Your Biggest Fan

49. NOAH

Chapter forty-nine

My body is on fire as I stalk towards Roxanne. She’s breathing hard, color high on her cheeks. That fiery, rebellious look in her eyes, and her full lips set in a hard line sets me off like crazy as it always does.

God, even in her rage, she’s stunning. It’s still as hot as the day she first told me to fuck off.

“You really think we’re not going to talk after everything we’ve been through?”

She clenches her fists and then opens her hands at her sides. “We never went through anything.”

“We went through a shitload,” I argue, still moving inch by inch closer to her. I put my hands on both sides of her waist to stop her from stepping back any further. “You can’t erase our history.”

Her eyes float up to mine. “And what history are you referring to?”

“Don’t play dumb.” My palms start rubbing up and down her waist, where I’ve wanted them all damn night. “You know what I’m talking about. Talk to me, Rox.”

“I don’t have to talk,” she hisses, sassy as always even as she shivers. “Especially not after you ditched me for another girl.”

I bring her against me. She makes a little surprised sound that shoots straight to my groin. Her hands come up to my chest like she’s going to push me away, but I catch her wrists and pin them behind her.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell her, my voice coming out in a rough growl. “But you love trying to make me mad, don’t you? You’re always looking for a reaction, trying to provoke me, to get under my skin. Well, congratulations, Rox. You’ve got my full attention now.”

“Good!” she snaps, her breasts pushing into me as she forces me a step back. “If I hurt your feelings, maybe you should grow a thicker skin.”

“You are the last person who should talk about thicker skin”—I squeeze one of her wrists in my hands—“I’m surprised at how little you feel given all the things that fly out of your mouth.”

She looks so astounded as she squirms in my grip, and the veins in my arms pop with every muscle that tenses under my skin.

“Let go,” she replies, but there’s no force behind it.

“You don’t want me to.” My hands slide down her wrists, lacing my fingers through hers. “I know how your body works.”

Something feral flashes in her eyes, a red darker than blood staining her cheeks. Then she’s kissing me, her lips hot and demanding on mine. I open my mouth to her and kiss her back just as angrily. Fuck everything right now, I want to devour her.

We’ll deal with yesterday later, the accusations and the misunderstandings. Right now, I think we both need to burn away the anger.

I grip her hips, my fingers digging into her, holding her tight against me. Her hands fist in my hair, tugging almost painfully as she pulls me closer, her breasts crushing against my chest. Spinning us around, I back her down one of the small alleyways between the units, pressing her up against the wall. She makes a needy sound and hooks a leg around my hip.

I grab her thigh, hitching it higher, letting her feel exactly how hot she makes me.

“I hate you,” she pants against my lips. Her fingers are at my neck, tugging me closer.

Sliding up her thigh, my hand reaches between us and I rub her through her leggings.

“Liar.” She’s soaked.

She whimpers, her head falling back against the wall as she rocks her hips against my hand.

“You’re so wet for someone you hate.” My fingers slip inside her pants to touch her where she’s so warm and smooth. “You want this as much as I do, don’t you? You want me to fuck you right here, up against this wall.”

She nods in response, her nails digging into my shoulders as I slide a finger inside her. I pump it in and out, groaning at the way she clenches around me.

“Say it,” I demand, adding a second finger. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

My other hand starts to pull at the buttons on her flannel shirt, needing to feel her skin, to lose myself in her body and forget about fucking yesterday. She fumbles with my belt, as I palm her breast, so heavy in my hand as my thumb teases her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra and every second she doesn’t say it feels like torture.

With a deft flick, I unclasp the center of her bra. The cups fall away, exposing her to the cool air. Her nipples tighten further, pebbling in the chill. I fucking groan at the sight.

“I want you to fuck me,” she gasps as I push knuckle-deep inside her. “Because this is the last time.”

With a growl, I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her towards the backseat of her car behind the units. We tumble inside and I slam her trunk closed, shoving aside chip bags and Pepsi cans.

I fumble my fly open and free myself as she takes off her leggings. I’m so hard it almost hurts as I grab a rubber from her console, tear it open and slide it on. Notching myself at her entrance, I rub the tip against her, both of us damn near crying at the contact.

Then with one solid thrust, I bury myself deep inside where I belong.

She feels incredible, indescribable, so tight and hot wrapped around every vein and ridge. Like heaven and sin, salvation and damnation. I start to move, thrusting into her hard and fast—the way I know she likes it. She meets me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling to take me deeper.

“You feel so good, RoRo.” I groan against her neck, my teeth scraping over her skin. She’ll have marks tomorrow, but I don’t care. I want everyone to know.

“Call me that again and I’ll knee you in the balls right now.”

Fuck, even her bossy tone turns me on like nothing else.

“Aw, but it’s so cute like you,” I taunt, snapping my hips against hers.

“Less talking,” she pants. “More fucking.”

“Bossy brat.”

“Harder,” she demands, her nails starting to claw through my sweatshirt. She brushes against several bruises, but it’s hard to notice the pain when the heat of her is staining me. “I want to feel it tomorrow.”

I comply with a slam into her that rattles the cans in the car, determined to make her come so hard she forgets her own name, and that nickname she hates so much.

Roxanne’s small hands shove against my chest and I let her force me down onto my back, looking up at her through hooded eyes. She straddles my hips, a wicked tilt to her mouth as she takes me in.

I can feel the heat of her, fuck , she’s scorching me and I’m not even inside anymore.

