chapter five
kira
Did that just happen? Noah Keller held me in his lap while I cried. Oh my god.
His strong arms wrapped around me, warm and steady, like the world outside didn’t matter anymore. For a few moments, I forgot everything else. It felt so… safe. So right . I don ’ t think I ’ ve ever felt that safe before. Maybe I ’ ve never let myself feel safe. But now, the thought of him letting go of me—of this fragile calm—frightens me more than it should.
I didn ’ t want him to pull away, but then… I shifted, and suddenly, I could feel his body under me—strong, hard —and oh my god, did I just ask him if I hurt him?
My face is burning with embarrassment. I want to bury my head in the seat. Noah clears his throat, dragging me back to the present moment. Looking up at him, I see his patience—like he ’ s waiting for me to catch up with him. Right. He asked if I wanted ice cream.
“Oh, yeah, that would be nice,” I mutter, still blushing.
We climb into his truck, and the silence between us fills the space. The engine hums to life, and then he flicks on the radio. I watch him, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes locked on the road ahead. There ’ s something about the way he drives—easy, like he ’ s in control of everything around him. And I can ’ t help but notice how massive his hands look, gripping that wheel like it ’ s the only thing holding him together. His tattooed arms strain against the fabric of his shirt, and I can ’ t stop myself from staring.
My thoughts tumble, and suddenly, guilt creeps in. He didn’t deserve to be part of my breakdown. I shouldn’t have unloaded all that on him. He ’ s just… a guy who ’ s trying to be kind. And here I am, making him shoulder my mess.
“I’m sorry for losing it a little tonight. You didn’t deserve to deal with that,” I say. He glances over at me. His eyes moving down my body before shooting back to the road ahead.
“Don’t apologize.”
Before I can say anything else, we turn into the parking lot of the ice cream shop. There’s a pretty long line, but it doesn’t take long to get to the front.
“What can I get for you guys?” the lady asks.
I feel him behind me, the warmth of his body comforting me.
“I’ll take a chocolate milkshake, and she’ll have…Kira, what would you like?”
I look at the menu. Mom would have told me to get the sorbet.
You don’t need the extra calories.
Screw that.
“I would like a medium strawberry hard serve in a cone, please.”
Before I can get my wallet out, Noah hands her his card.
“You don’t have to pay for me,” I say.
“I invited you out for ice cream, which means I pay for the ice cream,” he replies.
Grabbing my cone, I stride back to the truck.
“Why don’t we eat here?” Noah asks, gesturing to all of the empty picnic tables.
“It’s cold outside. I wanna eat in the truck,” I whine.
“It’s sixty degrees, it is not that cold.”
I look him dead in the eyes and climb into the seat, shutting the door and taking a lick of my ice cream. He looks at me exasperated and opens his door.
“You can be a brat when you want to be, you know that?” he laughs.
“I know,” I say, shrugging.
Why do I feel like that wasn’t a complaint?
After we finish our ice cream, Noah looks at me, his expression tight and serious. He hesitates for a second as if he ’ s not sure how to say what ’ s on his mind. Finally, he speaks, his voice careful. “ Listen, Kira, about earlier… that was completely inappropriate of me. It didn’t mean anything. I just saw you upset, and I wanted to help.”
His words hang in the air, heavy, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself more than me. I sit there, the weight of his tone settling uncomfortably in my chest. I swallow down the lump that suddenly forms in my throat.
“ Oh, it ’ s fine, ” I say, too quickly, trying to sound casual—normal. But there’s a pinch in my voice I can ’ t hide. I don ’ t know why I expected anything different, but hearing him distance himself like that stings. “ I shouldn’t have climbed onto you like that. It ’ s my fault, really.”
I force a laugh, but it feels hollow. What did I think he was going to say? I know he doesn’t see me that way, and that should be a relief, right? But something about his words makes my chest ache, and I can ’ t quite shake the feeling that I ’ ve crossed some line I didn’t even know existed. He ’ s Jared ’ s dad. This was never supposed to happen.
“No, I’m the adult in the situation, and I should have stopped it.”
A small, irritated spark flares up inside me, sharper than I expected. “ I ’ m an adult too, in case you haven ’ t noticed,” I snap, trying to keep the edge out of my voice but failing. His tone makes me feel small—like I ’ m some kid who needs protecting. I ’ m young, sure, but I ’ m not oblivious.
Noah doesn’t reply, and the silence that stretches between us feels even heavier now.
