40. Noah
40
Noah
S he’s acting weird.
I first noticed it last weekend after she hurt her hip. She said she slipped and fell into the bathroom sink, but I know the exact way her voice shifts when she lies and the way she glances away, unable to meet my stare. But I let it pass, figuring she’ll tell me when she is ready.
But then she was off the rest of the weekend. Saturday she was mostly alright, but she kept drifting off like something else was holding her attention, and then Sunday rolled around, and she was like a stranger. She was frazzled, unable to concentrate, and couldn’t get a sentence out without forgetting what she was trying to say.
Her mind was somewhere else, and when she faked a yawn . . .
I’m still trying to convince myself that she wasn’t trying to kick me out. That’s not how we’ve ever done it. If she’s tired or wanted some space, she’s always been able to tell me. But is that it? Has she gotten so accustomed to me being away that she doesn’t need me around like she used to?
I’ve tried to give her space this week, testing the theory, only calling every now and then, not flooding her with texts, and a few times she’s avoided my calls and responded to messages with nothing more than a lousy one-word reply. The times I’ve actually gotten through and spoken to her on the phone, I’ve told her about my day while listening with a gaping hole in my chest as she gave me silence in return.
Something is up, and I need to know what.
If she’s hurting or something is happening at school, I want to know. Or if she’s finally realized that she’s too good for me and is ready to call it quits . . . Fuck. It would kill me, but I love her too much to hold on to her if she’s not happy. I want her to fly free, to be happy and filled with love, and if I’m hindering that, then I’ll let her go, but it’ll be the hardest thing I’ll ever do.
It’s Thursday afternoon, just after lunch, and despite my business class starting in twenty minutes, I find myself flying down the highway to get to her. It’s the longest fucking drive of my life, but I make it just in time, pulling into East View High’s student parking lot just minutes before the bell sounds.
I pull up right behind Zoey’s Range Rover, get out of my Camaro, and lean against the hood as I wait, never having felt this uneasy in my life. Just the thought that she could be done with me is fucking me up.
I knew a lot of things would change when I went to college, but never in a million years did I think this could have been a possibility. If I thought this kind of distance would have pushed her away, I . . . I don’t know what I would have done differently. I’m as close as I can possibly be.
By the time the bell sounds, I’ve more than convinced myself that Zoey is about to tear my heart right out of my fucking chest. Students begin pouring out of the school, and I keep my gaze locked on the doors, waiting more impatiently than ever before.
She walks out a minute later with Hope, both of them talking with their heads down, and the toxic part of me wonders if this change in Zoey is Hope’s influence. But Zoey seems to really like her, and I immediately feel like an ass for questioning it, but then . . . It wouldn’t be the first time Zoey has been wrong about her choice in friends.
Students gape at me, and it’s not long before my name sails across the school grounds. Zoey is halfway to the parking lot when her head snaps up, and just like always, her eyes come right to mine. She pauses, and for just a second, fear flashes in her eyes. It’s gone quicker than it appeared, but it’s just enough to make that seed of doubt expand until it’s turning into a raging storm inside of me.
She clutches her bag, and in a flash, Hope is forgotten as she hurries toward me.
I don’t take my eyes off her, barely getting a chance to push off the hood of my Camaro before she barrels into my arms, right where she belongs.
Zo nuzzles her face into my chest, holding on to me so damn tight that I hate myself for having to be away like this. “What are you doing here?” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet my stare.
My brows furrow, taking her in. She looks like she hasn’t slept all week. Her eyes look sad, devastated almost, and God, I hope like fuck this isn’t my doing.
I clench my jaw, nodding back toward my car. “Get in, Zo,” I mutter.
She doesn’t move, looking at me through a cautious stare. “But . . . my car?” she says. “Don’t you have to go back? I’ll need it to get back here in the morning.”
I shake my head. “I’ll stay at Mom’s tonight and drive you back here in the morning.”
She still doesn’t budge. “You have an away game tomorrow,” she says, so in tune with my schedule. “I thought you had to leave early to catch a flight.”
“It’s fine, Zoey. Just . . . fuck.” I turn away, walking back to my car door before finally glancing back at her. “Just get in my fucking car, babe. We’ll figure it out. But right now, we need to talk.”
That same fear I’d seen earlier flashes in her eyes again, and I know without a doubt that she’s thinking the worst, but I’m already too fucked up to try easing her fears.
I wait until she starts moving before getting into the car, and when she’s finally settled beside me, I hit the gas and get us out of here. I drive and drive, not knowing where the hell I’m going, trying to figure out how the fuck to bring this up. I don’t try to reach for her hand or take her thigh like I usually do, and every second of it tears me apart.
