7. Noah - November
SEVEN
Noah - November
TRAIN WRECK - JAMES ARTHUR
The hospital doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and I hurried inside, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of activity pressed in around me, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. My eyes darted frantically across the lobby, searching for someone—anyone—who could tell me where to go.
At the reception desk, I stumbled over my words. “I’m looking for my friend, Dotty James. She’s here for Trent… …Trenton Akers. He’s in the ICU.”
The nurse nodded, her face calm and practiced. “ICU is on the third floor. She might be in the waiting area there.”
I didn’t even thank her before bolting toward the elevators, my breath catching in my chest. The numbers above the doors ticked up agonizingly slowly, but the moment they opened, I rushed out, scanning the hallway.
And then I saw her. Dotty. Sitting in the waiting room, hunched over with her face in her hands.
Alive.
Dorian had already told me she was okay—physically, at least—when he called to give me the rundown of what happened. But hearing it and seeing it were two different things.
It turned out her longtime stalker was the very person responsible for her mother’s hit-and-run nearly two decades ago. The truth was both horrifying and unbelievable, leaving her shaken to the core.
Seeing her in person, even with her flushed cheeks streaked with drying tears, sent a wave of relief crashing through me. The way she was staring blankly at the wall told me that, while she was alive, she was far from okay.
I slid into the chair beside her in the waiting room and could sense the worry radiating off her.
She’d held onto so much for so long, and now that the truth was out, I could see it taking its toll, especially with the way things ended. With her boyfriend, Trent, shot and fighting for his life.
Every second stretched as we waited, the minutes turning to hours.
“Have you eaten?” I asked, desperate to do something, anything, to ease her pain, ignoring my own in that moment. I moved my head to lightly rest against her shoulder and nudged her gently until her head lay against mine. Her blonde hair tumbled over my face, a faint reminder of her presence, fragile yet here.
“I’m not sure I can,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of us.
“Coffee then?” I raised a brow. “Since I know you are too stubborn to sleep.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed, a silent confirmation that she appreciated the effort.
“Sure…” she said. “That’d be nice.”
“You got it,” I said, and as she lifted her head, I stood.
I walked down the long hallway, memorizing the bright white speckled tiles along the way. I heard low cursing and banging as I rounded the corner and found Dorian’s head resting against the vending machine glass. He raised his hand and pounded again on it.
“Could anything else. Fucking. Go. Wrong?” he shouted, punctuating each word with a bang of his fist. Until the bag of chips finally fell to the bottom.
I paused for a moment, watching him, before I gently cleared my throat to make my presence known.
Dorian peered over at me, quickly trying to mask his emotions, but his bloodshot eyes and puffy face gave him away. Slowly, he bent down, pressing the small door to the vending machine open to grab the chips.
“You okay?” I asked, as I took cautious steps toward him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling sharply. “Yeah… I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tension in his jaw told me otherwise.
“Dorian…” I started, my voice trailing off.
His shoulders sagged, as if the world was pressing down on him. “What do you want, Noah?” he snipped, and the tone in his voice stung more than I cared to admit.
I don’t have time for this.
I walked past him toward the machine and fumbled with my spare change.
“Nothing. I’m getting your sister a coffee.”
There was a long exhale from behind me, followed by his voice—softer now. “Fuck, I snapped at you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I curtly replied, pushing the coins in and listening to the jingle as they dropped. I grabbed a cup, putting it in place before I pressed the button.
“No, it’s not. You didn’t deserve that,” he said. Though I couldn’t see his face, his voice dripped with guilt.
I turned then, catching his gaze. “You’re right. I didn’t.” I said, as the coffee started sputtering.
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut again, and pinched the space between his brows. “It’s just… I’m on edge. My best friend, basically my brother, is in there with a bullet in his chest he got protecting my sister. I can’t wrap my head around it, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve snapped at you. I’m just… scared.”
“Me too,” I murmured as I fed more change into the machine for a second cup.
He sighed. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do right now. Every time I try to think it through… my heads’ fucked right now.”
