Chapter 12
Ziggy paused in the doorway of Noah’s bedroom, mug in hand, and stared at Noah.
The morning sun filtered through the open shade, cascading light across his body.
When the sun came out, mornings on Whidbey Island could be so beautiful.
Even when the sky was filled with clouds, or that watery haze that this part of the world was known for, there was nowhere else she’d rather be—especially when he was in her life.
Noah was still asleep, rolled to one side, back to her, with one arm thrown across the empty side of the bed where she'd been an hour ago. His hair was tousled more than usual, which didn’t surprised her, considering how late they’d gotten in—or rather—stumbled in.
He seemed to sleep just fine all night, although his snoring woke her up at seven.
And Noah didn’t snore often. At least, not that she knew of.
She'd watched him sleep before. A few times, five years ago, when she’d pinched herself that Noah Chase had finally taken notice.
And then again, once or twice on the ferry home after a particularly brutal broadcast week.
But this was different. It was as if his arm was in search of something—in search of her—but he’d given up and simply left it where the warmth of her body had been.
That’s what she wanted it to be. And maybe it was. Or maybe he had just rolled to his side like most normal people did.
The last week had been hell, and it didn’t seem to be letting up. And yet, last night at Jag and Callie's, she'd watched something in Noah loosen in a way she hadn't seen in years. While he’d always been relatively relaxed around her family, he always kept a slight distance between him and them.
Last night, it was as if he’d welcomed them into his world, and he’d accepted the invitation into theirs.
Noah had sat on the floor with the kids.
Rolled around with them like he was the only one in the room.
He’d fed Cooper a bottle, something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him do.
He’d read to Stephanie, Steve, Holden, and Skye—all at once and managed their questions while they climbed on him like he was their newest plaything.
He'd also been different toward her this past week. Every other time his father had cast a shadow over things, Noah's instinct had been to pull away from her. To retreat and spend time alone.
She'd watched him do it enough times to recognize the pattern. This week, he hadn't done that. Instead, he'd reached for her. She was still getting used to being the person he pulled in, instead of the person he pushed away.
Noah stirred. Stretching, he reached slowly toward the headboard and blinked open his eyes before groaning at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“A little before nine,” she said.
Another groan as he rubbed his temples. “Not sure I’ve slept that late since I was a kid.”
“How bad’s the hangover?” she asked.
"Mild." He turned, fluffed his pillow, and winced. "Maybe medium." He closed his eyes again. "Possibly significant."
She laughed, crossed to the bed, sat on the edge and handed him the mug. “Black. Strong. Maybe a little stronger than normal, but you need it.”
“Any possibility there’s a little something extra? You know, like the hair of the dog?”
“Not a chance.”
He took the mug with both hands and drank like it was the only thing standing between him and whatever fresh hell was happening in his head.
"That's what happens when you mix the wine at dinner with the tequila on the patio," she said. “And try to keep up with a fly boy who still thinks he’s twenty.”
“That man has a stomach made of steel,” Noah said. “But the tequila shots were Jag's idea."
“Callie texted and told me Jag got up and went for a run at seven.”
"Jag's a machine." He took another sip of coffee and set the mug on the nightstand. “But it doesn’t mean he’s not hungover.”
“That’s true. He’s probably slightly dying. If I know my brother, he didn’t run. He went to the diner for greasy hangover food.”
“Oh, god. That sounds delicious.”
“I’ll make you an egg sandwich in a bit.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll get up shortly, shower, and make it myself. It’s not that bad.” He reached out and traced her lower lip with his thumb. "I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."
"You were laughing at my expense."
"I was laughing at Stephanie." He propped himself up against the headboard. "I'm sorry, but the fact that she’s decided I'm too old for her, and she was willing to give me her blessing to date you was just hilarious. And she was so serious about it all.” Noah lowered his chin. “Noah, I’ve decided,” he said in a sweet, soft voice. “And I know this might be difficult for you, but I can’t be your girlfriend. You’re better suited for Auntie Ziggy. I’m fine that you date her.