We make our way around the streets of East View, and when I pull into the familiar parking area of the park that’s become ours over the past seventeen years, I finally ease onto the brakes.
Neither of us move to get out of the car, and I can almost hear her heart racing in her chest, so in sync with mine.
I grip the steering wheel, needing something to do with my hands to keep from reaching for her and pulling her right into my arms, begging her to tell me that this is all in my head.
I feel her questioning stare on me, but I don’t dare look her way, knowing the second I meet those eyes, I won’t have the balls to ask her what’s been coursing through my mind all fucking week. My hand grips tighter on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, and as the pain rockets through my chest, I drop my head, unable to bear it for another fucking second. “Are we done?” I ask her in a gravelly tone, my voice breaking as a lump forms in my throat. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Zoey gasps, and within the blink of an eye, she scrambles across the center console and into my lap, straddling me as she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into her. “Why the hell would you ask me that?” she questions, a gut-wrenching pain filling her voice.
She sits back, meeting my stare, tears lingering in her beautiful green eyes. “Zo,” I say, letting her in and showing her my deepest insecurities, letting her see exactly what I’ve been feeling this past week: the rejection of her snubbed calls, the hurt of her distant conversation, the agony of her pushing me away.
Then reaching up, I push her hair back off her face, my fingers lingering a second too long. “Do you know that you have exactly four different kinds of cries?”
“What?” she breathes, searching my gaze for some kind of understanding.
“There’s the pained whimper when you’ve hurt yourself, like last weekend when you fucked up your hip,” I start, my fingers brushing over the bruise I know still lingers beneath her jeans. “There’s the trembling lip cry that you get when you’re watching The Notebook . They’re the two I always hope for when I hear you crying, but sometimes . . . it’s different. Sometimes it comes right from the soul, and that’s when I know you’re heartbroken or when I’ve done something to hurt you so deeply you can’t possibly hold it in any longer. And fuck, Zo, I’m the only one who’s ever made you cry like that.”
“That’s only three,” she murmurs, those silent tears tracking down her cheeks as her fingers knot into the front of my shirt—her nervous habit.
“The fourth,” I tell her, wiping the tears off her rosy cheeks. “I’ve only ever heard it once, and it fucking killed me.”
She nods, already knowing what I’m referring to. “The day Linc died.”
I nod right back. “That cry . . . That one gutted me. That’s the cry of someone who’s hurting beyond measure, a cry that not even I could have helped.”
Her gaze drops away, her bottom lip trembling. “I . . . I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”
There’s a nervousness to her tone, and I’d kill to be inside her mind right now, to know what she’s thinking, to know what quick assumptions she’s making of this conversation, but I also know her well enough to know that whatever’s going through her mind, it’s as bad as it gets.
My thumb brushes across her trembling lip, trying to soothe her as I feel myself starting to fall to pieces. “Because I’ve spoken to you every day this week,” I explain, barely in a whisper as I hold her saddened stare, “And while you’ve pretended to be interested in whatever mindless bullshit I was talking about, you sat on the other end, silently crying. Every damn time.”
Her eyes widen, and my lips pull into a soft smile, trying to let her know that I’m not mad. “You thought that you were being discreet,” I murmur, my hands falling to her waist, desperately needing to hold her, “but I can tell just by the change in your breath that you were crying.”
A deep shame flashes in her eyes before her gaze falls away, and I hate every second of it. She should never have to feel shame for something like that, all I want is for her to let me in. “This cry, Zo . . . This one is different,” I tell her, gripping her waist a little tighter as though she might just disappear. “It makes me uneasy because it means I either don’t know you as well as I thought, or that you’re hurting so fucking bad that you can’t even find the strength to share it with me.”
“Noah,” she cries, gripping my shirt tighter and falling into me, plastering herself against my body.
I reach up, my hand gently stroking the back of her hair because even in my own pain, I can’t stand the thought of hers. “You’re my whole world, Zo. If I didn’t have you, I don’t know what I would do,” I tell her. “I can’t stand the thought that there’s a part of you that you’re not able to open up to me about. Did something happen? Did I do something wrong that makes you feel you can’t confide in me anymore?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her lips moving against my neck. “I never intended to make you feel like that. You’ve always been everything to me, Noah. The only person I’ve ever truly needed. You know how much I love you.”
“So why the hell does it feel like you’re pulling away from me?”
She shakes her head. “It’s just been a really hard week, and hearing your voice just made everything feel so much easier. I didn’t realize you could hear me. It’s just . . . You’re my peace, Noah. Talking to you, even on my worst days . . . You make me feel as though nothing else matters, that no matter what, I’m always going to be okay.”