Leaning down, she claims my mouth in a brutal kiss. There’s no finesse, just raw hunger as her tongue fucks past my lips. I groan into it, my hands flying to grip the sweet flare of her hips. But she snatches my wrists, slamming them into the blankets by my head.

“Uh uh,” she scolds, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. The sting makes my dick jerk against her ass. “No touching. You get to lie there and take what I give you.”

Fuck, that tone. The dominance, the command. It shouldn’t be this hot, her holding me down like I’m not twice her size. I might be harder than I’ve ever been in my fucking life, leaking and ready to beg for it.

She rocks against me and my eyes roll back in my skull at the devastating drag of her on my aching cock. She licks a stripe up my neck before biting down, then reaches between us, taking me in hand, and notching the blunt head against her entrance. And then she’s sinking down— sweet jesus —enveloping me in slick scorching silk again.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I rasp, flexing my captured hands. I want to grab her hips, feel the roll and grind of them under my fingers as she rides me. “So goddamn tight, like you were made for me.”

“I was.” And shit if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

She starts to move, pleasure so sharp and devastating as she rises and falls, pressing all of her weight into my wrists. I snap my hips up to meet her, sinking deeper and deeper.

“Touch me,” she gasps, finally freeing my wrists to tangle her fingers in my hair instead.

Thank fucking christ.

She tugs, and my cock jerks inside her as I paw at her urgently, kneading her tits, her thighs, her perfect ass, relearning her curves that I want forever glued to my palm. I need more hands because I want to touch her everywhere at once. My thumbs find her nipples, hard little pebbles scraping my calluses, and she cries out so sweetly.

Her breathing grows ragged, followed by a high, needy whimper that makes my balls tighten. I slide a hand down her body, following the bead of sweat that chases down her skin between her open flannel, my fingers finding her clit and rubbing firm circles.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” she chants, her head tipping back as it always does right before I know she loses herself.

“That’s it,” I encourage her, pressure building at the base of my spine. “Take whatever you need.”

The line of her throat glistens, her ponytail wrapped tight in my fist as I tug her head back, muscles in her thighs flexing as she moves on top of me. She’s never looked more beautiful.

A few more grinds and she’s flying apart, clamping down around me in rhythmic pulses, throwing her hands down to the floorboard and throwing her tits right in my face. The sensation is too much and I follow right behind her.

We stay locked together as we come down, our harsh breaths mingling in the scant space between our mouths. Slowly, I release my bruising grip on her thighs and she swings her leg from around my waist, holding me down by the center of my chest while she slips her pants back over her legs.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she says after buttoning up her shirt. “I still hate you.”

I lean up to pinch her face in my hand and kiss her, slow and deep. “I’m starting to think you might not know what that word means.”

With a final nip to her swollen lips, I pull the condom off and tie it up, tucking myself back into my jeans as she pops open the trunk. We both climb out and I toss the used rubber into the dumpster beside the car. Now that the high is over, I turn slowly, my shoulders tight and ready to face her.

Except Roxanne is already storming back to our storage unit, looking pissed off but still massively turned on with her arms tightly across her chest.

There’s no way I’m letting her shut me out already.

“Roxanne, hold up!” I call out, chasing after her. I manage to catch up before she reaches our open garage, gently turning her to face me. The second our eyes meet, I know I’m in for it. Her eyes are hard and guarded, warning me that this is gonna be one hell of a conversation.

“We’re not done here. I know you’re dying to keep yelling at me, but before we get into everything, I need you to understand why I wasn’t here yesterday.”

Roxanne scoffs, her voice sharp. “Yes, please explain what was so unbelievably important that you couldn’t even pick up the phone.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. How do I even begin to explain the mess I’m in?

“Something came up yesterday. It wasn’t good.” I look away briefly, all that fresh pain underneath my skin rising up. “It was bad, Roxanne. Really bad. And now… my whole world has changed.”

“What kind of something could possibly change your whole world?” Though her words are angry, I hear that little bit of worry in her voice.

“It’s complicated.” I run a hand through my hair. “Let’s start by saying that I have a new home now. With Principal Phillips.”

Her brow ticks up. “Principal Phillips?”

“Principal Phillips,” I confirm.

“The same Principal Phillips that is in charge of our high school?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“You… moved into the principal’s house?”

I nod, knowing it sounds crazy. “I did.”

Roxanne goes quiet, her mind working out the details. When comprehension seems to dawn on her, suspicion creeps into her voice. “And all of this went down while you were with Wendy?”

I blink, thrown off. Wendy?

“I don’t want to talk about Wendy.” My jaw tightens. Wendy and her master plan don’t feel like the main topic yet. “I want to spend time with you and only you.”

I reach out slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, and take her hand in mine. Her skin is like ice against my palm.

“Please.” Some pressure releases in my chest as I let out a breath. “I want to explain everything. I need you to understand.”

But Roxanne snatches her hand back.

She looks so strung out, tense, and flighty as she sits on the horns of whatever dilemma she’s working through in her head.

“Noah,” she chokes out, those green eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, and I don't think there's anything I can do about it. “I called you so many times. I even went to your house. You were nowhere. I needed you so damn bad and I couldn’t find you anywhere and it was terrifying.”

Fuck. She’s really messed up over this.

“Roxanne, please.” I reach for her again, but she shrinks back against the closed garage next to ours, hugging herself tight to keep me out. “Don’t do this with me, please. I’m trying to do the right thing, but if you shut me out.” A lump lodges in my throat. I swallow hard. “We have nothing. We’re nothing.”

