20. Zoey
ZOEY
T he door to the police station closed behind me with a resounding thud, echoing the finality of the ordeal. But I knew this was only the start of a fresh chapter. George wouldn’t take my involving the police lightly.
The sky was a gloomy gray that summed up the never-ending stream of stormy memories I’d drudged up for my statement. I wrapped my arms around myself, warding myself from the sudden chill of the breeze and complete shock over the morning’s events.
Chief Warman had been positive and nothing but nice, but having strangers scrutinize my past with that level of intensity was exhausting.
Sam had been as good as his word, and we’d left him finalizing things with Chief Warman.
Noah and I left to pick up Ro from the park because Heather’s shift at the hospital started soon.
Noah’s father had called to let us know Mike would be okay—he had a concussion and a large laceration to his stomach, but they’d gotten to him in time, and he’d been able to shift. He was doing well now.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I told Noah, surprising myself with the admission. The idea of going back to an empty house, where the walls would close in on me, made my stomach churn.
“Okay.” Noah’s reply was simple. I was still amazed that this man had stayed by my side the entire time. He tilted my chin up, his steady gaze meeting mine. I saw something there that I couldn’t name, but it made me feel warm all over.
“You’re safe,” he said. “I’ve got you both, Zoey. I’ll keep you safe.”
He leaned his forehead against mine. We stood like that for a long moment, and I soaked in the comfort he was offering. One day, I’d finally believe it. God knew I wanted to.
“Got everything?” Noah asked.
“Uh-huh,” I said, barely hearing myself.
“Let’s get Ro.”
My legs moved, but I wasn’t sure how. Noah’s hand was firm on my back, guiding me through the parking lot and to his car.
Heather was waiting with Ro at the corner of the park, her usual stern expression softening just for me. Ro perched on the edge of a bench, swinging his legs. At the sight of him, something inside me knit back together. A small stitch in a frayed tapestry.
“Zoey.” Heather grabbed me in a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you. You did the right thing, you know that, right?”
“Yeah.” It was all I could manage, but she nodded as if I’d given a grand speech.
“Everything will be okay now,” she continued, her assurance solid like a promise carved in stone.
“Hope so,” I said.
Noah took Ro’s hand as he waved goodbye to Heather with the other, and we walked to the car in a silence that felt heavy but not burdensome.
Heather’s words echoed in my head, a mantra against the chaos threatening to spill over.
Noah opened the door for me, and I slid into the seat, the daze clinging like a second skin.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded me gently, and I fumbled with the latch until it clicked.
“Thanks.”
He gave me that steady look of his, like he was ready to take on the world for us. And after the events of the morning, I believed him.
“Where are we going?” Ro’s question cut through the quiet of the car, tentative but curious.
Noah glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Ro’s eye. “My place,” he said. “Your mom needs some rest, and I figured we could have some guy time, you know?”
“Is Mom okay?”
I turned to him, managing a soft smile despite the weight of my eyelids. “I’m just tired, Ro. That’s all,” I assured him, hoping I sounded more convincing than I felt.
Ro didn’t look away, scanning my face for any trace of deceit. Those days when I’d say “I’m fine” with a bruise blossoming under my makeup were behind us, but Ro remembered. He’d always remember.
“Okay,” he finally said, nodding slightly as if giving me permission to be tired. He leaned back, facing forward again, and started chatting with Noah about some video game they both liked, his words filling the space between us with normalcy, with life.
Noah’s place offered a cozy refuge, a welcome relief from the cold and sterile police station.
The walls were painted a soft, buttery yellow.
Worn, braided rugs in shades of burnt orange and olive green softened the dark, varnished floorboards.
There was a small table in the entryway, and Noah tossed his keys into the small bowl set on top of it.
In a daze, I removed my jacket, and he showed Ro where to hang his own jacket on a row of coat hooks.
His living room boasted the biggest TV I’d ever seen.
“Wow,” Ro said in a whisper. “Mom, it’s like a movie theater.”
A sofa covered in a darker green fabric and a matching armchair faced the television. But it was the sideboard filled with trophies and photographs showcasing Noah’s boxing triumphs that captivated Ro.
“Are these all yours?” Ro asked, standing on his tiptoes, eyes wide.