My lips press against her temple, and I breathe her in, my chest aching in a different way. She still needs me, more than ever, but she’s holding back, not able to open up and share whatever it is that’s been plaguing her all week. “Zo, please. What’s going on?” I beg. “If something is hurting you or bringing you down, I want to know. I want to help you. I can’t stand that I don’t know what’s going on with you right now.”
She pulls back, her hand still knotting into my shirt. Her eyes are wary, as though she’s deep in thought, warring with herself about something. “It’s . . .” she says hesitantly, pausing as her lips press into a tight line, and then I see the exact moment she decides that she’s not ready to let me in, and it fucking destroys me more than the thought of her possibly being done with me. “I just . . . It’s been a shitty week. I haven’t been sleeping well, and on top of missing you, school’s been . . . hard.”
There’s a level of truth in her tone, and I don’t doubt anything that she’s saying. It’s clear from the exhaustion in her eyes that she hasn’t been sleeping, but whatever this is, it’s so much bigger than whatever is happening at school, but I’m not about to push her on that. All I can do is hope that when she’s ready, she’ll be able to let me in. “What’s happening at school?” I ask. “Is it Shannan?”
She nods, glancing down at her fingers in my shirt. “Yeah, she’s been . . . it’s bad.”
“What do you mean bad? I thought she was leaving you alone.” Zoey winces as though my comment physically pains her, and I realize that for the past few weeks, she’s been sugarcoating everything that’s been going down at school to avoid worrying me. “Fuck, Zo. What’s she doing?”
She glances away again, that same shame seeping into her gaze. “I think the better question is what isn’t she doing?”
I curse under my breath, my jaw clenching as my arms tighten around her. “Zo,” I prompt, my patience quickly wearing thin.
She lets out a heavy breath before reaching across the center console and grabbing her phone from her bag. She unlocks the screen before pulling up a picture and turning it around to show me. My blood instantly turns cold at the photoshopped image of Zoey taking up the screen. She’s on her hands and knees, ass high in the sky as she looks back over her shoulder while touching herself. “This is only the beginning of it,” she tells me. “It gets worse from there.”
“Worse?” I grunt. “How the fuck does it get worse than this?”
“She had someone hack my phone, or I don’t know, maybe they stole it from my locker and put it back before I realized. But they took screenshots of our messages—the ones that are . . . you know, more than just flirting.”
“Fucking hell, Zoey. Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“Because you’re in college now. You have so much more to be focusing on,” she argues. “You shouldn’t be spending every minute of the day trying to figure out how to save me when you should be focused on training and classes. Besides, what does that say about me? That I can’t handle this on my own and need my scary boyfriend to come and protect me every time someone even looks at me wrong?”
“Look at yourself, Zo. You’re fucking miserable,” I growl. “I don’t want you to live like this. If something happens, you need to tell me. You need to let me fix it.”
“Noah—”
“No,” I cut her off. “You’re my whole fucking world. You are the other half of my soul, Zo. If someone is fucking with you, they’re fucking with me.”
Zoey leans into me, her forehead dropping against mine. “Please, Noah. For me, just let this go. You’re not there every day to make sure she stays down. If you step in, it’s only going to make it worse in the long run. I’m not responding to her, and eventually, she’s going to get bored and move on to her next victim.”
I don’t respond, and she holds my stare. “Please, Noah. For me.”
I shake my head. The thought of letting this slide goes against everything I stand for, but how the hell can I tell her no when she’s the one who’s at that school every day dealing with the fallout? “I don’t like this, Zo.”
“You don’t have to,” she tells me. “You just have to accept that I know what I’m doing and be there to hold me when it all goes to hell.”
“It’s the going to hell part that’s fucking me up.”
“I know,” she murmurs, snuggling into my chest. “I’m sorry. If I knew I was going to have you doubting us, I would have tried harder. I never want you to feel like that because when it comes to you and me . . . there’s no question, Noah. I want to grow old with you and have a bunch of babies. These seventeen years haven’t been nearly enough. But for what it’s worth, having you here now with your arms around me makes me feel like everything is going to be alright, that all that shit at school doesn’t even matter because, at the end of the day, I have so much to look forward to with you.”
“Ten more months, Zo. Ten more months and you’ll be at UA with me.”
She nods, and after having her in my arms for the last hour, her lips finally come down on mine, and with that single kiss, every last of my fears fade away. No matter what, at the end of the day, she has me, and I have her. And with something so fucking powerful, how could anything ever tear us apart?