She’s shaking her head, but her eyes are blank enough that I know she’s trapped in her own mind, some dark place beyond me. Somewhere I can’t reach.

“My mom—” Her voice cracks around the edges. “She took everything. All the money I had saved up.” Her chest rises in a strong breath, lips pressed thin. “It’s gone. Every last cent. She used it to bail herself out after getting arrested for bad checks. Again .”

Before I can wrap my head around it, she steps forward, her small fists pounding against my chest. “And she took all my dad’s records and sold them!”

“She what?” I wrap my arms around her small body. She’s so cold, so broken. Like even the wind could blow her away.

This must have been what Chief Rollins meant.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t know.” Those records were her fucking world.

“How could you? You weren’t there.”

“I wanted to be.”

I squeeze her tightly, digging my nose into her hair to wrap my lungs up in her scent, but she smells different today. Nothing like her perfect gourmet self. Something else I can’t put my nose on yet. And she lets me hold her, until she doesn’t.

“You weren’t there,” she repeats in a wounded whisper. She shoves me away with her fists, swiping angrily at the tears on her red cheeks. “It’s unfair that I needed you so much when you were where? ” Her voice rises to a near screech. “Off screwing around with Wendy .”

The way she hurls Wendy’s name as a filthy insult, her face all twisted up in disgust as she steps closer—that shit stops here and now.

“First of all, screw you for even going there,” I bark back, my own emotions flaring up as I match her step. “Second, you aren’t the only one dealing with major shit right now, Roxanne.”

The words are out before I can bite them back.

Her eyes flash with hurt, then harden into green ice. “Well, by all means, enlighten me!”

A growl rumbles up from my chest as I crowd her space, backing her up against the garage until she’s trapped. I want those eyes to see the rage blazing in mine. Why is she acting like this?

“It’s got nothing to do with Wendy, alright? There were problems at home.”

“How do I know you’re not feeding me an excuse?” she shouts, tears still spilling down those cheeks. “Maybe you finally got what you wanted with me and don’t have the guts to admit it.”

She really thinks that little of me? I stare at her, watching her lovely face darken, the sun loud in her eyes now only for a different reason—she’s royally pissed off. At me.

But it’s the accusation that she thinks I’ve been slumming it with her, that she’s someone to pass time with that makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t believe this shit.

Before I can rein it in, I’m crowding into her space again, caging her against the garage door with my arms boxed in on either side of her head. The flimsy metal dents under my hands, putting us nose to nose.

“Is that what you really think of me? That I see you as a plaything for when I’m bored?”

I thought what we had meant more than that. I thought you knew the real me.

Rox ducks under my arm, scrambling away like I’m toxic. “No!” she cries, voice hitting that hysterical pitch that sets my teeth on edge. “No, it’s not. Not really. But you can’t drop a bomb like that—moving in with the goddamn principal—and expect me to swallow it without any explanation!”

She stands there shaking, chest heaving as she waits for me to explain myself. I look at her over my shoulder, the painful silence stretching between us like the fucking gulf. I blow out a breath for what I’m about to do.

“This is what happened.” Grabbing the hem of my sweatshirt, I tug it up with a wince.

Her eyes go wide, scanning the mottled purple marks all over my body and the gashes criss-crossing my ribs. I don’t hold it against her for missing my busted lip considering she’s barely looked at me since I got here. I could’ve shown up with a black eye and missing a damn tooth and she might not have noticed.

“And this isn’t even the worst of it. You should see my leg.” My nose wrinkles, remembering the sting as Phillips pulled out that first aid kit from under his kitchen sink, cleaning and bandaging the giant burn on the back of my calf for me last night.

I push forward, knowing I owe her the whole truth. “My stepdad did this. He beat the living shit out of me at the mayor’s dinner party after I tried to sneak out of it. A party he forced me to go to because Wendy asked for me to be there.” I add quickly, “Yes, Wendy was there, but she means nothing to me. I didn’t want to go, but Dennis didn’t give me much of a choice. And then...”

I suck in a ragged breath, dropping the sweatshirt. “I’m only crashing with Phillips temporarily because he was the one who stepped in and stopped Dennis before he could do more damage.” My voice cracks. “The whole reason I was trying to ditch that stupid party?”

Roxanne doesn’t take her eyes off my chest, a worry line deep between her brows.

“Is because I was trying to find a way to you, Roxanne. I swear.”

She’s processing, I can see it soaking into her. It’s a metric fuckton to take in. But she needs to understand—it’s not her fault Dennis caught me trying to escape and was already itching to teach me another “lesson.” He’d already been smacking me around for being alone with Wendy. He would’ve torn me apart the second we got home anyway, but going to see her was the only reason I felt strong enough to finally stand up for myself.

Dennis could’ve put me in the hospital, and it still would’ve been worth it.

I’m still watching Roxanne’s face, and I catch something. There’s this look, something in the way her eyes shift up to mine and her full mouth flattens. She understands.

“But, Noah.” She steps forward, fingers going for that necklace at her throat. “You didn’t call or anything before practice. My head took me to some dark places and I thought…” She looks away, but I can fill in the blanks.

“You thought I was off with another girl?” I reach for her by way of the necklace, tucking it back under her flannel. “You thought I went off with Wendy and didn’t give two shits about you the whole time?”

Her eyes drop, guilt written all over her face. “I didn’t want to think that, but that’s how it felt.”

“I called you multiple times and you didn’t answer, then I sat outside your house for hours. What about any of that says I was out on some date with Wendy to you?”