I took the coffees from under the spout, and, turning around, I spotted a small seating area nearby. I glanced at him and gestured to the chairs.
“Let’s sit,” I said, handing him his cup.
He gave a small, tired nod before turning and heading toward the chairs. I followed, setting the other cup down, and sat across from him. I didn’t rush him to speak, letting the silence stretch out as I waited.
“When you called me…” He let out a long exhale. “I knew something was wrong. I kept trying to tell myself it was nothing,” he said, staring down at his hands, fingers twitching restlessly. His jaw clenched, then he released another breath, more tense than the last. “But I knew.”
“I did, too.”
“I need to be there for her, for Trent, but I can’t sit in that damn waiting room, wondering when the next piece of bad news will hit.”
I instinctively reached over to grab his hand, and his fingers curled around mine. “No one expects you to have it all together right now. It’s okay to feel like this, to be lost in it all. You’re allowed to be angry, to be confused, and to not know how to process it.”
He stared at me, his gaze drifting over me before he pulled back, letting his head fall against the back of the chair. “I’m her brother, her twin,” he muttered, barely audible. “I should’ve been there to protect her. I’m supposed to have her back, but I let her down. I let all of this happen.”
I frowned, shaking my head. “You can’t blame yourself for some guy stalking your sister, or for Trent getting shot. This is not on you, Dorian.”
His gaze snapped to mine at the sound of his name. His throat bobbed before he pressed a hand to his forehead.
There was a weariness etched into his features, and something in the rawness of it all made him almost beautiful.
“But it somehow feels like it’s my fault.” He sighed. “I sound fucking crazy.”
The words escaped me before I could stop them. “Crazy? I don’t think you are crazy. If anyone’s crazy, that’s me. I mean, I’ve been dating a guy that’s being investigated by the FBI for God knows what.”
The words left my mouth without thinking, a blur of frustration and truth. But the second they were out, regret washed over me. Now wasn’t the time to unravel my mess.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, my voice softer now. “I’m not trying to make this about me. I just… I get it. Sometimes it feels like everything is spiraling out of control, and yet somehow, you are the one holding the strings.”
Dorian shrugged. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he said with a dry chuckle, his voice quiet but appreciative of the shift in focus. “Do you know what happened?”
“With John?” He nodded and I continued. “I was questioned for hours, but all I really know is that I’m in the dark.”
His gaze fell to the floor, lips pressed into a tight line as his fingers drummed restlessly on his knee. A sudden unease settled in my stomach.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning forward, my brows knitting together.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands fidgeted, his focus glued to the floor, evading mine.
Finally, he spoke, but his voice was taut. “I don’t think I’m supposed to say anything.”
“What do you mean?”
The last twenty-four hours were a blur, and I was trying to keep my head on straight. But now, his silence only fueled the growing fear that there was still more to come.
Dorian opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw working back and forth. A flush crept up his neck and spread to his cheeks, his eyes darting to anything but mine.
He shifted in his seat. When he finally met my gaze, it was only for a fleeting second before he looked away again.
“What aren’t you supposed to say?”
He still didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stood and paced, his footsteps fast and uneven.
I stood, following his movements.
My mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, each one conflicting with the next, pulling me in opposite directions. I couldn’t grasp on to anything solid.
His teeth clenched, muscles twitching before he exhaled slowly. “I… I’m not sure this is the right time…”
“Dorian, what’s happening?” I pressed.
He stopped, his shoulders stiffening as he turned to face me. His gaze locked onto mine as he gave me a small nod. “Do you know about the Marketplace Murderer?”
I could feel the blood rushing to my head. “The what?”
“The guy on the news,” he said quietly. “The one killing women across the country.”
I frowned, trying to piece it together. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“They think…” he hesitated before taking a deep, steady breath. “They think John’s the Marketplace Murderer.”
Suddenly, the world around me went still.
My mind spun with the image of John—a murderer? The disbelief sat heavy on my chest, cold and foreign.
