5. Noah - November
FIVE
Noah - November
GASOLINE - HALSEY
My headphones blared as I attacked the kitchen floor with a mop, scrubbing away weeks of grime I’d let build up while Dotty was gone. Not only did she apparently keep my life together, but she also kept our house clean.
I needed a distraction, something to drown out the anger radiating through me. You’d think that my boyfriend would know better than to completely ignore me, especially on Thanksgiving.
Yet here I was, still holding out for a man who couldn’t even be bothered to send a text. For three days now. Over the last few months, our relationship had only deteriorated. I knew we were on the rocks, but I wasn’t even a priority anymore. I was something he picked up and put down whenever it suited him. With every ignored message, every brushed-off plan, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be in a relationship where I wasn’t constantly questioning my worth. One where I wasn’t a backup plan or someone’s second choice but truly seen and valued for who I was.
Instead, I was being ghosted.
I wasn’t just angry—I was exhausted.
Exhausted by the constant push and pull. The way John needed to control every decision we made and then turned cold the moment things didn’t go his way. My mind wandered over the cracks that started to form in our relationship.
Was this how it was supposed to feel? Was I imagining the distance between us? Or had it always been there, buried beneath the excuses I used to accept?
I shook the thought away. People were supposed to be together because they cared about each other… but I didn’t think we did anymore.
All relationships go through rough patches. Maybe this is ours.
But the nagging voice in the back of my mind wouldn’t quiet.
The truth was, John never truly saw me for who I was. He saw what he wanted to see—the potential to mold someone who fit neatly into the polished image he constructed for himself.
And I let him.
I let his smooth charm and sharp ambition overshadow the rifts that had formed early on in our relationship. His arrogance, the same confidence that had skyrocketed him to success in his career, became a cage for us, even if I wouldn’t admit it until now.
It suffocated any room for me to grow. Every decision, every plan, every little nitpick, even down to something as simple as choosing tacos over pizza.
My voice had always been secondary, my preferences an afterthought, if they were even considered at all. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t a big deal, but now, those moments were heavy.
I stopped and closed my eyes.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending that this was enough, that I was enough for him, or that he was enough for me.
The angsty Ellie Miles album was on repeat as I continued scrubbing and scrubbing at every bit of dirt and dust in the entire apartment, trying to calm my thoughts.
But it wasn’t working.
Suddenly, a thud, followed by two more in quick succession, boomed from the front door. It was loud. So loud, in fact, that I heard it even through my headphones, making me jump.
Quickly, I crossed the room, ditching my headphones on the countertop in the process. I wiped my sweat-covered brow as I crossed the small living space, taking heaving breaths as I opened the door.
I assumed I’d see my soon-to-be ex -boyfriend. What I did not expect to see was two federal agents.
The middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair flashed his badge that read Agent Roberts . The tense lines in his face were void of any emotion. By his side stood a short brunette woman who appeared to be in her late thirties, her gentle smile contrasting with the man’s cold demeanor.
She also flashed her badge, her eyes warm as she spoke. “I’m Agent Garcia, and this is Agent Roberts.”
“Noah Reid?” The way Agent Roberts’s tone was clipped and direct made it clear this wasn’t a social visit.
“Um… yes,” I replied, my hands playing with the edge of my sleeve.
My mind raced, running through every possible reason the FBI might want something from me. But I couldn’t come up with a single answer.
The woman, Agent Garcia, gave me a reassuring nod before she added, “Can we come in?”
I blinked, feeling thrown off balance, but I stepped aside without thinking. “Uh… sure?”
Agent Roberts stepped into the apartment first, his sharp gaze sweeping over the space, taking in every detail. His movements were calculated, deliberate. He didn’t even look at me as he strode toward the kitchen bar stools. He gestured to one of the chairs.
“Take a seat,” he said, leaving no room for argument.
I hesitated for a split second before obeying, perching on the stool. The leather was cold against my skin, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, my heart thudding in my chest.
“What’s going on?” I asked, the words tight, my grip on calm slipping.
Agent Garcia stepped forward, her tone softer but no less direct. “We are here to ask you about John Cunningham.”
John? Why did they want to know about John?
“Um… John? He’s my boyfriend,” I said. “I haven’t heard from him in three days.” My stomach twisted as the reality of my own words sank in. I swallowed hard. “He’s not… dead, is he?”
Agent Garcia’s expression didn’t change, but her response was quick, steady. “We don’t have a reason to believe that, no.”
“So… what’s going on then?” I asked, shifting on the barstool, my fingers gripping the edge.
“What can you tell us about him?” she asked. Her prior warmth was gone. It was the kind of voice that demanded honesty without a hint of aggression. Agent Garcia’s pen hovered over her notepad.
I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting together in my lap. “Well… He usually texts me at least once a day. Even when he’s busy, he keeps me updated.” My voice wavered further, threatening to crack completely. I felt a wave of confusion building, the knot in my stomach tightening as I forced myself to meet their unrelenting gazes.