He shifts the truck into gear, and we head back toward the house, but the air in the cab feels suffocating. The tension in the truck feels like it ’ s been thickened with every mile. I don ’ t know if I can stand it.
Each second feels like a reminder of everything I ’ m not supposed to be feeling. I ’ m too aware of every little movement he makes, the way his jaw tightens when he turns the wheel like he ’ s bracing himself against something. Maybe it ’ s me.
As soon as he parks, I ’ m out of the truck before he can say anything else, walking briskly through the house and to my room, the door clicking shut behind me.
I climb into bed, but my mind races. I try to shut it down, to push away the image of us on the couch—him holding me, his body warm and solid around mine—but it doesn’t go away. I can still feel the press of his chest against my back, the way his arms felt around me, safe and strong.
The memory makes my skin burn, even now, as I lie in the dark.
And somehow, despite what he said, the silence between us feels louder than before.
W hen I wake up, Noah isn’t home. I check inside Jared’s room, and he’s nowhere to be found either. He probably stayed at Jake’s. I shudder at the thought of him. Yes, I was exhausted last night, but I also didn’t want to see Jake again after the party.
I finish unpacking the rest of my boxes, putting everything away, and placing some of my sculptures throughout the space. The room is starting to look like mine, making me feel a bit better. I have to remind myself, though, that I don’t plan on staying here forever. This is temporary.
The last box contains all the mugs I’ve made at the studio. They’re all a variety of colors, mostly neutrals. Some sport floral patterns, others mountain landscapes. These are my babies. I line them up on a wooden shelf above the bed, saving a couple to bring downstairs to use for coffee. With how busy my life has been this last week, I haven’t had time to go to the studio. I miss it.
Well, I know what I’m going to do today.
I throw on comfy clothes and run downstairs, grabbing coffee and my keys.
Darla’s pottery studio, Lakeside Pottery, is only about twenty minutes away in a historic building smack in the middle of Traverse City. I step inside, and the peace I usually feel here washes over me. The space is divided into two sections: the store, where artists sell their finished pieces, and the workshop, where all the wheels and kilns are located.
I look past the shelves of ceramics for sale to the counter, and a tuft of gray hair with a small section dyed purple peaks out. As soon as she sees me, she lights up.
“Hey honey, I haven’t seen you in a while! How have you been?” Darla asks, her voice sweet and warm.
“How much time do you have?” I ask with a sad laugh.
“That bad? Come on, hun, let’s go over to the wheels.”
After wedging our clay, we sit at the wheels facing the large front windows. My favorite spot. The sun shines through them, illuminating the potted plants that line the sill. The view of downtown Traverse City is unmatched, and I sigh as I throw my clay down on the wheel and center it. Darla does the same on hers.
“Alright, baby, tell me what’s going on,” she says.
I do. I tell her everything except the part where I sat on my best friend’s dad’s lap and how he may or may not have enjoyed it. I tell her about losing the apartment and moving in with Jared. She doesn’t make me feel ashamed or like I failed, and I love her for it.
Talking to someone who isn’t directly related to the situation is refreshing. She knows exactly how to comfort me, reassuring me that everything will be okay, and distracts me by telling me about what’s been going on with her life. She talks about her grandkids and how they’re getting too big, earning a smile from me. I love how easy it is to talk to her.
When I finish throwing the vase I’ve been working on, I remove the bat from the wheel and set it on the shelf to dry.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Darla says, “I want to get the community more involved here, and I was wondering if you would like to start teaching some classes on the weekends? You would obviously get paid.”
“Seriously?” I squeal. “Of course! I would love to do that!”
“Perfect! How does once a week sound?” she asks.
“Works for me! Just let me know when, and I’ll make sure I have the days off.”
Grinning like an idiot, I look through the shelves of the recently fired pottery, looking for the dish I’ve been working on. Finding it, I bring it over to the table and get out all the different colors of glaze.
I spend a few more hours there, working on several projects. I can’t believe I will be able to teach classes here. Before I leave, I meet with Darla to plan our first workshop.
The sun is about to set when I return to my car and head back to the house. It’s a weird feeling not going back to my apartment. I find myself wondering if Noah is home now or if he had to go into the station. Where was he this morning?
Pulling into the driveway, I see that his truck isn’t there, but Jared’s car is. When I open the front door, he is sitting on the couch on his phone, the TV on in the background. Hearing the door close, he looks up at me and smiles.