My brain couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. In all the possibilities I came up with, this wasn’t even on the list.
“What? No. That’s—no, that’s not possible,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. His gaze kept me still, even as my world seemed to tilt.
“It is, unfortunately,” he said.
I refused to process the words, pushing them away like they didn’t belong in the same space as the reality I knew. I wanted to argue, to dismiss it, but the truth in his eyes held me there, my hands trembling.
“You’re lying,” I said, though my voice faltered.
He was quiet, apologetic even, when he answered. “I wish I was.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head forcefully. “No, you’re wrong. He’s… he’s not…” My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
“I don’t have the details,” he added. “But I know that’s why they questioned you. They think he’s involved. I’m not supposed to tell you, but you deserve to know the truth.”
Things with John had been rough for a while. I knew that. But this? This wasn’t what I’d expected.
It wasn’t that I thought he was perfect. Far from it.
Our relationship had always been a delicate balance—comfortable enough to enjoy our independence but still seeking each other’s company when we needed it.
I convinced myself that was enough.
I believed he was a good person.
But now? I wasn’t sure.
I knew his flaws—his temper, his distance. The times he zoned out.
He’d said everything was fine. Work was just taking over. I’d believed him.
But now… my stomach twisted.
Moments rushed back. Things I’d thought little of.
The way his moods shifted after work trips. Calm to restless.
Like wearing his shoes inside—a strict rule he followed religiously, except after those trips, when he’d casually leave them on as if it didn’t matter anymore. As if he was… letting go.
And I’d let it go too, assuming he was decompressing.
But then—his temper. Snapping over nothing. A casual word. A small mistake.
And it always came back to one thing.
Me not traveling with him enough.
I’d gone when I could. Summer breaks, holidays. But he pushed and pushed and pushed.
Why? Why did it matter so much? Was he trying to keep me close? Distract me from whatever darkness was inside him?
“I can’t… how is this possible?” The words seething out, too hot, too fast. I didn’t want to believe it, but the frustration welled up, burning through me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice strained. “I can’t let you stand here comforting me when there’s something you deserve to know—something no one’s told you,” he said, but it barely registered over the pulse filling my ears.
“No,” I repeated, as if saying it loud enough could push the nightmare away. I was supposed to be focused on Dotty, not caught up in the disaster of my own life. “This doesn’t make sense. This… this is wrong,” I seethed.
He didn’t back away, though. He stayed right there, his gaze resolute, letting me work through the mess of emotions tumbling out. I glared at him, even though I knew he wasn’t the one I was angry at.
“How the fuck is this possible?” I bit out. “No. No . There’s no way. How? How the fuck is this actually my life?”
His hands landed on my shoulders, steadying me as I fought to breathe. I felt his touch pulling me into the present moment. But my mind was reeling. I wanted to pull away, to push him off, as if distance could erase what he’d said, but my body didn’t move. Instead, I leaned in.
Dorian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, letting me fume. “I wish I had the answers…”
“What the hell even is the answer to this? You’re telling me my boyfriend has been killing people? Fucking murdering them and pretending like nothing happened?” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t expect you to have all the answers. You have your own shit going on right now. But I can’t… I can’t do this. I can’t deal with this right now.”
It was suddenly all too much.
The overwhelming rollercoaster of emotions slammed into me, sudden and all-consuming.
My heart pounded erratically, each beat a painful blow. The dizziness creeped in. I blinked, trying to clear the fog that was obscuring my vision.
The need to move suddenly overwhelmed me, some desperate attempt to work out the havoc inside me. The stark white hospital walls seemed to close in, each step making it even harder to breathe.
I paced, my mind fixating on one thing. Moving.
Moving.
I had to move.
I had to get out of my head. I had to.
He’s a murderer?
Someone I let in so close to me. Someone who could have hurt me, but instead was hurting other women?
Dorian’s voice barely reached me, though I knew he was close.
It didn’t matter. I kept walking, my feet carrying me mindlessly up and down the narrow corridor. Back and forth.