“They are,” said Noah. “I’ll show you my Olympic medal if you like, buddy. But let’s get your mom upstairs first so she can rest.”
The events of the day pressed down on me, and each step I took felt heavier than the last. When I swayed slightly, Noah’s arms were right there, sturdy and secure around me.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” he said. Before I could protest, he scooped me up in his arms with a smooth grace that belied his strength. His gaze met mine, a silent promise that he was there to catch me if I faltered.
“Okay,” I agreed, sounding as tired as I felt. The world seemed to tilt and spin gently as he carried me up the staircase.
“Hey, Ro, buddy,” Noah called over his shoulder. “You coming up?”
I turned my head enough to see Ro trailing behind us, a shy grin spreading across his face. He caught me watching him, and his smile widened. It felt like he understood that Noah was taking care of us, not just showing off.
“See this room here, Ro?” Noah said, nodding toward a room with an open door. “Whenever you’re here, this room is yours.”
“Really?” Ro’s eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and excitement.
“Absolutely. We’ll go to your Auntie Heather’s later and grab some of your stuff. Then we can go to the store and get things to make it feel more like your own room.”
I opened my mouth to tell Noah that he didn’t need to spoil him, but I caught myself. There was a tenderness in Noah’s offer, a genuine desire to make Ro comfortable. It was completely different from George’s attempts at buying affection. Noah truly cared about us.
“Thank you, Noah.” Ro’s eyes danced when he glanced at me, seeking permission, and I nodded, my heart lighter than it had been all day. “Are you sick like when I had strep throat that time, Mom?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just tired, sweetheart.”
Noah’s gentle touch broke through the haze of my weariness as he set me on his bed. He helped me slip my shoes and socks off, and I missed the warmth of his body. He sat down beside me, the bed dipping under his weight.
“Zoey,” he murmured, tenderly sweeping stray locks of hair from my forehead. His touch danced across my skin, tracing contours like a map to reassure both of us that I was real, that I was here and safe. “You did good today. Really good.”
I wanted to believe him, to embrace the swell of pride and let it dissolve the uncertainty that plagued my thoughts, but my exhaustion was a shroud too heavy to lift. “I’m just so tired, Noah,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said, his thumbs brushing my cheeks now. “You can rest now. You’re brave, braver than anyone I’ve ever known. You deserve some peace.”
His words were like a soft, healing balm, and I allowed myself the luxury of leaning into their truth.
Noah pressed his lips to mine in a long kiss that promised to fend off the darkness just a little longer. When he pulled away, there was an unspoken vow in his gaze, a silent oath that he’d protect me and Ro.
“Rest easy,” he said before standing and leaving the room. The door closed softly behind him, and I curled up and closed my eyes.
In the quiet of Noah’s room, with Ro’s faint laughter filtering through the walls, sleep claimed me swiftly.
But the sanctuary of slumber was short-lived.
Darkness twisted into shapes and sounds from a life I was desperate to leave behind.
George’s face loomed over me, his green eyes cold and predatory as he reached for Ro.
“Mine,” he growled.
I shot upright, gasping for air, the nightmare clinging to me like cobwebs. My heart raced, pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“Ro!” I screamed, a shard of panic lodged in my throat.
I had to see my son. My hands trembled uncontrollably, desperate to hold him, knowing his presence would shatter the hold of the suffocating nightmare.
A dream. It was just a dream. I fought against the fear, the control George still held over me, even though he wasn’t present.
“Ro?” my voice cracked, high-pitched and thin. No answer.
I stumbled out of bed, my legs wobbling beneath me. “Noah?”
Nothing but silence greeted me. It was too quiet for a house that should be filled with my son’s laugh and Noah’s voice.
I needed to find them. My bare feet slapped the hardwood as I searched each room, desperation clawing at my throat. The callous squeeze of anxiety on my chest made breathing near impossible. The emptiness of the house echoed back at me with each frantic heartbeat.
The kitchen was my last stop, the cold tile floor stinging my heated skin. A magnet shaped like a boxing glove pinned a note to the fridge.
Zoey , didn’t want to wake you. Ro and I went to pick up some groceries. Be back soon.
A long, tremulous sigh escaped my lips as a cocktail of relief and guilt swirled inside me. I should’ve known. Noah wouldn’t just leave without a word, not with Ro.