the most heartbroken seven-year-old boy to ever walk the planet. I didn’t want to frighten you, and Zoey needed your positivity. I supposed I just assumed you would have learned all about it at some point.”
My brows furrow, and I pull my hand back from hers, curling my fingers into my palms. “What are you talking about?”
“Those times Zoey was at the hospital, honey,” she says, swallowing hard. “She was undergoing chemotherapy. She had cancer.”
“What?” I question, my whole body going rigid. “She didn’t have cancer. I know everything there is to know about her. I know her better than her own fucking parents. Even after being away from her for three years, I still know her better than anyone. I’d have known if she had cancer.”
My mind starts to whirl, memories of Zoey in her hospital bed, weak and connected to all sorts of machines. Sometimes she’d have to run to the bathroom and throw up, other times she was too weak to even lift her head before getting sick. Her mom and the nurses would quickly clean her up, but there were times like that I wasn’t allowed near her. I was pissed. They told me the type of medicine she was taking meant that I couldn’t be there, and I was too young to even question it. I wasn’t a doctor. I didn’t know any better, but I knew if they said it was helping Zoey, I would have done anything, even if it meant not being there to hold her hand. At times like that, I would FaceTime her instead. But childhood cancer? I would have known.
Not in the sixteen years that I’ve known her have I ever heard that word tumble from her mouth. Sure, every now and then her parents would mention the time she was sick, but they always talked about her being a survivor, being strong, and . . . a warrior.
Fuck.
I never even thought to ask because all that mattered was that she was okay. That she was healthy and strong and still smiling back at me. Her illness didn’t matter. It was in the past, and she kicked its ass. But cancer?
How the hell did I not know? Am I that fucking self-centered or just naive?
The horrendous realization has me tumbling out of the car, and I hurry up the path to the garden before throwing up everything in the pit of my stomach. Mom gets out of the car and walks around to the driver’s side to close the door I’d left wide open.
She makes her way up the path and moves in beside me, rubbing her hand over my back like she used to when I was sick as a kid. “It’s okay, Noah,” she soothes. “Zoey is okay. She’s been in remission since she was seven and a half and hasn’t stopped living since.”
The agony is too much to bear, and I drop to the sidewalk, bracing my head in my hands. “I stopped her living,” I say. “I stole three years of her happiness. How is she supposed to forgive that?”
Mom shakes her head, kneeling down beside me. “That’s for Zoey to decide,” she tells me. “But you’re never going to find out while you continue to hold her at arm’s length. She’s been through enough. Don’t continue to make her suffer. She wants to be part of your life, and I know you, Noah. You’d sooner lay your own life down than see her get hurt again.”
I don’t respond, not able to find the words or even figure out how to feel about any of this, and as I sit in agony, Mom makes her way toward the door, leaving me alone to deal with this overwhelming grief. She’s just about inside when I glance back at her. “What kind of cancer?” I ask, my voice coming out strained.
She gives me a tight smile, hovering in the doorway. “It’s called ALL. Acute lymphocytic leukemia,” she tells me.
“Leukemia,” I say, the word sounding so alien on my tongue. Of course I’ve heard of it before, but I never thought to do any research. I never knew I needed to. When someone hears the word leukemia, you automatically think the worst. “That’s blood cancer, right?”
“Yes. It’s an aggressive form of blood cancer that starts in the bone marrow. I’m certainly no doctor, and it’s been quite some time since I’ve looked over the facts, but my understanding is that due to some form of mutation, patients with ALL create an influx of cancerous blood cells, and instead of dying out as they should, they continue to grow and multiply, essentially crowding the healthy blood cells.”
I swallow hard and nod, itching to do some research and fully understand exactly what it is Zoey had gone through as a child while I sat beside her, fucking clueless, probably complaining that we couldn’t go outside and play.
“And it’s aggressive?”
“Yes,” she says, not willing to sugarcoat it. “However, Zoey had amazing doctors, and her symptoms were caught early on, so she had the best chance to fight it. She really is a warrior, Noah. She responded well to her chemotherapy, and after eighteen months, she was in the clear.”
I let out a shaky breath and nod, having heard what I needed to hear. “Okay,” I say, getting back to my feet and trying to smother the fear that pounds through my veins despite having nothing to worry about. This was all in the past. Nearly ten years ago. I don’t need to fear for her, and if she knew I was right now, she’d probably be pissed.
Zoey isn’t the type to use her battles as a crutch. She grows from her experiences and uses them as a weapon to draw strength. I can only imagine what kind of strength she’d gain from this. Like Mom said, she’s a warrior.
And me? Fuck, she’s so much stronger than me.