“I didn’t know, okay! It’s—I—when someone doesn’t let you or their best friend know what’s going on, doesn’t answer your calls, or... or shows up to practice like they don’t even care? You have to see how that looks!”

Anger starts to slide its fiery hands up my back. I should let this go. I need to let it go.

“So you completely abandoned all trust in me and decided that I was a complete asshole when really I was trying to be there for you?”

Roxanne flinches, a tear rolling down her cheek. Even seeing her face turn into a storm, I still can’t find the strength to drop it. Getting pissed isn’t going to help anything, but fuck . I’ve been through hell and back trying to get to her, risking everything to be there. And now it feels like it was all for nothing.

It kills me that she doesn’t seem to get that.

That tear drips off her chin, and twin emotions of annoyance and hurt beat behind my eyes. I hate myself for making her cry, but I hate myself more because she’s painting me like all the other scumbags at our school who only care about themselves. Haven’t these past months— weeks —together shown her what she means to me? What she does to me?

Yeah, we both had the worst fucking luck trying to catch each other at the right time. But to throw away this bond we’ve built over some missed calls and a skipped practice? That sinks its claws into my heart, overshadowing even the physical cut across it that stings when I cross my arms.

“I didn’t want to feel like you abandoned me,” Roxanne murmurs, her voice breaking as she rubs her fingers underneath her lashes. “I felt so alone and scared with all the shit hitting the fan at home, and then when you weren’t there when your mom told me you were with Wendy, I lost it. I freaked out and I didn’t know how to make sense of it.”

“My mom told you that?” I sound suspicious right off the bat, which makes me sound like a liar. It’s only because my mom looked like she was in no condition for talking, but I see the doubt in Roxanne’s eyes, and it fans the flames all over again.

“Yes, so what did you expect?” she snaps. “You said it yourself, you only like being in a band so you can woo the ladies. And we’re only friends, so why wouldn’t I believe it?”

I can’t believe she’s throwing my own words back at me from when we first met. I said that shit ages ago and what, now I’m branded for life? Incapable of change? Is that all anyone sees in me? Some joker, some flirt. A human punching bag.

Worst of all, she called me her friend .

God, I’m tempted to do something stupid, like try to make her jealous. To make her eat those words and rub them back in her face. Oh, why am I kissing this girl? Well we’re just friends, aren’t we Roxanne?

Even in my anger I wouldn’t. I couldn’t because I’m too goddamn gone for her. I only want her lips on mine, her body pressed close. And she has too much pride she’d do it back to me and we’d be in this new fucking game we couldn’t get out of.

“I’m tired of you calling us that.” I shake my head and huff a laugh, battling the burn in my eyes. “Do you not know who I am, Roxanne?”

Roxanne pushes back, retorting, “You’re Noah Jackson. The sexy, insufferable bastard that everyone can’t stop talking about.”

“I’m Noah Jackson.” Another step, and my words might sound like a threat but feel every bit like a vow as my voice drops. “The one who wants you.”

“Don’t.” She gasps once, then twice, the second breath bringing up phlegm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? Is it not true? You think I see you as just a friend? You think I’ve been doing all this because I want to be your platonic pal?” I grind my jaw and take another step towards her. “Do you not think I have any sense of loyalty towards you? That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”

I’m so sick and tired of people assuming the worst of me as if I’m only a no good street rat who only cares about chasing tail. I must be fooling myself, thinking anyone could ever truly know me. Trust me. Love me.

A fissure spread through my chest. I blink hard, shoving it all down when her face crumples as fresh tears spill over. I don’t know if I can do this right now.

She coughs again, this time harder, as she takes a step back. “Can’t you try to see it from where I’m standing?” Her voice cracks again with anguish. “My mom, she—she fucking stole from me, sold off the only pieces of my dad I had left, and then the one person I thought I could count on wasn’t anywhere. And then Riley, she—God, she manipulated everything…” Roxanne’s voice trails off, her eyes blinking fast. “She told me that she kicked me out and slept with Harley so I’d crawl back to her, broken and alone. I’ve lost so much in one day.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking up with eyes swimming in unshed tears. “I’m sorry for not knowing what was going on, okay? I’m sorry for doubting you.”

Sorry. It’s such a small word for such colossal damage, isn’t it?

Sorry doesn’t bleed. It doesn’t scream or shatter or claw against your body in the dark hours before dawn. Sorry is too neat, too tidy to patch up a gunshot wound.

Drowning where I stand keeps me from hugging her, but my heart wants nothing more if it’ll help her. She’s so goddamn beautiful, so heartbreakingly complicated. My blood threatens to overflow my veins as the anger still burns inside me, the pain flaring up with it, and I don’t know how to make it go away.

Yes, she’s been through hell. But so have I, with scars and wounds to prove it.

I heave an enormous sigh, letting my arms drop to my sides. “Roxanne.”

Her necklace has finally gone into her mouth, and I want to push my shit aside and hold her and exist until our demons dissipate like they did in the back seat of her car.

When my stepdad’s knuckle prints throb on my skin, all I feel is resentment. Like once again, I’m nothing and my pain doesn’t mean anything and it will be relegated to the background noise of someone else’s life story.

I’m so fucking tired of being drowned out.

I blink hard against the moisture in my eyes, neither one of us knowing what to say, our darkness swirling around us loud and huge like a cloud. I’m not sure if we can meet each other halfway with this.

God, I want to try.

“I get that you were scared, I do, but…” Words fail me.

I don’t know what else to say at this point.

