3. Noah
CHAPTER 3
NOAH
I’m the first person to admit that I don’t pay attention to the obvious. My mom used to say that a parade could go past me and I’d realize it the next day. It’s not that I didn’t want to pay attention, it’s just that my mind is always moving that fast. Or, well, it used to be.
When I get hit with a memory, something that takes me back, I’m usually jolted to a place that’s almost dream-like. Scents do this to me all the time—a candle, perfume, shampoo. Subtle smells that remind me of a time that was. But, memory can be jarred by the visual as well.
Looking at the tattoo on Willa’s wrist, there’s a stab of memory. A very painful stab that I can’t fully put my finger on right away. But as I look at her tattoo and then drag my eyes back up to meet hers, there’s a sadness that swirls behind her big deep-green eyes that hits home.
I know her. I know who she is. I’ve been expecting to run into her again, but not here. Not in Maple Falls. Wait, did I say expecting? Wrong word. Hoping? Better. Much better.
Willa’s still as beautiful as she was that day. That absolutely horrific day. I was so awful to her, but how do I say something now? I’m not him any longer, not that version of Noah that was the worst one of myself. I’m different now.
She’s different, too. Same same, just different … her hair is much longer and I think it’s a different color. For some reason, I remember her wearing glasses, though I’m sure she’s probably graduated to contacts.
Amazing how after the years of drinking, I still have these memories from a long-ago photoshoot. It’s not like it was even that long of one. I was there for approximately forty-five minutes before she booted me off her set.
My mind screams “Say you’re sorry!” while my mouth starts to form shapes for words that make no sense. Shaking my head, I quickly scribble my number on the pad of paper and hand the pen back over to her.
“So. Pictures. Tattoos.” Way to go, Noah, you’re a wordsmith all right. Obvious reason why I’m a man of the ice.
“Yes,” she says, taking the pen back from my outstretched hand with eyes narrowed as she glances around us, probably looking for a way out of this conversation. Don’t think I miss the move where she tucks her arm back up her sleeve to hide the tattoo from me. “I take pictures and I have a tattoo.”
“How many do you have?” WHY AM I SAYING THIS?
Willa crosses her arms. “Three. And no, I’m not going to tell you where the other two are.”
“Are you saying I should find out?” Honestly, I could slap myself right now. I say this with complete silly casualness, not thinking about the fact I should have a filter. The look on her face tells me that my remark is far from welcome. Considering our history, I’m definitely not in a position to be saying things like that to her.
“No, I’m not.” She folds her hand across her chest and looks at me like she’d like to put me in a headlock, honestly. She nods toward the reception area. “I need to go. I should get checked in.”
She holds her hand out, waiting, leaving me to stare at it in confusion. I’m really not sure what to do so I slap it and act normal.
“Gimme five,” I say, winking. Apparently, my version of normal is dork.
“Okay?” She winces, cocking her to one side. “I’m not trying to high-five you, I need your phone number.”
“Oh. Duh.” I shove the pad of paper into her hand. “Of course.”
She looks at me like I’ve sprouted snakes for hair. “So, I’ll touch base with you in the next day or so and we’ll line up times for photos.”
“Did I hear photos?”
Saved by a teammate. I could hug Dawson Hayes right now. He may be our goalie on the ice, but today he’s the man who is saving me from myself.
“Willa, this is Dawson Hayes. Dawson, Willa is from …”
“ Athletic Edge ,” he interjects, grinning as he goes in for a hug. “You shot the feature on me a few months back. Nice to see you again.”
“You, too,” Willa says, genuinely happy to see him. “My gosh, you were such a trooper that day.”
Dawson nods. “Having a photoshoot in the height of summer and losing electricity for a few hours,” he says, turning to me to explain. “Not ideal.”
“You rolled with it, though, as only a true professional could. I wish all days working a gig could be like that,” she says, her eyes slicing their way through the air to meet mine.
“Adapt or die, right?” I know. I shouldn’t be opening my mouth, and if I do, it should be to say I’m sorry, but I can’t resist. My lips do not know boundaries.
“Adapt or die?” Her eyebrows arch to the point I’m worried they may fly off her forehead. She crosses her arms, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. Although if I remember correctly, you were more of a throw a tantrum or start a fight to get what you want and then pass out kind of guy.”
Ouch. “Okay, guilty as charged, but things have changed.”
“Things? Like inciting a brawl in a hotel lobby?”