Glancing back at Mom, I blow out my cheeks, finally able to get a firm grasp on my control. “I, uh . . . I need to head out,” I tell her. “Don’t wait up for me.”
Her brows furrow. “It’s late,” she scolds. “Where could you possibly be going now?”
Digging into my pocket, I pull out my car keys and dangle them before me. “I have a car to go and find,” I remind her.
“Ah,” she says with understanding, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m not going to lie. I’m impressed that she managed to pull it off without getting caught. That Zoey certainly is full of surprises.”
She sure as hell is.
With that, Mom heads in, hopefully taking herself straight to bed, and I make sure the door is locked before turning on my heel and stalking down the street. Pulling out the pack of cigarettes hidden within my pocket, I quickly light one up and take a deep drag, the nicotine settling my system.
I never got around to asking Zoey where the hell she had dumped my car. That’s the whole reason I was in her room to start with, apart from getting my keys of course, and a part of me was disappointed. I thought she would have at least tried to hide them, but they were just dumped right there in the center of her desk. But once she walked in wearing nothing but a towel, every train of thought I had systematically derailed, and I suddenly couldn’t give a shit where my car was. But I didn’t need to ask anyway.
Like I told my mom earlier, I know Zoey better than anyone. Everything she does has been thoroughly thought through, so if she was going to dump my car somewhere, it would be somewhere meaningful. And where better than the one spot we used to say was ours?
The park.
It’s at least a fifteen-minute walk, but I really don’t mind. The fresh air is probably the best thing for me tonight. My head is a fucking mess right now. The kiss. Zoey’s comment. Leukemia. I don’t know how to handle it, but one thing is for sure—while the kiss was absolutely everything, and I’ve replayed it a million times over, I keep coming straight back to her cancer.
Despite it being nearly ten years ago, the overwhelming need to hold her plagues me, to reiterate that she’s okay and put me at ease, to apologize for not looking beneath the surface and digging deep enough to know what was really going on with her. But I no longer have the right. So, for now, I have no choice but to settle with my mom’s assurances that she’s better now.
Reaching the park, I quickly find my car in the deserted parking lot and make my way toward it while shaking my head, knowing damn well Zoey was the one to pull my windshield wipers up like that. I can just imagine the stupid smirk on her lips as she did it.
Walking around to the driver’s door, I groan at the lipstick on the window. Not because it’s there, but because of the picture of a hand she’s drawn, a hand that’s specifically flipping me the bird. I’m going to have to remember to scrub that shit off before school in the morning.
Unlocking the door, I’m hit with more of Zoey’s ridiculous little pranks, each one getting under my skin just the way she’d hoped they would.
Well played, Zoey James.
Well fucking played.
After sliding the driver’s seat all the way back and fixing the positioning of my rearview mirror, I close the center console and finally shove the key into the ignition. The second I turn the key and the engine kicks over with a deafening roar, my car comes alive like it’s fucking possessed.
“What the fuck?” I grunt, physically jumping as music blasts from the speakers while the windshield wipers fly back and forth across the windshield so fast that I fear they might actually fly right off.
The hazard lights flash, lighting up the space around my car, and I quickly get everything under control, turning down the music just enough to not burst my eardrums.
Once my heart is firmly back in my chest, I hit the gas, unable to help sparing a glance toward the park I haven’t been able to visit since the day Linc died. There are so many memories here with both Linc and Zoey, each one of them better than the last.
My heart aches for everything I’ve lost, and as I peel out of the park and back onto the main road, I force the thoughts from my mind and focus on the song playing through the speakers. It’s not one I recognize, and my brows furrow as I glance down at the screen.
It’s a song called Fall Out Of Love by Alessia Cara, and as I take in the heart-wrenching lyrics, I realize that Zoey left this song playing for a reason. Like I said, she doesn’t make a move without it being carefully thought through. And this right here is nothing but a message.
The singer asks when I fell out of love, but it might as well be Zoey’s voice blasting through the speakers. Every time the lyrics repeat, it hits me harder than the last. This is Zoey’s way of asking me when she stopped being my whole fucking world, but surely she knows I’ve never stopped loving her.
I was maybe seven when I realized I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, but I was around twelve or thirteen when that love for her really started to develop into something a little more serious. I didn’t just want to spend my life with her, I wanted to make her my whole world. I wanted to love her in a way no one ever loved before. I wanted to be her protector, the person who put a smile on her face, and the reason she woke up in the morning. And until Linc died, I was just that.
God. I wish I could be that for her again.
The song comes to an end, and as I sail through the streets, I find myself starting it over, because I’m nothing if not a sucker for punishment. I drive for another ten minutes, and when I come to a stop and stare out my window, I find it’s not my house I’m looking up at.
It’s Zoey’s.