My own stepfather nearly killed me. I had to run from the only home I’ve ever known and now I’m relying on a stranger for my next meal. And through that whole fucked up nightmare, Roxanne was the hands shaking me, telling me to wake up. The one person I trusted more than anyone, who couldn’t even trust me at all.

My eyes drift up to her soaked lashes, quickly taking me back to that rainy night when she stormed into my garage. “Look,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my eyes. “I get you are going through some majorly messed up shit too. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. But I don’t like you assuming the worst about me.”

More tears shimmer in those green eyes I love so much. I need her to stop crying before I set fire to her mom’s house.

“I didn’t want to get hurt again,” she whispers brokenly, and guilt plunges through my chest. I know exactly where her fear is coming from.

“I’m always here for you, Rox. You know that,” I insist, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know you have every reason to be cautious, but I’ve never bailed when you needed me before so I should have earned your trust.”

“I know,” she concedes with a nod. Shoulders slumping in defeat, she arches her neck back with a sigh. “It’s pathetic, I know. Letting my past control me like this.”

“It’s not pathetic.” I can’t stand to see her doubt herself. It breaks my heart. Hanging my head, I shuffle closer until the toes of our shoes are touching. “Everything’s so fucked up right now, isn’t it? With my living situation, your mom, all this shit we’re dealing with. It’s like the universe is conspiring against us having any peace.”

“You got that right.” She nods jerkily, hands reaching out to fist the fabric of my shirt as her bottom lip trembles. “I don’t want to fight with you, Noah. I’m exhausted. Exhausted of always having one thing after the other thrown at me. I’m fucking drained . But I’m also so confused, scared, hurt, and I don’t know how much more I can take. I feel like I’m drowning. Like everything’s falling apart, and I don’t know how to make it stop. And this”—her fist twists deeper into me—“It’s not making any of it feel better right now.”

“And this is not me.” I lower my head, watching her chipped red nails blend in with my shirt. “We’re both feeling the pressure, feeling like we’re not in control of our own lives. Both stressed and shit.”

Slowly, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest without even considering it. She comes willingly, melting into me as she always does.

“I’m sorry, Rox.” The tip of my nose rubs small circles against the top of her head. “I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me.”

“I’m sorry too. For assuming the worst before giving you a chance to explain.” She tilts her head back to press her chin in the center of my chest, the whites in her eyes so red against her wet lashes bobbing up. “I thought being with you would make it all feel better, you know? Like you could hold me and everything would be okay again. But it still feels like I’m suffocating, and I don’t know what to do.”

I feel the vein in my neck beat. I’m not a goddamn Band-Aid, here to slap on and make everything pretty again. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.

Shame floods me, hot and suffocating. I'm such an asshole. She’s not asking me to fix everything. She’s asking for some fucking support. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be for her? Be the steady hand that grounds her when everything else is going to shit? But how can I promise her that when I can barely keep my life from imploding?

I lower my gaze as the sidewalk cracks blur, squeezing my eyes shut. My hands are shaking, and the anger is still wrapped tight in my muscles, but I can’t let it control me. Not now, not with her.

“Do you think maybe we should end this?” she whispers, voice devoid of any hope when I don’t say anything. My heart starts doing double time. “Maybe we’re too messed up to do this right now.”

“What?” I ask sharply, pulling back to look at her. The tension floods back. I'd only just caught my breath.

End .

“How does that make any damn sense?” I’m fuming now. She’s trying to run away because she’s scared. Scared that I’m exactly what she’s seen before, because what she’s seen are shitheads who left, lied, and hurt her.

This isn’t how I envisioned trying to talk about yesterday.

I let go of her, but I don't move because that’s what you do when you care about someone. You don't run away when things get tough and you figure your shit out together. But when I look down at her, her face is so empty, the once vibrant green in her eyes now dull like she’s hanging on by a thread. Her shoulders slump as if the weight of the world is chipping away at her, bit by bit, until she’s a faded photograph worn thin at the edges that’s on the verge of crumbling to dust.

It fucking kills me to see her like this. I’ve not known her as long as everyone else, but from what I’ve seen she always raised a little hell and threw life a middle finger.

“Rox, you can’t mean that. Yeah, we’re both going through some seriously messed up shit, but doesn’t that mean we should be leaning on each other harder than ever?”

Roxanne worries her bottom lip, gaze skittering off to the side as she shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know, Noah,” she murmurs carefully toward the ground. “Look at us. We’re a mess. We can’t even have a conversation without it turning into a fight. I’m struggling as it is, so how are we supposed to keep each other afloat when we’re both fucked up?”

Goddammit . I’m letting the stress of everything get to me while this tough-as-nails girl in front of me barely keeps her head above water. Making her misery even worse. Crashing into her rocky shores with my emotional wreckage.

“We do it together, like always,” I push, stretching for a recovery I can't quite reach. “Unless you really don’t want me around anymore,” I hurry to add, hating how needy I sound. “If that’s how you feel, give me the word, and I’m gone.”

The fact she really could tell me to walk away from her makes my heart seize up in my chest. She’s become my home base. Losing her is unfathomable.

I draw tall when Roxanne’s watery gaze lifts to meet mine again, her beautiful face scrunched up as she tries to hide her vulnerability.

I’m about to say something to make her feel better, but this weird feeling nagging at me again on top of the stress makes me slide my hands into my pockets instead.

Something’s still off about her. She looks wrecked, her hair all matted and greasy, as if she hasn’t showered or caught any sleep in days. Her clothes are a wrinkled mess, and this stale funk has not stopped coming off her.

