Chapter 16 #2
But I want so badly to be a safe place for him.
I want him to feel like he can count on my love, always, because it’s not going anywhere.
It never did, even when we were apart. He was all I thought about, dreamed about, yearned for.
It hurts to see him hurting when I adore him so and the last thing I want is for him to suffer alone.
I drop a kiss on his shoulder and breathe him in as I tuck him closer to me.
He smells like he always does, comfortable and familiar and sensual, the lingering notes of his cologne—rose and spice—and whatever’s under that makes him, him.
“You did not deserve it,” I tell him. “Nothing you did warranted what Jordan did to you. Ever.” He raises his tear-streaked face to mine, and I wipe his cheeks with my thumbs.
“Did you tell Killian?” he asks me. “Does he know?”
I don’t lie to him. “It was an accident. When you were still out of it and I figured out you’d been given something, I called him and asked him for help. He knows more about that shit than I do, obviously. I didn’t tell him who I was asking for, but he figured it out.”
“And he believed you? About what happened?”
“Of course he believed me. He was worried about you.” Noel doesn’t say anything, and I add, “I truly didn’t mean for it to happen. I know he’s the last person you’d want to know.”
“Whatever.” He wipes his damp eyes on his bony wrist. “I guess that only makes two whole people who know. You and him.”
“You didn’t tell your friends?”
“Fuck no. What if they thought I was lying? Or blamed me for going out in the first place?”
“I can’t imagine they would.”
“No. You don’t get it.” He’s still rubbing at his face, and the mascara and eyeliner’s gone everywhere.
I silently hand him a tissue, and he blots at the smudges on his cheeks.
“Danika and Jamil…they’re good people. I love them.
But I’ve put them through a lot, too. I was a fucking miserable person to be around when I was with Jordan, y’know.
Because he made me a miserable person. We were constantly breaking up and then making up immediately, and it drove me completely insane.
They were always picking up after the fallout, especially Dani.
And I wasn’t much better after me and you ended things, either. So they’re sort of sick of my shit.”
“To the point where they’d think you’re a liar?” Some friends they are.
“I don’t know. Maybe. They might think I’m exaggerating, or just demonizing him because I hate him.
Besides, I’m not really supposed to drink on my meds, and Dani knows that.
She’d probably scold me.” He sniffles. “And Jamil would probably be all, wow that sucks dude—he’s not super open like that.
There’s just no point.” He tosses the crumpled, stained tissue into the wastebasket behind me.
“I can’t even tell them about you. They’d flip out. ”
I wonder if meeting them would make me less of a boogeyman in their eyes. Or maybe they’d just take me for even more of a creep. “That’s my fault,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Noel leans up and butts his head up against the side of mine. “I’m really glad you were there that night, Luca. I know I was a shit to you, but…I’m so glad you were there.” I can feel him smile, just a little. “And I’m glad you knocked Jordan the fuck out, too.”
So am I. For better or worse. For all that I’d failed him and hurt him, the mistakes I’d made, the one thing I can be glad about was being there.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me about this sort of thing. Anything, no matter what it is. I want to help you if I can. Or if you just want me to listen, I will. Whatever you want to do, I’m behind you a hundred percent. Just tell me how I can best support you.”
“Okay.” He nods, and it’s a hesitant gesture, brief. “It’s all gotta get better eventually, right? It’s going to stop feeling so fucking weird and awful. It hasn’t been that long yet. Since it happened. I just need to sit with it.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I think so. For now. Anything else seems like…too much.” He raises his face to mine. “Talking to you makes me feel better, though. Not as alone.”
I really hate the idea of Jordan getting away with it when we have evidence of what he did, but it’s not about me. I won’t take his agency away. “If that changes, tell me. If you want my help with anything, I’ll do it. No question.”
“Thank you, Luca.”
“Did you ever tell your therapist?”
“No…”
“It might be a good place to start.”
“Maybe.”
He’s unconvinced. And why wouldn’t he be?
Every authority figure he’s ever known has abused him and his trust. He got his BPD diagnosis from a court-mandated psychiatric evaluation, of all places.
So many people have failed him and then kicked him while he was already down, and I can’t even count myself as one of the few who haven’t.
It’s a wonder he’s even extending his fragile, battered trust to me at all.
It’s not something I particularly deserve.
But I do cherish it.
I turn his face towards mine and kiss him gently, and he returns it.
He’s gone from rigid to pliant in my arms, and when his tongue presses against my lower lip, my mouth yields to his.
I let him take whatever he wants from me, let him put his hands on my shoulders and push me down onto the bed, thighs bracketing my waist. My hands settle at his hips, thumbs caressing the bare skin just above his waistband.
And then he suddenly tenses and pulls away to bury his head in my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Tonight I was planning on having crazy kinky sex with you, but now the mood’s all off. I fucked it up.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “There will be a million other nights for the crazy kinky sex. Or the normal sex. Or whatever kind of sex, I’m not that picky. Plenty of time to explore all that.”