” He smacked his palm to his forehead and then groaned. “She’s only four. Just a baby.”
“Don’t tell her that.”
“Yeah, but where did she learn to talk like that?”
“Oh, I’m sure she had a little help from her parents,” Ziggy said. “At least, about us, so she didn’t burst into tears if she saw us holding hands, hugging, or kissing.”
“Skye thinks you’re gonna have a baby because you kissed me.”
Ziggy’s heart pitched, and her stomach rolled. That wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. “Skye thinks everyone’s having a baby.”
“That’s true.” Noah reached for his mug and took another long pull. “I can’t believe how many times your dad tried to get someone with the last name Bowie to name their kid David. It’s crazy. What that poor kid would suffer through life with.”
“Seriously? Because going through life with the name Ziggy Bowie wasn’t traumatizing?” She rolled her eyes. “And Ziggy is my actual first name. Not a nickname. Not shortened from anything. Just—Ziggy. My mother used to tell me to be grateful my middle name isn't Stardust."
Noah laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny. And I love your name." Noah said. “Ziggy Elizabeth Bowie.”
"You're the only one."
"I'm the only one whose opinion matters." He reached out, took her hand, and held it. "I love you,” he said. "And I understand if you're not ready to say it back."
She looked at their intertwined fingers. She’d found herself doing that a lot lately. But now, thinking about all the reasons she hadn’t said the words, she realized they were all stupid. "It's not that."
"You don't have to explain—"
"I want to." Although, she wasn’t sure any of it would make any sense—the more she thought about it, the less it made sense to her. "It's hard to put into words exactly.”
“I get it. I don't want to push—”
“You're not.” She'd stopped trusting her heart to men long before she'd ever met Noah. "You’ve made it so easy to fall into this. We just stepped back into something that’s always there, and the last five years were just a thing that happened in between. But I need a little time to catch up."
“I can’t change what I did. I can only say I’m sorry I hurt you. That I want to be better. Do better.
“I know. But because I've loved you for so long, saying it out loud makes it real in a way it wasn't before. And if it's real, it can be lost. And I don't think I could come back from losing it. Losing you. Not again."
“I feel the same way. Just know that I would never intentionally hurt you," he said. "I know that doesn't erase the last five years. But I'm in this. I want you and only you. I haven't wanted anyone else in a very long time." He held her gaze. "I'm not going anywhere."
She let those words sink into her chest, warm and soft, settling between her ribs like a soft blanket for her heart.
He meant them. Not in the way some men said words in the passing moment, but the way a person made a promise with his soul.
Her pulse quickened. Her mother had always told her that life was a risk, but love was the biggest risk she’d ever take, and it was always worth it.
"I love you," she said.
He reached for her, and she leaned in and kissed him—real and warm. The kind of kiss that repeated everything she’d just said and more.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He pulled back. Looked at the screen. “What the hell is Baxter calling for on a Saturday morning?”
Fear filled her veins. It snaked around inside her system like snake venom. "Don't answer it,” she said too quickly.
“I have to.” Putting it on speaker, he answered. “Hello? Baxter?”
“Sorry to bother you, but it’s important.”
“I figured, so lay it on me.”
"I'm on my way over with Jag," Baxter said. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Alright. See you then.” Noah tapped his cell, dropped the phone to the bed, and washed his hand over his face. “I’m not sure what to make of that.”
“I do. They're coming to warn you that there’s an arrest warrant,” she said. “I know it. I’ve seen it a dozen times with Jag. It’s what he’s done with friends before.”
"We don't know what this is," Noah said. “They don’t have reason to—”
"Baxter doesn't show up at your house in the morning on a Saturday unless—"
Noah took her hand. “We don't know anything, yet. Don't catastrophize before we know what we're dealing with."
She breathed in slowly, but her chest burned. She looked out the window, at the sunny Saturday morning, and thought about everything that had happened in the last eight days. Somehow, this carefully laid out plan had been orchestrated by Noah’s own father.
"Okay," she said.
She didn't mean it, and Noah most likely knew. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as they sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for whatever was coming up the driveway.