Chapter 17
Noelle
I've been here for three days, and I still wake with a jolt every morning. I’ve got more questions than I can even begin to string together, but instead, I'm met with silence in the morning and sideways glances at night. I walk past Nik in the kitchen while pretending I’m not aware of every move he makes.
I fall asleep in the guest room, pretending I don’t want to know what he looks like on the other side of that wall.
I hate myself for these thoughts. After Dylan, I had one job to do. Be the best reporter I can. And if it wasn’t for my editor now, I’d still be floundering. She gave me the opportunity, and I took it and ran.
I have to keep running. There’s no time to look backward.
But when he brushed my leg with his thumb, I knew I was probably in bigger trouble inside this condo than outside of it.
Nik’s condo is spotless and quiet. It’s honestly a dream for me to write in. And the Greek touches around the house really make it feel like home.
Stupid girl.
Not home, but comfortable.
And since I’m comfortable with my VPN in place, I’m continuing to work, dig, and do everything I can to make sense of what's around me. Truth and research are how I live now; it’s how I decide where to go and how to respond.
I make my own assumptions from my findings.
Dylan told me I was too emotional and made rash choices, that if I was going to be a spectacular reporter, I needed to study facts and hard truths.
And he was right, especially when it came to him.
I’ve since learned and won’t make that mistake again.
Even though it seems that my control over things has slipped, I’m not afraid, and it feels safe here. I’ll give him that. There are no weird emails, no one has tried to grab me, question me, or drag me off like Rhett’s guys nearly did.
Still, I don’t sleep well, and I know I need to tell Nik about the picture in my email. If I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I need all the pieces, and I need him to know all my pieces as well.
Tonight, I step out of the guest room to grab water. The floor’s cool under my feet, and the city lights through the massive windows cast the living room in a soft, blue glow.
Nik’s already there, sitting on the edge of the couch in a T-shirt and sweats, barefoot, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks up when he hears me, something flickering in his expression that he smooths over quickly.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I should be asking you that.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like sleeping.”
I hesitate, then cross the room and hand him the extra glass of water I brought. He takes it without a word, his fingers brushing mine for half a second too long. I hate that I can’t tell if he’s doing it by accident or on purpose to get under my skin.
“Who does your shopping?”
He looks at me, taking a sip. “I have a standing order that comes weekly.”
“Rich people shit.” I scoff, and he chuckles. “Can we maybe get some candy. A soda or two wouldn't hurt you, ya know?”
“You got something against eating clean?”
“You may be an athlete, but us normal people need some sugar once in a while.”
His eyes narrow. “You need sweet. Got it.”
I sit down across from him, pulling my legs up beneath me. “You’ve been quiet today.”
“So have you.”
“Yeah, well. Hard to find conversation starters when the guy you’re living with might be an actual criminal.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Might be?”
“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
He turns toward me, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “That’s more than I expected.”
“I’m trying,” I say honestly. “I don’t think I’ve stopped trying since the moment I walked into this.”
His jaw ticks, like he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. Instead, he studies me. “I know it sucks and the moment was pretty abrupt, but you’ve handled this better than most would.”
“Yes, handling being kidnapped and told to quit my day job is working for me. Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
He laughs. “It’s true. And you need to stop saying you were kidnapped. I didn't throw you into a van. You willingly walked in here.”
I roll my eyes, but my chest tightens anyway. “I’ve been living with you for three days, Nik. You don’t know me. Keep your compliments.”
“There she is. The Pitbull reporter is back.”
“It’s the only way to be in this world. Take ownership of yourself and your surroundings. I’m after the truth, always, no matter the cost.”
“The truth can cost a lot.” He clears his throat. “But you’re safe here,” he adds immediately.
“I know that, but that’s not what I’m getting at.” He goes quiet. I watch his fingers flex against the glass in his hand. “I feel like I can breathe here and around you. Like maybe you really are the saint they all say you are.”
“Good. I’m doing my job then.”
“But then I remember what I saw at the club. What you won’t say.” What Trevor said.
He leans forward slightly, gaze locked on mine. “You want full transparency? That’s not something I can give.”