“Time?” He sits up and looks down at me, arms crossed. “I don’t know about that. Someone had to shoot one last load in their wife, after all.”
“So that means we can’t ever have sex again?”
“It means I don’t know when I’m gonna get to see you after the baby comes,” he says morosely, “so we need to get all the sex we can in now.”
I push myself up onto my elbows. “I cannot predict with any degree of accuracy what life’s gonna be like after my daughter’s born,” I say. “But you’re going to be as much a part of it as you want to be, assuming you don’t murder any random men in bars and go to jail forever.”
He manages a faint smile. “How’s that gonna work? You planning on moving me in?”
“Now that’s an idea.”
“No way. Demi would eat me alive.”
“I wouldn’t let her.”
“Whatever you say.” He slides off me to burrow at my side instead, and his face peeks up under my arm, imploring and adorable. He studies me for a long moment. “I think you were right. About the sex club stuff—I’m not sure it’s any good for me. Maybe we should give it a break.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
He nods. “You know,” he says quietly, “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who really sees me at all.”
I lean down and press my lips to his forehead. “I do see you,” I whisper to him. “All of you.”
And that’s all anyone really wants at the end of the day, isn’t it? To be seen. To be known.
The next day Noel doesn’t attend the rest of his conference—he’s feeling too shitty from the withdrawal, so I let him sleep in—and our flight back home that afternoon is uneventful.
No overly persistent leather daddies accost us, our airplane does not fall out of the sky in a flaming wreck and overall, withdrawal aside, Noel seems okay.
Quiet and introspective, but okay. It’s the best I can ask for after last night, I think.
The worst part is dropping him off at his apartment.
Neither of us are quite ready to be apart again, because it’s never enough, these moments we have together feel all too brief.
Strange to think how we were once living together as perfect strangers, and now we’re in love and apart more often than not.
We endure, I guess.
I help him get his luggage through the door and give him a lingering kiss goodbye. Before I turn to leave, he asks, “Do you actually miss living with me, Luca? Or do you like it better this way? Dating like normal. Having occasional sleep overs and whatever.”
“I miss it,” I say honestly. “A lot. I miss you.”
His answering smile is small. “I miss it, too. I just don’t want to look needy and obsessive.”
“No more than I do.” I nudge his nose with mine. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
I’m expecting a quiet and lonely drive back to Revere, and for the most part that’s true. I’m about five minutes from home when my phone starts buzzing in the cupholder and my truck’s display screen lights up, pronouncing the name of the caller: Dad.
I listen to my phone vibrate against plastic and debate on letting it go to voicemail. On the seventh ring, I press the touchscreen to pick up. “Hello?” I answer cautiously.
“When are you off this week, son?” he asks. No hi, how are ya, ti kanis or anything, and he sounds fucking terrible. His voice is sort of wet and gravelly at the same time.
“I’m not sure, I’ll check my schedule tomorrow. You sound wicked sick, by the way.”
He ignores my last comment. “You don’t know?”
“I’ve been out of town all weekend.” I hate how defensive I sound.
He doesn’t ask me where I went or why, or if I enjoyed myself. He expresses exactly no interest in my personal life at all. “Fine. Call me as soon as you know.”
Of course the pushy old bastard is making demands of me after ghosting me for weeks and siccing half the family on me. If he didn’t sound like he was in the throes of walking pneumonia, I’d tell him to fuck himself. “Alright.”
“I need to see you this week, Luca. It’s important.” He hangs up before I can tell him that it doesn’t seem like a good idea, and before I can dwell on it much longer my phone rings again, and this time the name that comes up on my screen is Killian’s.
“Are you home yet?” he says when I pick up.
“Flew in two hours ago.”
“Good flight?”
“We didn’t die,” I say. “What’s up? You’re still in Baltimore, yeah?”
“Driving back up tomorrow morning. Listen, I’m so sorry about last night. I really just wasn’t thinking about it at all, we do it all the time going out. I feel like I’m kinda responsible for Noel crashing out.”
“It was stupid, but it’s okay. I mean, he had a lot going on last night. I don’t think he’s mad at you or anything.”
“Should I call him and apologize? Oh wait—I wasn’t supposed to know about what happened.”
“The cat’s sort of out of the bag now.”
“Shit.” He sighs heavily into the receiver.
“I think give him some space. It’s not really something he wants to talk about at all.”
“I get it,” he says, sort of sadly. “Sorry again, Luca. It was bad looking out.”
I’m in my driveway by the time we hang up.
Amelia’s beyond excited to see me as I walk through the door, and Demi calls out a reserved hello from her office, but otherwise doesn’t come out to see me.
I peek through the doorway to say hi, but she’s on the phone, so I leave her alone.
I take the dog out into the backyard to throw the ball for her for a bit instead.
I’m suddenly and desperately lonely, without Noel.