Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Cole
The town is deserted save for me, my feet sinking in the fresh snow. I go slow, not just because of the danger of black ice but because the cold is a pain-infused nightmare for my healing injuries. Still, the time it takes to get to the Candy Cane Café isn’t too bad.
What is bad, however? The state of Noelle’s apartment.
Even from the street I can tell her neighbor was right. The snow and wind made part of the roof cave in, and the domino effect dragged the other weakened parts down with it. The evidence is clear as day; I can see the sky right through her broken window.
A bad feeling rumbles through my stomach as I stare at it. There is no chance in hell Noelle can go back here. Not for a while, anyway.
I push down the selfish part of me that’s excited to have her living with me indefinitely. My best friend just lost her house, all her belongings. This is no time for celebrating.
What can I do?
I fiddle with my keys as I stare up at the apartment. I do have the emergency key she gave me. Do I dare go up? I know she told me not to get myself killed, but what good did this trip do if I can’t prepare her with the details of what she’ll find after the storm?
The neighbor that called her, old Mrs Hawthorn, waves from her window with a knowing smile.
I have no doubt she saw me picking Noelle up the other night, and I’m convinced she knows how I feel about her, being at the café every time I rush in for our lunch date.
Oh, what juicy stories she must be dreaming up now that I’ve walked down here, risking my life for my best friend again.
I guess I would, too, if I were in her shoes.
I have no time for pleasantries, yet I force myself to wave back.
I don’t want my rudeness to rub off on Noelle in any way, especially with her best customer.
It takes every bit of my strength to force a smile to my face—I hate these social conventions more than I hate anything else.
I’d much rather be alone in my home or on the ice, where there are no social rules to follow and no one can call me rude.
Noelle’s front door jams for a moment before giving way, revealing stairs dusted in a thin layer of snow; not much of an encouraging start, though it pales in comparison to the rest of the house.
Debris and snow coat every inch of her place, with only her bedroom and part of the kitchen saved from the carnage. Fuck. How is it even worse than I thought?
I don’t want her up here for even a minute, especially not by herself. She’s going to want her stuff, though. There is no way she would allow me to replace them, to have to depend on me like that. It’s going to be hard enough to convince her to stay at my place.
Unlike her, I don’t see it like her depending on me. I love taking care of her in any way I possibly can, and I have too much money for me alone anyway. Seeing her face light up at a gift, that childlike joy in her eyes…that’s priceless. Addicting, even.
My parents are gone, my friends have enough money to take care of themselves. But my best friend, my little light, the one who could use it most…she keeps rejecting my money, and any help I offer.
I understand why, of course; that snake of a mother of hers gave her enough trauma to last a lifetime, and she’s dead set on not following in her footsteps.
Noelle’s life is so much harder than it needs to be, and while I would never do something against her wishes, I can’t help but feel hurt every time she declines my help.
She’s the best person I know, hardworking and with a heart bigger than anyone, and I love her more than I have loved any other. How could I not want to make her happy?
I can’t think about that now. Not if I want to get back to her before the storm picks up again.
I find a duffel bag and her bright pink roller suitcase in a closet and set them both on the bed. It’s not much space, but these are all the bags she owns. I know, because I had to buy them for her in my plight to have her come visit me in Vancouver. She hasn’t left town since.
The duffel I fill with every piece of clothing I can stuff into it, which thankfully means most of what she owns. I guess her minimalist tendencies work in my favor for once.
The suitcase I take my time with, weighing importance against sentimentality.
Noelle keeps her most important documents in a fireproof case in her bedroom closet, so finding those is easy.
Then I move on to the smaller things, like the pictures of her and her dad and her grandparents, the collar of her late dog she cherishes, and the photo books she spent weeks working on.
It’s strange, reducing someone’s life to a single suitcase, debating the parts worth keeping. I can come back, of course, grab anything I might have missed. But anything I leave behind runs the risk of being destroyed in the storm still ahead.
This is the ultimate test. Either I get everything right, or I have to come to grips with the knowledge I don’t know Noelle as well as I think I do.
I can’t afford to get it wrong.