Chapter 45 Noah
Forty Five
Noah
Iremember where we are when her touch sears my skin.
Grabbing her shoulders, my eyes frantically scan her for any sign of injury, and I breathe a little easier when I find none.
“I’m okay, Noah. I’m okay,” she assures me, driving the point home as her hands wrap around mine and squeeze. Her hoarse voice pinches my sternum. I hate that she had to scream so much.
I hate that I wasn’t there when she needed me most.
I hate that she had to fight these men off herself, even if I’m immensely proud of her for it.
I hate that I put her in harm’s way.
But this is where I draw the fucking line.
“I’m sending that bastard to the fucking jail,” I growl, promising her, fury licking my veins, begging for retribution.
Her brows furrow. “Who? These men?” she asks, unaware of where my mind has gone.
“Them and Henry fucking Miller.” My jaw clenches, my body vibrating with the need to throttle his fucking neck.
Her eyes widen, shock flashing across her face. “Your father?” Disbelief coats her voice.
I give a curt nod, shame and guilt from his filthy blood running in my veins, drowning me whole. “My father’s dead to me.”
I tell her everything—the debt my father owed, the men he sold her out to, and the messages I received at the airport.
Her eyes rake over me, concern flaring when they land on the bleeding cut on my chest. And I watch her watch me.
Wondering how this woman can even bear to look at me after knowing it was my father who put her life and dignity in danger.
After what feels like an eternity, she pulls away and sighs, craning her head to look me in the eyes, water gliding down the curve of her neck. “Why are you here, Noah?” she asks, exhaustion bleeding into her voice.
My breath stutters at her question.
I drop to my knees, her feet the only place I belong.
Andie stumbles back with a gasp. “What are you doing?”
“Doing what I should’ve done a long time ago. Grovelling at your feet.” I settle on the heels of my feet, tilting my chin to look at her as the rain continues to beat down on us, our hair and clothes clinging to our skin, our eyes barely open.
“What’s that?” she asks, apprehension lining her face.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry,” I mutter, my voice rough, and heart pounding. “I’m so sorry I lied.”
Her face shutters closed, and I see her building her walls up high. “I’m aware,” she says, her tone clipped.
I grab her soft hands, loaning whatever strength I can. “No, no. You don’t understand.” I shake my head, my words causing her brows to draw together, waiting. “I lied about not wanting you, baby.”
“I don’t understand. You were the one who broke up with me.” Hurt and accusation sharpen her words. She tries to pull away, but I hold on tighter, terrified that if I let go now, she might not come back.
“Not because I wanted to. But because I had to!” My voice rises before I force it down, dragging in a breath. “Do you remember the day we ran into Henry?”
“Yes,” she clips, not an ounce of softness on her face.
That’s what I deserve.
So, why does it hurt so much?
“That day, we were strolling and talking about life, and all I could think about was my future, our future. But then the reminder of my cruel past stood right in front of me, and it had been years since I last saw him. His unwanted presence stirred the monsters I thought I left behind.”
I adjust my grip on her hands.
“After you sent him away, and I locked myself in my bathroom, I received some texts from him.” I swallow thickly, halting my explanation, wondering how to reveal how tainted my blood is.
“What texts?” she presses, impatient.
The skepticism marring her features guts me, but I power through. I pull my phone from my back pocket and open the text thread with Henry for her.
With furrowed eyebrows, she takes the phone and reads through the threats. The screen lights her wet face and wide eyes with each image she swipes. The blood drains from her face, her lips parting on a gasp.
My nails dig into my thighs, restraining me as I pray that she sees that whatever I’ve done was the best I could do to protect her. And even though it’s not an excuse for the insurmountable hurt that I’ve caused her, it is a glance into the reasoning behind my actions.
Once done, her head slowly lifts to me. “It’s been Henry all along? He has been threatening you with my life?” she asks, her voice a tortured whisper.
I nod.
The tears slide down her face, blending with the rain. But the heaving of her chest and trembling hands are a clear indication that she’s crying.
