27. Noah
27
Noah
H obbling through the door of my home, I drop my shit and stride through the house. Training was a fucking killer this afternoon. Liam decided he wanted to talk back to Coach, and as a consequence, we all paid the price.
My hand slips into my pocket, pulling out my phone, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m typing out a number I’ve tried so hard to forget.
Noah: That offer to make out in the back of my car still stands.
Zoey: Who’s this?
I shake my head, a shit-eating grin tearing across my lips as something squeezes inside my chest.
Noah: You know damn well who it is.
Zoey: Ahhhhh, the resident asshole. How could I have missed that?
Noah: You better not be changing my name to that in your phone.
Zoey: Too late!
Noah: So…back of my car?
Zoey: You need to work on your pick-up game. This is terrible! It’s a mystery how you have so many girls desperate for your attention.
Noah: A mystery? Have you seen my face? I’m fucking gorgeous.
Zoey: *Poop emoji*
I laugh as I slip my phone back into my pocket, knowing she has to have the last word. Otherwise, we’ll end up going back and forth until our phones die, and I’m not above sitting by my charger. Actually, neither is she.
My hand hovers at my bedroom door when I find myself turning around and taking the few steps back to the one door I haven’t pushed through in three years.
Linc’s bedroom.
Nerves settle within me. I don’t know what Mom has done in here. She may have emptied it out already, or I might be about to walk into a time capsule that makes me feel as though he’s still here. For three years, I’ve avoided this room as if it stopped existing at the same moment that Linc did. I’ve never found the strength to open the door and walk in, but over these past few weeks, especially after sitting with Zoey outside Mrs. Thompson’s office today, something clicked into place.
I don’t want to grieve for him anymore. I want to celebrate him.
I still feel an overwhelming amount of guilt for Linc’s death, and despite how Zoey feels about it, I will always shoulder the blame for what happened that day. I was his older brother. He was my responsibility, and in my own selfishness, I sent him away. That will always remain my greatest regret. Yet, Zoey’s faith in me and her ability to see who I am through the darkness has somehow managed to breathe life back into me. For the first time in so long, I feel as though I’m ready to face everything that happened that day and accept it for what it was—a tragic accident.
Sucking in a deep breath, I curl my fingers around the cool handle, and as I exhale, my hands shake. I slowly nudge the door open, and my eyes timidly shift around the room.
It’s so unbelievably Linc.
Everything is right where it was. His clothes. His messy desk. His empty glass sitting on his bedside table. And instead of feeling that crushing agony I always assumed would come, I feel peace. Happy almost.
I smell him in here, even after three years. I feel his presence, the good times and the bad. The divots in the wall from when our play flighting turned a little too serious. I can still see us racing in here, Linc screaming as I barreled in behind him, intent on whooping his ass after he talked shit about Zoey for the first and only time. He sure as fuck learned that lesson quickly.
Making my way deeper into his room, I scan over the crap on his desk, the things he’d been scrawling into his notebook. He was a bit of an artist, but not the good kind. He liked street art and was just shy of stealing a few cans of spray paint and tagging his name across the living room wall. He didn’t have the balls to actually graffiti a wall outside of our home, but I don’t doubt that it was coming. He would have taken Hazel to be his lookout, and the two of them would have thought it was great.
Among all the chaos of his desk, I see a photo half hidden under the notebook, and I pull it out to see the four of us. Me, Zoey, Linc, and Hazel. It must have been taken maybe six months before he died, and seeing the cheesy grin on his face now has a matching one spreading across mine.
I’ve gone out of my way not to look at photos of him, but seeing his face now . . . fuck.
I fall back onto his bed, clutching the photo like a lifeline as I sit at the end, my gaze locked on his face. God, I miss him so much. The hell we would have raised together, with Zoey and Hazel too. The four of us would have been the best kind of trouble. Then I never would have pushed her away, and things never would have had to change.
I hear someone at the door and glance up to find Mom leaning against Linc’s doorframe, looking in and watching me as though I’m about to break. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here since—”
“I haven’t,” I admit, not forcing her to finish that sentence. “It’s not what I expected. I thought it would feel different.”
