Chapter 28 Mile High Trust Fall
I’m still awake, my knees pulled to my chest, my chin resting atop them, when the sun casts gray light through the window. In the silence brought by dead of night I cycled through a myriad of feelings.
Guilt was first.
The way Noah walked out after explaining how he’d tried to give me everything I asked for kept refreshing over and over.
Then I thought about how I’d react if someone I was sleeping with, even on a casual whim, forced me into a day spent with Axel.
The weight of that reality nearly ground me into dust.
Anger was next.
How could I continue to put people through this? Especially people like Noah who have done nothing but try despite my silent brooding and refusal to explain.
And finally, softer than the other but no less powerful, is the soul crushing sadness sitting against my chest like a cinder block. Sadness that suffocates any vision of the future with the knowledge that I might have missed my chance. He tried and I still shoved him away with no explanation.
After dressing and smoothing my curls as much as I’m able, I take my bags out to the main part of the house.
The blankets Noah used the first two nights are folded neatly on the edge of the couch.
We only have about an hour before we have to leave for our flight, but he is nowhere to be found.
I brew a pot of coffee, the silence in the house deafening.
I drink it alone, sitting at my usual place at the counter, dreading seeing Noah this morning. Will he be angry? Indifferent? Maybe since this was all supposed to end this weekend he’ll be fine—returned to his professional role.
He doesn’t give me enough time to gauge it. With only twenty minutes before we are supposed to meet the Barkers for a quiet goodbye as they resume the second day of their festival, Noah comes in, fresh off a run, and heads straight into the bathroom.
Figuring it’s just as well, I gather my things and head out to wait on the porch. When he emerges, dressed and with his bags clutched tight in his hands, he doesn’t look at me before crossing the garden and making for the main house.
Indifferent it is.
Our goodbye with Cheryl and Tom is emotional, Cheryl making sure to send us on our way with a few bottles of the wine we shared on our first night here.
“Thank you. It’s been a pleasure.”
She tugs me into one of her Chanel scented hugs, her hand running a frantic pattern across my back. “Our pleasure entirely. It’s been so fun having you here and you’ve been so incredibly helpful. I don’t know what I would have done without you yesterday.”
Stepping back, she flicks her gaze to Noah before continuing. “Make sure he brings you back. I can tell it’s been good for you both.”
My cheeks burn knowing not only is a return trip more than unlikely, this trip wasn’t all that good for either of us. With one last squeeze she steps over to hug Noah, and Tom smacks me on the shoulder, offering his other hand.
“It was a treat meeting you, Charlotte. I hope we’ll share a bottle and a few laughs at Noah’s expense again soon.”
I force a chuckle, fully aware of the weight of the words as I say them. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
They stand in their driveway, waving at us like parents seeing their kids off into the world as the car winds down and away from the house. The empty seat between us echoes the metaphorical space—the hollowness that’s followed us all morning.
Our transition to the plane is just as strained, our interactions limited to speaking with the flight attendants as they introduce themselves. Noah won’t even look at me.
As we rise up into the clouds, I finally clear my throat and reach for something safe to talk about.
“I think we still have that meeting with marketing tomorrow afternoon. If there is anything you want me to add to the agenda, just let me know. I wasn’t sure if you and Tom discussed anything that didn’t get relayed, but I think it would be good to have everyone on the same page.”
He laughs, but keeps his eyes trained on the window. “On the same page. Right.”
“Excuse me?”
Finally, he looks up at me. I want to be relieved but the hurt and anger mixing on his features doesn’t give me any room to breathe.
“So that’s it? Back to business as usual?”
My insides twist. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He sits back against the seat, his face stoney. “I want you to tell me how you can remain so unbothered by all of this.”
“I’m not unbothered. I’m honoring the terms of our agreement.”
His jaw clenches. “Right.”
The cloud of sadness I’ve been bound by all morning evaporates under a hot flash of anger.
“You promised.” His face falls as a different, softer frown works its way across his features as I continue. “You promised me that this was safe. The other night. You promised.”
My voice breaks under the last of it, but he doesn’t soften further. Instead, he matches my spar.
“You mean the other night when you were clearly panicking about more than Tom’s fucking speech but wouldn’t let me in? I was trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Clearly.”
The flight attendant, a woman named Maggie with velvet features and a soothing voice comes by, pausing our argument.
“Just wanted to let you two know we’ve reached cruising altitude. It’s safe to move about the cabin.”
“Thank you,” we both say, in unison as she sways back towards the front and swishes the curtain closed. It’s a silly show of privacy, but Noah takes it as reason to continue.
“Just answer one question. One question and I’ll let it be.”
I look at him, neither agreeing nor refusing.
“Did this really mean nothing to you?”
I grit my teeth against the answer that nearly falls out without prompting. Of course this didn’t mean nothing. But I can’t tell him that now. What good would it do?
“I don’t owe you anything,” I say, unclicking my seatbelt. “We had an agreement, and if you want to pout like a child because I’m trying to honor it, that’s not on me.”