My phone slips from her grip and clatters to the ground, forgotten.
Once again, I grab her hands, loving the way they fit in mine. Hoping that I never have to experience the absence of her touch ever again.
“Lying to you, hurting you was killing me twice over, baby.” I choke out.
“But I had to do that to protect you. I will never not choose you, Andie,” I confess on a water laugh.
“I’d be a fucking idiot to let the best thing in my life go.
I always planned to come back, to beg for your forgiveness after I put Henry behind bars. I just needed time to realize that.”
My knees ache, but when she doesn’t say a word, silently swallowing, processing everything, I continue, “I went about it the wrong way, though, and for that I’m sorry more than words can ever express.
I never wanted to hurt you, Rainbow. Not when you fill my life with more colors than I knew existed,” I choke on my words, eyes burning, imagining what I put her through.
“Then why did you?” she demands, her words barely audible, pain lacing her words.
“Because I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, almost six years ago, even when I didn’t know what love was,” I confess, my guttural tone hiding the whimper that begs to escape.
Andie’s eyes widen, fresh set of tears giving in to gravity as her hands twitch in mine, a soft gasp leaving her lips.
“You’ve filled these lungs with oxygen, breathed life into my dead fucking heart, Andie,” I strangle out, the overwhelming rush of emotions choking me as I press her hands right over the bleeding cut.
“It was never about me not loving you or not choosing you, baby. Because I do—every single time.” I pause, letting my words seep into her very bones, like she’s in all of mine.
She looks at me with a myriad of emotions—hurt, pain, fear, doubt, and hope. And I still search for the one I’m starved for—love.
A sad smile spreads over my face when I don’t find it, the raindrops entering my mouth. “All of it—every damn bit—came down to one thing: you choosing me over everyone else. Every day, I prayed for a miracle, something that would make you see me—see my broken, lonely, tortured self.”
I swallow an audible gulp, my throat choking on my own tears, unable to say another word as my head drops between my shoulders, my hair sticking to my forehead. I begin to lose hope, begin to think she won’t forgive me. The pain in my chest wound rivals the one in my heart.
“I see you.”
At first, I think that I imagine it. But then, her fingers trace my jaw and grasp my chin, tilting my face to look at her. “I see you, my love,” she whispers, a small smile lifting her lips and her eyes radiating the emotion I’d been searching for.
My breath stutters at her use of the endearment, a hope sparking inside me like a raging fire.
“Did you hurt me? Yes. You broke me, Noah,” she confesses, and I die a little more inside.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur a broken apology, my features contorting with the pain I caused her.
“I know, my love.” Her fingers slide through my hair, grounding me. My eyes fall shut as I revel in her touch after being starved. “It’ll take me some time to forgive you. But…” she trails off, making my breath catch as I hang on to her every word.
Andie surprises me by dropping to her knees in front of me, her hands framing my face and pulling me to her.
My wide eyes glance at her, search her eyes for anything that can tell me how she feels, what she’s thinking.
“But,” she continues, “I know that I will forgive you, because I can’t help but love you still.”
I exhale a ragged breath at her words, relief like I’ve never known before, lodging itself in my throat. I can’t hold back the whimper and lean into her palm on my face.
I feel her hot breath warming my wet lips. “I love you,” she whispers against my lips, sealing her truth with a kiss.
She presses her soft lips to mine, and I swear I could die right here, on this rain-soaked sidewalk, with her in my arms and the unconscious bodies of her attackers flanking us on both sides, sirens wailing in the distance, voices drowned by the rain.
None of it matters.
Not the cops. Not the medics demanding to check our injuries. Not our friends and family. Not even Ezra yelling at me to stop devouring his sister’s face.
I pull all that matters to me—the one who saved my shriveling soul—by her waist, pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss.
I tell her just how much I love her with the stroke of my tongue around hers.
I promise her my mind when my fingers tangle in her hair, angling her face to kiss her deeper.
I promise her my life when I bite into her lower lip.
And I promise her my soul when I smear my blood across her lips and kiss them again.