She doesn’t stink; that’s not what I’m saying, but the kind of grungy odor reminds me of the sketchy dive bars on the south side and it keeps scratching at my brain. I know that damn smell.

What is it?

My fingers concentrate on digging deeper into my jeans as that icky feeling spreads, creeping inside me like black sludge. Where the hell was she last night while I was freezing my ass off on her porch until 11 PM, wondering if she was okay? She smells like an average night at Lake Lickrage.

“Why weren’t you home?” I ask, and she blinks owlishly at me.

“What?”

“Last night. I waited for you but you never showed.”

She wasn’t home, and now she smells like…

Cloves.

She opens her mouth, but my question is already flying out. “Were you with Harley?”

If my fingers weren’t so distracted, I’d dig them into my mouth to rip my face in half so we could both be too blown away by that instead and pretend those words never existed. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Did I mean to ask her that, or did the demons in my head take over my mouth?

Her lips curl. “Are you asking me if I was out with another guy?”

No , fuck . “That came out wrong,” I backtrack quickly, tears filling my eyes hot and fast. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I know that Steph and Dani had a date, and if you needed a friend, I get it. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.”

The clarification doesn’t matter. The effect is instantaneous and devastating.

The smell continues to haunt my nose as Rox’s entire body goes rigid. Her eyes are round and shiny in her head as she stares past me at the garage. The air is charging with lightning, and the sky itself is holding its breath and waiting for the fallout from my idiot mouth.

Even though we said we’d weather storms together, I forgot that not every one is beautiful.

“I only ask because you smell like those cloves,” I squeeze out, distracting myself by thumbing at the ring on my finger. My heart continues to skip and then thump harder when her hands fall limp at her sides, and I don’t think Roxanne Wishmore is in there anymore.

“Fuck you, Noah,” she spits, her voice flat. None of that spark I’m used to.

Hearing those words… I deserve the cold way she’s looking at me as if I’m some kind of disgusting bug.

I need to get a handle on my own nerves because the last thing I wanted this day to be was shitty and dramatic, but I’ve done a stellar job of ensuring precisely that.

“Sunshine, that’s not what I—”

“Don’t you sunshine me.” She jabs a finger into my chest and starts to stride away. “The fact that you even asked, that you could even think for a second that I would run to Harley, of all people...” She shakes her head, a bitter laugh sounding across the lot.

“I was at Stephanie’s house because I didn’t want to be alone, asshole,” she throws over her shoulder, voice whipping through the air in a way that slices straight across my skin because I’m an idiot.

Stephanie never smells like cloves. Only two people in that school do.

Harley and Riley.

My hand scrubs at my face. Fuck, I’m an idiot. She was at Riley’s yesterday, which explains the lingering scent.

As I watch her walk away, my stepfather’s vicious words resurface, tightening the leather burn all over my skin. You’re just a piece of trash I’ve been stuck with . I brought you in because I had to, not because I wanted to .

I’m that same cowering little boy again, back pressed against the wall with my arms shielding myself, desperate for even the barest crumbs of affection and approval Dennis will never give.

I stare at her retreating back, wishing for her to turn around. To prove to me with one glance that I’m not as worthless as the welts on my skin made me feel.

She doesn’t look back. And Dennis’ voice keeps booming.

You’re nothing but a stain on this family. No matter what you call yourself.

The air catches high up in my throat, choking me like the leather strap as I rush for her.

“Roxy, hold up.” My unsteady fingers reach out to grab for the flannel on the back of her arm, latching onto her wrist. “I said that wrong, I didn’t mean that—”

“Don’t!” she growls, whirling around and wrenching her arm away. Her boots catch and she crashes backwards onto the ground, crying out as she falls elbows first.

My insides tear into pieces as she lifts her head, her face warming with embarrassment. She winces in pain, shaking out her right hand where she tried to catch herself, then swipes angrily at the dirt now smudging her leggings.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper quickly, cowering beneath her frustration. “I’m worried about you, and instead of letting me in, you’re shutting me out.”

My pain seems to give her pause. But then her lips curl in renewed bitterness.

“Well maybe I don’t want you ‘in’ right now!” she shouts, her fingers carving air-quotes that slice through me like knives.

I stare at her picking herself up, noticing the way she cradles her hurt wrist. The wrist I grabbed too roughly in my panic. Fuck. One more way I’ve caused harm without thinking.

The world around me starts to shift and warp. The storage units blur out, their usual outlines twisting into something alien in slo-mo. I'm eleven again, camped outside Dennis' study, my skin a patchwork of yesterday's “lessons.” The setting sun casts long shadows across the alley, turning the blue garage doors into shades of darkness—each one a shitty memory I want to forget.

It’s hard to breathe. I’m woozy and inhaling syrup instead of oxygen, molasses coating my lungs with each labored inhale, and I shake out the collar of my shirt, needing to fucking anchor myself to something real.

Impossible when the ground beneath my feet is turning into something unstable, as if the very earth is even sick of me and rejecting my presence. It's like I'm standing on the deck of a ferry crossing Puget Sound back in Seattle.

Seattle. Home.

The Space Needle pierces my mind’s eye, one big ass exclamation point on everything I’ve lost.

I’m losing my balance. Hands are starting to crawl up from the pavement to grab onto my feet like in Ghost and dragging me down into my own hell until I’m in some nightmare that keeps flickering in and out—Dennis’ eyes leer at me from a graffiti tag that spreads like a virus across the metal doors. Mom’s patented “you’re such a disappointment" frown drips down in watery gray streaks. My deadbeat dad is just a black hole in the mural, sucking in whatever scraps of light and hope are left as he slams the door on us for the last time.