“I figured.” I’m quiet for a moment before saying, “I received a weird email last week. It was after those guys approached me on the street.” His eyes cut to me, and his lips draw into a straight line. “It was just a picture of me walking down the street.”
“Where were you coming from?”
Fuck. Now I have to tell him. “I had interviewed Trevor earlier in the day.”
“Gamóto.” He all but throws his glass down on the table; how it doesn't shatter is beyond me. “Motherfucker, are you fucking kidding me? You–”
“I told you I talked to him!”
He shakes his head and stands. “I know that, I just–Fuck, this is bad.” He walks to the windows, then turns to face me with his hands on his hips. “What did he say?”
I hold his stare. It’s now or never, Noelle. Tell him what you know to be true, even if you can’t prove it. “He said you threw that game.”
His eyes narrow at me, and a shadow seems to cover his face. “No, he didn't."
He didn’t deny it. “Well, not in all those words, but he did tell me to ask you something.”
He walks closer to me. “Oh? What's that?”
There’s something about the way he’s standing here, questioning me, like I'm in the hot seat. Like I'm the criminal in all of this. And I swear I won’t admit that he’s as handsome as ever doing it. “He told me to ask you what happens to the saint after dark.”
His jaw ticks. “I think you already know.”
I hold his stare, the air thickening with whatever is happening between us. I feel it, I just can’t explain it. My heart is racing, yet I'm unsure if it's fear or something else. “I know what I saw, but I can’t make sense of it.”
“I’m sure you’ll keep asking around until you figure it out.”
“He told me it’s a dangerous story to tell.” I gulp down my water, then place it on the table. He walks back over and sits opposite me as I ask, “Do you think he’s the one who sent the picture?”
“No,” he answers immediately. “Trevor isn’t that guy. He’s got no drive to do anything other than wake up and go to the field. If you couldn’t tell from your conversation with him, he’s happy in his small town, doing the minimum.”
“I think he’s still living under the shadow of whatever happened to him sophomore year.”
He scoffs. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Research is in my genes.”
“I’m not lying to you,” he says after a moment, his voice lower now. “I just haven't told you everything, for your own good.”
I don’t respond. I just look at him, because I don’t know how to answer that without giving myself away a little.
The problem isn’t so much that he hasn’t told me, it’s how much I want him to trust me to want to tell me.
I want him to come to me, and not just for this article.
The air continues to shift between us like it always does when we’re like this, too close for comfort.
I don’t know what it is about him; he captured me from the start, even though I didn’t want to be.
His cocky yet sweet attitude really caught my attention.
Nik leans in just a fraction. “I’m starting to think I was right and you really don’t hate me.”
“Oh?”
“You haven’t asked to leave since the first night you came here,” he says.
I look down. “I haven’t,” I whisper.
“Why?”
Because I don’t want to. Because some part of me feels safer here, near him, even with everything I don’t know. Because the way he looks at me makes the whole world slow down. Because maybe Sloane is right, and he’s not like Dylan at all.
Jesus, Noelle, don’t be so dumb. He’s not good for you.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I fire back, “You told me I wasn't safe out there. Now you want me to test it?”
He smirks and leans back. “Just making sure you're paying attention.”
I roll my eyes and stand. “And maybe I’m waiting to see how this ends.”
He watches me, nodding slowly like that answer means more than I realize.
The silence wraps around us again, heavier this time.
He rises from the couch, his eyes dropping to my mouth, and for one quick breath, I think he’s going to kiss me.
My heart kicks in my chest, wild and unsteady.
I don’t move, I don’t breathe, but my mind races with questions of ‘do I want him to? And what happens if he does?’ Instead, his jaw ticks, then he drops his eyes from me, and puts his glass down on the table.
“I’m gonna try to sleep,” he says, his voice quieter than before.
“Okay.” I’m left where I am as he brushes by me. He heads down the hall but doesn’t quite make it to the door before he pauses and glances back at me. There’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—something almost innocent about him.
“I’m not who they think I am, Noelle.”
I nod. “I know.”
He disappears into the dark, and I stand there alone in the quiet room, wondering if I’m still who I thought I was, too.