“To be fair, they started it,” I mutter to myself as Dawson nudges me in the ribs with the pointiest part of his elbow. “And, well, I haven’t pulled diva hijinks like that in a few years. Maybe you didn’t know.”
“Dude,” Dawson says, half laughing. “Willa’s, like, the nicest part of all of this press stuff we have to do.”
“Thank you,” she says, nodding in his direction. “I’ve had some really bad moments in the past, and working with someone like you, Dawson, was a dream.” She lets her eyes slam into mine. “Would you believe I once had someone show up to set drunk, stinking of last night’s party, and somehow when I went to kick him off my shoot after he passed out, I ended up blacklisted from work, thanks to his publicity team?”
“Ooof.” Dawson shakes his head. “That’s awful. When was this?”
Willa is locked in on me. “About two years ago. Maybe three. Long enough that I had to work hard to start over, and now that I have, I dare anyone to try to step on my toes like that again.”
“I like it.” He laughs, blissfully unaware of the grief she’s giving me as he slugs her arm gently. “I knew I liked you the moment I met you. Anyone who listens to G. Love & Special Sauce is good by me.”
She slowly pulls her gaze from mine and turns her body so she’s facing Dawson only. “It was really good to see you,” Willa says, her voice warm and calm, all of the edge and irritation, which was obviously reserved for me, removed now. “I need to check in. Catch you guys later.”
Dawson waves bye, and all I can squeak out is a sad, “See ya later, tater.”
I can ignore the strange look Willa shoots my way, but the not-so-subtle smacking of my arm by Dawson is something I can’t. “What was that? Later tater?”
I watch as she weaves her way through the crowd, disappearing into the line and from my sight. “I just turned into a little kid around that woman, didn’t I?”
“More than that. A desperate one who wants attention.” He crosses his arms and aims a puzzled expression my way. “What happened between you two? Was she in the lobby when you started that fight?”
There are three things I’ll never live down. One: the day I snorted wasabi because my best friend dared me. Two: the day I announced I was the best driver ever and then walked out the door and wrecked the car in our driveway. Three: being drunk and taking part in a fight in a hotel lobby with the opposing team … even if I wasn’t the one who started it.
“I’d really like to forget that ever happened,” is all I can muster.
“Considering you made headlines, dude.” Dawson shakes his head. “It’s on your record. Forever. No matter what, you will always be Noah Beaumont, a man in search of a second chance and also known as the Comeback King.”
Does reminiscing about my past actions sting? Of course. But they were my choices. I drank and it wasn’t pretty, and I managed to hurt a lot of people around me. I’ve been on an apology tour since I got out of rehab a couple years ago. I’m like a cover band—always on tour.
“Having public hate is one thing. I’ve built up a wall for what I read, man,” I say, scanning the crowd to see if I can find Willa. “But having my past in front of me, giving me grief, is another.”
“Did you apologize to her?”
Biting my lip, I shake my head. “I wanted to, but the words just didn’t come out.”
“Well, maybe karma is doing you a solid and putting her in front of you so you can finally right that wrong now.”
Righting my wrongs. I shouldn’t need a map for this, yet some days I do. Some days I feel like I shouldn’t be apologizing still, but I have to accept I messed up and might be saying sorry for a long time to come.
A shiver rolls across my skin. Looking up, I catch sight of Willa as she turns her head. It’s a little obvious she’s watching me, too. I can do it now, I can tell her I’m sorry.
Summoning up all of the strength I have inside, I brace myself and take a step forward. Only as I do, a hand comes down on my shoulder, stopping me. When I turn around, I find Zach Hart and his brother Troy, who is also the owner of the arena as well as the Hawk River Lodge where we’re staying, and Troy’s wife, Kelly, standing next to Dawson.
“We’re headed back to the lodge but going to grab a bite to eat first,” Zach says, his eyes following my gaze and landing on Willa. “Unless you’re otherwise occupied?”
At that moment, Willa’s eyes slam into mine once more. She holds my attention for a moment before rolling her eyes and turning around, giving us a good view of her back.
“Um, no,” I stutter, angling myself toward Zach and his posse. “Dinner sounds good.”
“Fantastic,” Kelly says, clapping her hands together. “We’ve got a sitter tonight, so Troy and I need to make the most of it.”
As the foursome trot ahead of me to the lobby exit, I turn around one last time, trying to catch a last glimpse of Willa. I don’t see her, which is probably just as well. Gives me more time to think about what I will say when we’re together the next time, because let’s face it: she’s got to take my pictures and the town is only so big.