Suddenly, I stopped—frozen in place.
I tried to breathe, but my throat tightened. The world around me blurred at the edges, and the room spun. I reached out, gripping the back of the chair to catch myself. His voice still tried to cut through the haze, as Dorian’s hand brushed against my back.
But I struggled to focus, my mind a tangled mess of disbelief and terror. Thoughts raced through my mind, colliding and fragmenting.
Everything around me was muffled, distant, as though I were underwater, unable to make out the sharp details of the moment. I reached for clarity, but it slipped out of my grasp.
The image of John, his effortless charm, his smooth gaze, everything I knew about him now replaced by a sinister shadow I couldn’t reconcile.
The man who knew the most intimate details about me, who’d been by my side through all the messy, angsty years of adolescence—a murderer? Someone who could take lives for pleasure, then come home and act like it was just another day?
“Noah!” Dorian pierced through the fog, sharp and clear, pulling me back to the moment.
His hands were at the nape of my neck, instantly centering me in a way nothing else could. His touch was now the only thing keeping me from floating further into the panic.
My knees buckled, but he caught me.
“Easy,” he murmured, his tone calm, a stark contrast to the disarray in my head as he slowly lowered us both to the ground.
I was deeply tangled in John’s web of lies and deceptions without even knowing it.
Each breath came shallow and strained, as if unseen hands were slowly choking the air from my lungs—but Dorian was there, cutting through it all.
My body moved on instinct as he pulled me closer—his warmth anchoring me, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
“Noah, look at me.” His thumbs brushed against my cheeks, drawing small circles over my skin. “You’re safe,” he murmured. There was a storm in his brown irises.
An invisible vise gripped me, squeezing with every thought that threatened to unravel me.
“I… I can’t…” I whispered.
“Just breathe. Noah, I need you to breathe. Breathe with me.”
His words soothed the loud heartbeat in my ears. I pulled back and looked into his eyes. The calmness of them was comforting.
“Let’s breathe in. Are you ready?” He stared directly into me, completely calm.
I managed a shallow nod. He guided me, counting out the breaths, as he exaggerated each one for my benefit. “In, two, three, four.” I mirrored his motions. “That’s it. Good job.”
He was slowly bringing me back from the brink of hysteria, each exhale a thread weaving me back into the present.
After a few minutes of ragged breaths, the tightness slowly began to ease, and the room stopped spinning. He stayed by my side, breathing with me until I started to regain my composure. His patience was unwavering, his presence a quiet strength I hadn’t realized I needed.
And I drew on it. I selfishly took everything this man, who was fighting his own battles, was giving me.
His arms still held me close on the cold hospital floor, as his steady breathing gradually silenced my thoughts.
“I got you,” he said, both a promise and a reassurance.
His voice was a lifeline. I took another deep breath, this time feeling more stable, more in control. The darkness of panic continued to recede, replaced by a cautious calm.
Even after my breathing evened out, I didn’t pull away. His arms were the only thing keeping me steady, and for the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I felt safe.
I couldn’t explain why, but I did. It was something about him that made everything else fade.
And in that moment of weakness, I allowed myself to stay in the arms of a stranger that, for some reason, was exactly where I needed to be.
Our noses nearly touched, his gaze searching mine. There were so many emotions running across his face—concern, fear, empathy, and more.
After several minutes, I shifted, creating a small distance between us. Dorian let me go, but not before his hand lingered on my arm. A second too long, waiting for some confirmation I was ready, that I was okay.
“Thanks,” I whispered, breaking the silence, pulling away as I stood.
“Anytime.”
He offered his hand, his fingers brushing mine as he helped me up.
“I’m… sorry. That’s just a lot to process. I didn’t mean to lose it on you. You have enough going on today.”
“It’s okay, really.”
“This was not the day I had in mind when I woke up,” I said with a small, self-deprecating smile.
“Yeah, me either,” he replied with a weak smile of his own.
A long silence stretched between us, both of us standing there, unsure of how to move forward.