The colors of them swirl and blend, forming words: Worthless. Trouble. Better off gone.

Each letter blends until it’s a bunch of angry shouts and accusations I can’t understand.

My hands shake violently, desperate for a real can, a real wall, the scratch of a pencil on paper—anything to express this shit that’s stuck inside my head before it tears me apart.

I’m sinking, sinking, sinking.

Sinking.

I brought you in because I had to, not because I wanted to. That sentence starts to beat in my head, in time with my pounding heart. In the end, Dennis might have been right. I’ll only ever be what he made me: nothing .

I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, Roxanne is back. But she looks different—harder, colder, as if my demons have touched her too.

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” I snap, my voice strained with an edge of panic I can’t entirely hide. “I left all of that, and for what? To sit on my damn hands and wait for you to let me in? Write you a fucking love song? I couldn’t even if I tried because you’d rather listen to your drums than anything I have to say.”

Daniel’s staring now, baring his teeth in that awkward frown-smile as he sits on the stool. Of course I’ve dragged yet another witness into the middle of my shit.

The shame burns my skin, a hot coal lodged beneath my sternum, searing my insides with each breath while I stare at Roxanne’s devastated face. Still, the stress keeps piling up, my blood fizzling with it and I hear my voice turn acidic.

“And you’re going to continue to avoid everything and take it out on your drum kit, right?”

That’s what Dennis used to do, except I was the real skin and he was the stick.

“Is that such a crime?” she chokes out, tears puddling across her lash line as she brushes dirt off the backs of her thighs. “There’s nothing wrong with hitting a couple of drums when I’m dealing with shit.”

The words reverberate through the empty space inside me. All I hear is the echo of fists on flesh, the crash of my body against a wall, the same words in my head.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I shake my head. “At the end of the day, you’re only bottling it up, distracting yourself while everything gets harder and harder to handle.”

“At least it’s an outlet,” she replies, bracing her sore palms on her hips. “We all have a way of dealing with things.”

Hysteria starts to explode through me. “Right, and your way is so effective. Tell me, do the drums talk back? Or are they just as good at avoiding problems as you are?”

Roxanne’s face hardens, her silence making the hot anger surge to protect the growing ache in my chest.

“Fine,” I bark, turning on my heel to stalk away so I can fucking breathe. “Go ahead. Go bang on your stupid drums all night then.”

“You know what? I will!” she calls out after me, and when I don’t turn around, she lets out a shuddering exhale. “And maybe I’ll bang something else, too!”

That does it.

I whirl back around, fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles pop. “Don’t do that,” I seethe, jabbing my finger in the air as I take a step towards her. “Don’t act like you want me gone, then pull me back in with that kind of shit.”

Roxanne’s mouth tightens, a fortress locking me out. She stares at me for three long seconds before looking down at some nameless object, remaining stubbornly silent and refusing to answer.

I’m fucking helpless as the time passes without her speaking. Powerless. There’s something profoundly wrong, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s fucking impossible to take.

I can’t lose her. I can’t. The rush of the adrenaline is fading too, and I’m starting to feel shitty. Real shitty. Because even if I lose her, I can’t stand us being at odds either.

But I don’t know how to fucking fix this!

The muscle in my jaw flexes as my words burn hot up my throat and pour out without any restraint from my own bottle cap, and I blurt out the ultimatum before I can stop myself.

“You’re angry at me, I get that. I’m not one of the best at keeping my mouth shut, but either we talk this out right now, or I fucking walk.”

I suck in a sharp breath and eye her, anxiously scanning for the tiniest shift in her stoic face as my internal sirens blare. Roxanne glances at me but quickly tears her eyes away from me to sigh down at the ground.

“I really don’t want to talk right now,” she mutters, her spine bowing, the corners of her mouth dragging down to hide any dip of dimples. “This is making me feel like shit.”

Like I don’t? I don’t know whether to let out the scream hanging at the back of my throat or fall into a million jagged pieces right here in front of her.

Jesus Christ. How much worse can my life get in an hour?

“That’s it, then? You get to decide we stop talking?”

“Why are you doing this right now?” she bursts out, her voice tight and high. “You’re the one pushing me to talk when we both know that’s going to lead to an argument. We’re already too worked up, it’s going to be a disaster. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret in the morning, or listen to you say something that will keep me awake for the rest of the night!”

“I’m doing it because we’re best friends,” I yell back, my own face tight.

Roxanne’s eyes well up with tears all over again. “Don’t you think I know that? It’s killing me too, but I can’t do this right now—I’m sorry!” She sighs, scrubbing her mouth with the heel of her hand. “But please, don’t be mad at me or make me feel bad for the way that I feel. I need to clean out my head first.”

I’m still shocked from her outright rejection, and even though I’m irritated, I see how weak she looks, the way she’s trying to protect herself. This isn’t only about me.

That sludge of despair creeps further, consuming more as a loud silence settles between us, a battlefield of emotions where neither side seems ready to wave the white flag. Too many demons on both ends, both of us too busy drowning in our own pain.

With a heavy sigh, I make a decision that has my heart bleeding in my chest, but I know this is the right thing to do. The only thing we can do.

“I’m not mad, but I am sorry,” I rasp quietly, gut twisting when those puffy eyelids open to me. I hope she understands how much I mean it. “I wish things were different. And…”

I wish we had met at a better time.