I stand and move towards the back of the plane, aiming to hide in the bathroom until I can compose myself, maybe until we land.
But before I reach it, Noah is at my back, prompting me into the bedroom I’d noticed on our first flight.
The door clicks shut and he spins me around, pinning me against it.
I should fight him, but I’m frozen by the way his eyes are burning and his jaw works against the unsaid.
My words are barely more than breath between us, my heart pounding against my chest.
“What are you doing?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t.”
He reaches to brush some hair off my cheek, his voice more tender than ever. “Can’t or won’t?”
I pinch my eyes closed and reach up to shove him back.
“Let me in. Please.”
It’s the ‘please’ that does it. Every stitch of my self control comes unraveled and before I even open my eyes, I’m leaning in to kiss him.
His hands find my face and he holds me, tender and kind.
I nearly bite him in my pursuit of the kiss but he doesn’t let it deter him.
If anything, it makes him more aggressive, his tongue pushing deeper into my mouth, like he’s trying to catch the words I won’t say—to taste them before I pull back again.
Knowing this might be the last time we do this, I do my best to memorize every second.
The way he presses against me, as if he wants to melt into my essence; the contrast between his stubbled jaw and his buttery lips against mine; his hands formed to my body as if they belong there.
All of it beautiful and reckless and threatening to break my heart.
I push back against his chest, and as if he knows it’s a test, he presses into me further, his knee sliding in between my legs.
“I’ll stop, but you have to say it. Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
I know he means it and for a split second I consider pushing him harder—breaking this like I know I should.
He’s too good and wants too much. But right now, with his body wrapped around me as he forces me to face each of the feelings he’s digging up, I don’t care.
His hands are sliding under the edge of my t-shirt, his fingers pressing into my skin like he’s trying to brand me with them.
My back arches, and I match his hunger, ready to end this—whatever it is—on a high.
“Don’t stop.”
He slides his hands down and makes quick work of dropping my leggings off my hips before tugging me further into the room.
Pushing me towards the bed, he doesn’t stop until the edge of it hits the top of my pelvis.
Wordless, Noah palms my back and presses down.
It’s a test, a grab for dominance, and as much as my old wounds want to win, I lower until I’m bent over completely, supported only by forearms and vulnerable to his touch.
My desire to fight him on anything is crumbling, and even more frightening is the reality that I don’t want to.
I’m tired of fighting and reaching for this place with Noah, even if only a heated goodbye to our dalliance seems right.
His hand traces down my spine and cups my ass cheek.
“I told you I liked your ass all the time,” he murmurs.
“This is still being propped up for show.”
The sound of his zipper and the quiet rip of the condom wrapper is the only answer to my breathless quip, and anticipation curls low in my belly.
In the next moment, Noah steps up, one hand guiding my hips into position, the other sliding up and curling into my hair.
He tugs the fist full and I gasp, my scalp tingling as arousal shoots through me.
This primal dominance is new from him, and I find comfort in his taking what he wants.
It’s exhilarating and I wonder, in the split second before he enters me, if this is what I’ve been looking for.
As he pushes in, slow and steady, he’s the epitome of control.
I try to drop my head, to use the mattress to muffle the moan my body is begging to let loose, but his fist stays tight in my hair, keeping me in a constant state of tension.
The hand holding my hip curls forward, wedged between my pelvis and the edge of the mattress, a finger feathering deeper and adding another impossible layer of pleasure.
His speed increases, but not enough—as if he’s claiming every ounce of control. I’m doing everything I can to adjust my hips, to press back into the feeling, but he continues to tread the impossible line of apprehension, savoring each gratifying second.
“Faster. Please.”
He tugs on my hair again and I yelp, forgetting for a moment where we are and who is on the other side of the door.
The lapse accomplishes what I need it to though, for the next thrust is harder and faster.
Dropping his hand from my hair, both of them now holding my hips, he uses his fingertips to press delicious divots of pain into the soft flesh.
I moan into the mattress, and his voice ripples out—strained and desperate.
“Fuck.”
It’s pure depravity, the thrusting and fighting to be both closer together and at a distance. Every hardened emotion I’ve been carrying rises and falls as he fucks me, his efforts breaking my wall down further and further. His hand slips to my front again, teasing and tickling as everything builds.
For the first time, we come together. My fingers curl into the thin blanket as my knees buckle and Noah holds tight against me as he pulses; our breath is jagged, but somehow in tandem.
He collapses against my back, and I make to move out from under him, but he rolls off me, keeping his arm looped around my middle.
“Not yet.”
Like his plea to let him in, I can’t fight it. Instead, I shift fully onto the bed and let him curl himself around me as clouds float by the tiny window. Lying here, the last of my strength melts away and I know I have to find a way to explain.
“It didn’t mean nothing.”
Noah presses his face into my hair and breathes his response. “I know.”
I could leave it here, and he would probably take it as the end. Admitting it all meant more answered his question, and I know him well enough to have faith in his promise to let it lie.
But for the first time since the one who broke me, I want someone else to understand.