“Hey Kira, where have you been all day?”
“The studio,” I reply. “Have you had dinner yet?”
“No, I only got back home like thirty minutes ago,” he explains.
“I’ll go see what there is to cook,” I tell him.
I eventually decide on a simple one-pot pasta. I don’t feel like making anything too complicated and am in the mood for carbs. Scooping some out onto two plates, I carry them into the other room, handing one to Jared.
“This looks so good,” he says. We both devour our pasta while we get sucked into the drama of the show he was watching. Once we’re both finished, I grab a blanket off the back of the couch and get comfy.
“Can I have some?” Jared asks, gesturing to the fuzzy throw covering my lap.
“I guess,” I say playfully, lifting the covers to let him in.
He scooches in closer to me, pulling me into him. We cuddle up like that for a while, watching the show’s main character solve crime after crime.
“ Kira, ” Jared mutters, pausing the show.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Are you and Jake…” he trails off.
My heart stops.
“Why?” is all I can get out.
Hurt flashes in his eyes at my response. He thinks there’s something going on between Jake and me. The thought turns my stomach.
“Well, Ava broke up with him, saying she saw you two together. When I talked to Jake about it, he said you were all over him the night of the party.” His words feel like an accusation.
Of course, that asshole lied. My heart rate spikes as I remember what he tried. I ground myself and try to take deep breaths, but it doesn’t help. I can feel his hands on me, holding me down onto the mattress. No, I—
“Kira, are you okay?” Jared grabs my arm.
I snap back into the present, a tear falling down my face. I quickly wipe it away.
“I’ m fine, ” I say, breathless.
“You are obviously not fine. What is going on?”
What if he doesn’t believe me? Jake is one of his good friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jared just took his word for it—if he didn’t believe me.
I feel the words pressing against my chest, threatening to spill out, but when they finally do, they sound rushed, too fast. “ He’s lying,” I say, the weight of it making my throat tighten. “ What he said isn’t what happened. I was in the bathroom, washing my hands, and then he came in and locked the door. He tried to make a move on me, and I freaked out. He wasn’t forceful, not like that, but I did not want him to touch me. I promise you that.”
Relief washes over him as his body relaxes.
Then he speaks, his voice low and tight with frustration. “ That fucker. He didn ’ t want to get in trouble with his girl, so he threw you under the bus. I ’ m going to have a word with him next time I see him.”
I let out a breath, some of the tension easing out of my shoulders. I think I can relax. Maybe I was wrong to doubt him, but there’s a nagging feeling in my stomach, a small part of me that isn’t entirely convinced.
“ I ’ m sorry, Kira,” he says softly, pulling me into a hug. “ I know you would tell me if you were seeing someone.”
He says the last part as almost a question.
I nod into his chest, but I can ’ t shake the feeling that he ’ s still unsure—like he ’ s still thinking there ’ s more to the story. Maybe I ’ m just imagining it. I try to brush it off, but the thought lingers.
“Let’s get back to our show,” he smiles, puts down a pillow, and lies his head on my lap. Laughing, I adjust my body and get comfortable as he hits play on the remote.
I run my fingers through his sandy brown hair to reassure myself. He isn’t mad at me. I am okay. I’ve made a lot of progress when it comes to the anxiety and flashbacks, but they aren’t totally gone. That night three years ago still haunts me. Eventually, light snores sound from my lap. He must have fallen asleep.
The front door swings open, causing me to jump a little at the noise. Surprisingly, the movement doesn’t wake Jared. Looking up, I see Noah emerge, his eyes meeting mine. He glances down at Jared, asleep in my lap. He gives a slight nod of understanding, staring back up at me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice soft.
The dim light of the TV illuminates his face as he looks at me for a long moment before responding.
“Where did you go this morning?” he asks, his voice bordering on demanding.
My brows scrunch together at his tone. Is he mad at me?
I can’t help but pick up on how his gaze lingers where my fingers are buried in Jared’s hair.
“Everyone was gone when I woke up, so I went out.”
“Out where?”
He definitely sounds mad.
Why does he need to know?
“Out,” I say, refusing to give him what he wants. He isn’t my parent. He doesn’t need to know everything I do.
Wrong answer.
Noah’s jaw ticks as he glares at me, frustration thick in his tone. “Kira. Where were you?”
Irritation builds in my chest at the absurdity of his anger.
“Why do you care?”