“I’m not mad,” I whisper to her one more time, and she grabs my elbow.

“I’m not either,” she says shakily. “But god, I wish I was.”

My heart jerks and I nod at her, then turn to Daniel, my brow twitching as I push my feelings down hard to tell him, “Practice is over, I guess. I don’t have the money to keep paying for the garage anyways, so...” I shrug one shoulder before I step over a rock and leave, leaving everything.

I’ll just get my shit tomorrow.

Space is best for now. Even if it kills me.

My chest breaks open as I walk toward the front of the storage place, tugging my bike off the wall and swinging my leg over the seat as my lip trembles. Savagely pushing the pain inside me down, I hit the gas.

I drive back the way I had come and keep my eyes on the white line on the edge of the pavement as I try not to imagine never coming back to this place. Not to imagine sitting on that couch inside the unit and passing smokes with Roxanne, not to imagine her calling my name and her soft warm arms wrapping around my neck, her wavy hair that had gotten longer tickling my throat as I smell the strawberry on her breath.

I drive forward, and as the growl of my engine blocks out my senses, the weight of her feels too far away.

It’s going to kill me and send me to an early grave, but with some space, some true separation to lick our wounds alone, I hope we can find our separate paths back from the brink of our personal hells. Maybe we need to learn how to save ourselves before we can save each other.

My fucking head is a void by the time I drag my worthless carcass to Phillips' front door. Every muscle in my body screams in agony, my heart a twisted knot of pain, while my gut gnaws on itself, starved and hollow. Not that I give two shits about any of that right now.

I barge right in, kicking my Chucks off near Phil’s shoe rack, and make a beeline for the couch. I stumble, collapsing onto my back, sucking in air like it's a limited resource.

Philly’s apartment is thick with the scent of old books, polished wood, and a hint of pipe smoke that lingers in the air, though I’ve never seen him smoke and am sure it’s the neighbors above him. There’s a worn-out rug underneath the wooden coffee table, with a few arranged books, and the wall above the couch is decorated with all sorts of framed photos. Mostly him in the army with friends.

I bet those were the good old days before a kid like me landed in his living room.

At least the couch I slept on last night is comfortable. A plush, slightly yellow, faded velvet, with a crocheted throw blanket draped over the back. Bookshelves line one entire wall to the left of the couch, filled with leather-bound books, paperbacks, and giant looking textbooks. A brass floor lamp with a fringed shade stands in one corner, constantly casting a glow on the leather armchair beside it.

Eventually, I can’t ignore my growling stomach or stare at his book spines any longer. I push myself upright and wander into the kitchen, zeroing in on the only semi-edible thing in sight—a box of Cheerios.

My hand cramps as I grab the cereal and drag my feet back to the couch, flicking on the TV. One by one, I toss the cereal into the air, catching each piece in my mouth as a way to pass the time while COPS numbs my fucking brain.

Hours pass in this purgatory until the jangle of keys shatters my fragile peace. Phillips stumbles in, his hair a disaster. He said he was meeting a "friend" for dinner and would be back late tonight.

A friend . I could read between the lines though. Yeah, I had one of those too.

The ones where the emotions feel pretend, but the fast racing of my heart was real.

I glance over, but I can’t keep my brows from wrinkling when his eyes lock on the charity case sitting on his couch. Reginald Phillips—which I learned is his real name—knows something's wrong the second he sees me.

“Kid?” His voice is as gentle as the step he takes toward me. “What’s wrong?”

That’s a loaded question, and a dumb one to ask considering he was there for most of it yesterday.

“Did Dennis find you?”

My shoulders hunch, and I know my face crumples as easy as a discarded candy wrapper. Dennis has not found me, or made any moves to find me, but I picture Roxanne gripping at her necklace while I yelled at her, her eyes looking away in fear, like she had to walk on eggshells or I’d jump off the ledge.

What have I done? I replay the argument in my mind, wincing at every word I flung at her. I know I’ve had a temper waiting to blow up, but I didn’t think it was going to go down that badly.

All the emotions I've kept inside me for so long came erupting out and I took it out on my best friend.I shift my weight against the couch, unsure what to do with my hands as I squeeze the cereal box harder.

The guilt and shame joining in remind my lungs that I don’t remember how to breathe. She seemed so unlike the blushing, laughing girl I know.

I did that to her. Me .

I scrub a hand down half my face while Phillips steps closer to me, holding his hand out like he isn’t sure how to approach me, and I keep begging the misery in my eyes to go away.

When did everything get so fucked up? I look down at my lap, wishing I could dig a hole in the floor and crawl into it like in cartoons. I wasn’t trying to hurt Roxanne, but she doubted me, and in her, I saw everyone else in my life who did the same.

I may have lost something truly precious today.

My fingers dig harder into the cereal box. Although I’d wanted her to see how her thoughts of me made me feel, everything I’d had to get through to get to her, hearing her tell me to fuck off only cemented what I had already realized.

I don’t give a fuck about the things in my bedroom back at home that I’ll never have again, or anything in that garage, because I am in love with Roxanne Wishmore.

My heart constricts knowing that I may never get to tell her that.

But she needs time, not more pressure from me. Breathing slowly, I divorce myself from everything outside this tiny apartment and I finally do what I’ve never done. I cry in front of someone—in front of Phillips. He had already started edging toward the couch, but he waits until I lean forward to catch me, one hand on the back of my head, the other a steady pressure on my back. It's awkward and uncomfortable and exactly what I need.