Mom strides into the room, moving in beside me and peering over the photo in my hand. “He loved that photo,” she tells me. “He used to call you guys the four musketeers.”
My brows furrow. “Really? I don’t think I ever knew that.”
“Yeah,” she laughs. “He only said it around me. He didn’t want to risk not sounding cool in front of his big brother.”
A fond smile pulls at my lips, and I clutch the photo just a little bit tighter, loving that even after death, I’m still learning new things about my little brother. But he was right, had I known he’d called us that, I would have teased him relentlessly. Then he would have told Zoey, and she would have put me right in my place before forcing me to apologize. She was the glue that kept us all together—kept me together.
“Sounds about right,” I tell her before letting out a heavy sigh. “I wish I was better to him. He always wanted to hang out, and I always told him to go away. If I’d known, I never would have—”
“I know, my love,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulder. “But while you may have regrets, just know that Lincoln was the happiest little guy I’ve ever known. Even when you were busy with Zoey, he was still living life to the fullest. He had Hazel, and they got up to even more mischief than you and Zoey ever could.”
A barking scoff tears from the back of my throat. “Okay. Now I know you’re lying.”
“Say what you want, but right after that photo was taken,” she tells me, glancing down at the picture of the four of us in my hand, “Linc talked Hazel into shoplifting for the first time.”
I gape at her, not sure which part of that to pick apart. The fact that they shoplifted together, or the fact that she said that was their first time, implying it happened more than once. “How the hell didn’t I know that?”
“Ha,” she laughs. “Like I was about to put that idea into your head. Knowing you and Zoey, the two of you would have tried to outdo them and would have come home with a whole jewelry store and a convoy of police cars behind you.”
A stupid grin stretches across my face. She’s probably right.
“Oh, God,” she says with a heavy sigh, her gaze lingering on the photo. “I do miss the four of you together.”
My gaze sails over Zoey, taking in the wide smile she has for the camera, but when I glance at myself, all I’m smiling at is her. “I, um . . . I was wondering if we were going to head out for our usual Friday night dinner with Zoey’s family?” I ask, getting up and striding back over to Linc’s desk, sliding the image back under the notebook exactly where I found it.
“Huh?” Mom grunts, her face scrunched up as she watches me, a deep suspicion flashing in her eyes. “Why? I ask you to come with me all the time, and I get the same big whopping ‘No’ every single time. Besides, you’re well into the football season now. You usually head out to some ridiculous party on a Friday night.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, making my way to the door. “You’re right. Forget I asked.”
“Noah Ryan, you get your stubborn ass back here and tell me what the hell is going on,” she says, making me pause in the doorway and turn back. Then as I meet her curious stare, she prods a little further. “Why do you want to go to dinner all of a sudden?”
I shrug my shoulders and give her a stupid grin. One I know she can see right through. “Because Erica makes a kickass lasagna.”
Her eyes start to sparkle as if she’s figured something out. “Erica’s lasagna tastes like the cardboard box it came out of, and you know it,” she says, her gaze narrowing. “Unless there’s another reason you’d like to go.”
I press my lips into a hard line, trying to keep the smile from stretching across my face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“OH, NOAH!” she squeals before throwing herself at me, her arms flying around my neck and squeezing me so tight I think I might pass out. “About damn time.”
“Ugh,” I groan, rolling my eyes, but I can’t manage to wipe the smile from my face. “Come on, Mom. Be cool.”
“Oh, honey. I can’t,” she beams. “If you were raising a hellhound like yourself, you’d understand how good it feels to find out he’s finally falling for the one girl that can keep him grounded and out of trouble.”
“Laying it on thick, don’t you think?” I say, the laughter rich in my tone. “Besides, Zoey isn’t the same girl she was at thirteen. Maybe I’ll just drag her down with me.”
Mom is horrified as she pulls out of my arms and swats my chest, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s never been so happy. “You wouldn’t dare,” she tells me. “You’ve always loved that pure innocence about her.”
She’s right, I have.
She lets out a heavy breath before moving out of Linc’s room and closing the door behind her. “Come and sit down,” she says in a serious tone.