I reached into my pocket, retrieving my phone with unsteady hands. Pulling up our text conversation, I turned the screen toward them, the faint glow illuminating the tension etched on their faces.
John
I may not be home for Thanksgiving.
Me
Okay… why not?
Can you at least let me know what is going on?
Are you really going to ignore me? What the hell is going on?
You need to call me. This is insane. You’re an adult John you can’t just ignore your girlfriend.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Agent Roberts asked, his tone measured.
“Monday when he left town,” I answered. “What exactly are you accusing him of?” I leaned forward despite the chill crawling up my spine.
Agent Roberts’ eyes narrowed, but then Agent Garcia stepped in. “We’re gathering information right now. His recent activities raised some… red flags, and we need to confirm a few things.”
“What kind of red flags? I’ve known John for half my life. He’s never…” My voice faltered. “I don’t understand.”
Garcia’s expression didn’t waver. “Sometimes, people hide things from the people closest to them.”
The next hour was a nonstop interrogation, their questions coming at me like a rapid-fire barrage. What’s John like? How did we meet? Has he been acting strange lately? What’s his schedule like? By the time they were done, the only thing they hadn’t asked was what side of the bed he slept on.
They handed me their business cards, their expressions cold as they reminded me to reach out if I heard from John.
My mind was already miles away. As the door shut behind them, I collapsed onto the couch, the reality of everything sinking in like a weight I couldn’t shake.
What the hell?
My boyfriend—the man I’d trusted for years—was being investigated by the FBI. The FBI.
Questions piled up, each one heavier than the last, with no answers in sight. Where was he? What had he done?
I was a public-school teacher, not someone who got tangled up with people on a federal watchlist. I’d known John for half of my life—or at least, I’d thought I had. Clearly, I only knew the parts of himself he wanted me to see. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
My heart pounded in my chest, fast and erratic. Without thinking, I grabbed my phone, tapped on Dotty’s name, and hit call. I needed her before I completely unraveled.
Nothing.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
John could be mixed up in the wrong thing.
Maybe drugs.
Maybe he was just embezzling money?
What the fuck, Noah? He’s just embezzling money? As if that made it any better?
I called Dotty again, to no avail.
As my thoughts entirely started to spiral—Dotty finally answered on the third try.
As her voice came through the line, my chest was tight, my breathing uneven, and my head a complete mess.
“Noah? Are you okay?” she asked.
“No. Not at all. I don’t know what to do. The FBI came.” My words came out fast and sporadic. “They were asking me questions, and I’m so confused and scared. Apparently, John’s mixed up in something. They wanted to know where he’s been, but I haven’t spoken to him in days. I don’t know what to do.” Tears slipped down my cheeks. “Dotty… What do I do?”
“Okay. What do you need? What can I do?” she asked. Her urgency was palpable through the phone.
It hit me—today was her first big holiday in Woodstone in ten years. I didn’t want to taint her day. And with that realization, a wave of guilt washed over me.
“Shit, it’s Thanksgiving. I can’t ask you to come back. I just… I needed to talk to you. I’m freaking out here.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll book the next flight. We’ll figure this out,” she assured me.
We hung up, and I spent the next fifteen minutes obsessively Googling what it takes to get the FBI to investigate you. Every search result confirmed what I already knew.
This was bad.
Like really bad.
What if he’s already in jail? What if he’s hurt? What if he is actually dead?
I thought of all the little things I’d brushed off over the years. His cryptic work trips, the times he’d disappear for hours with barely an explanation, the locked drawer in his desk I never dared to question.
The thoughts spiraled, crashing over me in never-ending waves, each one more terrifying than the last, until it felt like my head was going to explode. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, the world around me blurring as the fear took hold. Every possibility led to another, worse than the one before, until all I could feel was dread tightening its grip on me.
My phone buzzed again, jolting me from my thoughts, and I answered. “Hey,” I said, fighting to keep my tone even.
“Dorian booked me a flight that leaves in less than two hours. I should be there before nine. I’ll take a taxi to the apartment,” she said. Her words were steady, carefully measured, but I caught the faintest hitch at the end, like she was barely holding something back.
“No, I’ll come pick you up,” I insisted.
“Okay, but what exactly happened?” she asked. Her voice was quieter now, like she was afraid of the answer.
“I don’t even know… But it’s bad. John is being investigated. He left for his work trip the other day, and I haven’t heard from him since. This morning, the FBI showed up to question me.”
“What did they ask you?”
“If I knew where he’s been. I don’t even know what he’s being investigated for. They wouldn’t tell me anything,” I said, frustration mixing with the helplessness I couldn’t shake.
“I’ll talk to Colt,” she said quickly. “He might not have much sway, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Thanks, Dotty.” The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. “I hate that you’re coming back under these circumstances, but… I’m really glad you’ll be here.”
“Me too,” she said on a deep sigh. “I’ll send you my flight details once I finish packing. See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I said before the line died with a beep.
The stillness around me hit harder than before. I dropped the phone onto the table, staring blankly at it, willing my thoughts to make sense of everything.
But they didn’t make sense.