Chapter 3
Noah
I walk inside and see Ryan waiting in the foyer, leaning against a wall. He grins when he sees me. “Your bags are in your room,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “So, how’d that go?”
I give him a withering look that I wish would stab him. “I hate you so much.”
“Love you too,” he replies without missing a beat, handing me the bottle of water in his hand. “Nice reunion, by the way. Tense. Sexy. Dramatic. I give it an eight.”
“You’re actually evil,” I mutter, twisting the cap off the bottle. “You didn’t tell me he lived here.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Would you have come if I did?”
“No.”
“Exactly.” He smirks. “You’re welcome. You two need to sort your shit out anyway. It’s painful watching two emotionally constipated idiots orbit each other for years.”
I roll my eyes. “Ryan.”
“What?” he says, holding his hands up. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s time. You’re both adults now. Deal with it.”
“I don’t want to deal with it,” I scowl.
“Yeah, you do.” His grin softens into something almost sympathetic. “You’re just scared of what happens after.”
I don’t answer because he’s right. I always hated that about him.
He gestures toward the stairs. “Come on, your room’s up there at the end of the hall.”
The room is bigger than I expected, with more space than I ever even wanted or needed. The ceilings are too high, the windows too tall, and all the furniture looks new. It’s too polished for a place meant to house college athletes. It smells like cedar and something faintly expensive.
I would know. My mother’s house smells like this, too.
I’m busy unpacking the last of my things when there’s a knock on my door. My heart starts racing for no reason, but when Ryan steps inside, that anxiety turns to annoyance.
I ignore him when he casually leans against the doorframe, watching me. He always does that; he waits me out until I have no choice but to acknowledge him.
“You good?” he finally asks when I don’t give him what he wants, and I close my eyes, breathing out a long-suffering sigh.
“Define good,” I say, then turn back to my drawer and pretend it demands more attention than the conversation—or him. I know what he means, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to it.
Ryan huffs out a laugh, crossing the room to flop down on my bed. “You know what I mean.”
I shove a hoodie onto a coat hanger, keeping my back to him. “I’m unpacking, that’s all.”
“That’s not all, and you know it,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice even though I refuse to look at him. “You’re still rattled after seeing Moore in the driveway. Admit it—”
“I’m not rattled,” I cry out, whipping around to face him. “I just wish you had the fucking decency to tell me I’ll be living under the same roof as—”
“Why? So you could bail again?” he asks, sitting up, and his smirk slips. “So you could go live with your mother and have your life dictated through calorie rationing?”
The words land way too close to the bone. “Don’t—”
“No, Noah, you need this,” he interjects. “You two need to sort out your shit before you both lose your minds.”
I turn away from him and grip the edge of the dresser, my knuckles turning white. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Ryan. I can’t… You know how bad it got last time.”
“Noah…” he trails off, and I shake my head.
Picking up another shirt, I start folding and lining up ones I never wear. Pretending the order will fix something inside me. But Ryan doesn’t let me push this aside.
“You still feel it, don’t you?”
The silence that follows is heavy enough to choke me, and my hands pause mid-fold. I don’t want to answer, but the words slip out anyway. “Of course, I do.”
Ryan exhales slowly. “Then why the fuck are you so mad at me? Because I gave you something you wanted?”
My laugh is humorless, and I turn to face him again. “Wanted? You think I wanted this? To live under the same roof as him? To see him every goddamn day and remember every single thing I spent four years trying to bury? That’s what you call something I wanted?”
He watches me, calm in a way that makes me want to shake him. “You wanted him, Noah.”
“I can’t have him,” I snap, louder than I meant to. My chest heaves with every breath I’m trying to pull in, and I turn away, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes. “I’ll never be able to have him.”
Ryan is quiet for a moment, then asks gently, “Does that stop you from loving him?”
The question slices me open, and he knows it. “No, but what good does it do me to feel this way about someone I can’t touch? To want someone who’ll never—” I stop myself from finishing that sentence and shake my head. “I can’t, Ryan. Not with him. Not now, not ever.”
He gets up and walks over to me, placing his hand on my shoulder, squeezing once. “You don’t have to say anything, but stop punishing yourself for wanting him. You’re not wrong for it, you never were.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from unravelling.
“You don’t get it. He’s Damien. He’s—” I sink onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands.
“I can’t do this again, Ry. I can’t live here with him again and pretend I’m fine after he just left and went no contact. It’ll kill me.”
Ryan comes to sit beside me, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Or, it’ll save you.”
I lift my head and meet his eyes, noting that there’s no amusement playing in them. “You don’t know that.”
“Maybe not,” he admits with a shrug. “But I know one thing: you’re not over him, and he definitely feels something for you. And as much as you hate me for it, maybe it’s time you both stopped running from it.”
My throat tightens, and I’m unable to form words to respond to that. Damien feels nothing for me. Someone who can cut you out of their lives as easily as he did with me doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
But that doesn’t make it easier. It just hurts more.
I lean back on my hands, staring at the ceiling, and let out a shaky laugh. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Ryan grins, bumping my shoulder again. “Yeah, but I’m also your best friend, and someday you’ll thank me for this.”
I shake my head, smiling despite the ache in my chest. “Don’t hold your breath.”
He laughs, the sound easy, warm, and familiar. But it doesn’t change a damn thing. No matter how much I want to pretend, the truth doesn’t change.
I’m still in love with Damien Moore, and I’m not sure how I’m going to survive losing him this time.