My brows furrow, and I follow her into the kitchen where she pulls out one of the stools at the island counter and demands I take a seat. I do so without hesitation, knowing I’d have hell to pay if I didn’t. After all, you don’t raise two boys without learning how to keep them in line.
Glancing up at Mom, I watch as she makes her way around the other side of the counter before pressing her hands against the marble and fixing me with a heavy stare. “I haven’t been the best mother to you over the past few years, and while I’m under no impression that you’re as innocent as I hope you to be, I think it’s time that we have this talk.”
My face scrunches, confusion quickly pulsing through my body. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She blows her cheeks out as though she’s never been so uncomfortable in her life. “When you’re with Zoey, you’re going to start having some urges—”
“Ugh, Mom,” I say, cutting her off, horror filling my veins. “Tell me you’re not about to have the sex talk with me. You should know I’m well aware of how it works.”
“Shut up and listen,” she tells me. “This is important. Zoey isn’t like the girls you’re used to dealing with. She’s not going to throw herself at you and ask for the things you’re all too happy to give. She’s a good girl, Noah, and I want to make sure that when that time comes, you’re mature enough to know the difference between wanting something and being ready for it.”
“I . . . I would never hurt her,” I say, reading exactly where she’s coming from.
“I know you would like to be the man she needs, but the truth is, while I know you’ve never hurt her physically, you have already shattered her heart once before and left her in a lot of pain. For women, sex is . . . very different than what it is for men. It’s an emotional connection. So, I just want to make sure that when you cross that line with her, you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
I nod, hearing every word, but honestly, when I think of being with Zoey, while I could only imagine how good being with her physically would be, it’s her heart I’m after. Anything more she’s willing to offer is a bonus that I will protect with my life. “I don’t want to break her like that again,” I tell her, feeling more vulnerable than I ever have before. “I hate myself for what I’ve put her through.”
“I know you do, honey,” she says. “But this is your chance to make amends, earn her forgiveness, and show her that she can trust you again.”
Mom turns and reaches for the top cupboard, grabbing a bottle of champagne as though this is some huge celebration, and as she looks back at me, her eyes are sparkling with undeniable happiness. “Oh, Noah,” she sighs, popping the cork. “You know how much that girl means to me, so if you’re going to do this, then you’re going to treat her like a queen. She’s already been through so much in her short life. She deserves nothing less.”
“I got it handled,” I tell her, saying each word like a solemn vow.
She finds a glass and fills it with a few ice cubes, muttering something about wishing she had some warning so that she could have chilled her champagne first. “You know,” she says, pausing and glancing up at me. “Why wait until Friday? It’s still early. Perhaps we could make dinner at Erica’s tonight.”
“Don’t jump the gun,” I tell her, flying up to halt her movements as she searches for her phone. If we’re not careful, Erica and Mom will have a whole wedding ceremony planned out. “Nothing’s official just yet. We’re just taking it slow, I guess. She’s still hurting after everything I did, and I have a lot to make up for before she can allow me back in like that.”
“Okay,” she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice as she gets back to filling her glass. “I suppose that’s fair enough.”
She takes a sip, and as I move around the kitchen trying to figure out what the hell we’re going to make for dinner, I catch Mom watching me a little too closely. “You’re staring,” I mutter into the fridge.
She lets out a happy sigh, and I brace myself for whatever bullshit is about to fly my way, but instead of professing her undying love, she crashes into me and flings her arms around me for the second time tonight. “It’s good to see the real Noah again,” she tells me. “I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe.”
My heart shatters for the hell I’ve put my mother through, and I realize that Zoey isn’t the only one I need to earn forgiveness from. Then wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze tightly. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to cause you so much hell over these past three years. I’ve just been—”
“Lost,” she offers, and honestly, there’s no better way to describe it.
“Yeah,” I say, holding her a moment longer than necessary. Only she doesn’t let go, she just holds on as though she’ll never know when she might be able to do it again. “Ahhh, Mom,” I mutter, gripping her shoulders and trying to peel her off me, but she holds on tighter. “You can let go now.”
“Shut up, and love me, Noah,” she demands. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you. Now wrap your arms around me and settle in for the long haul. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Well, shit.