Chapter 19
WEBB
“Wasn’t the performance just incredible?”
Noelle swings our clasped hands as we walk, and there’s a happy bounce to her step. She looks up at me, her cheeks pink from the crisp autumn chill and her eyes bright with excitement.
My heart squeezes.
Not for the first time, and I’m certain not the last, I send up a silent thanks to whoever kept Noelle safe during those terrible hours when she was in captivity.
So many things could have happened to her—things I feared before we got there, and things that still haunt me in my dreams. But in some stroke of luck? fate? karma? Noelle escaped from the experience relatively unscathed.
Well, aside from the bruise on her forehead, the abrasions on her wrists, and the lingering effects of the drug Dario gave her.
Which aren’t nothing, not even close—I still want to bust into that asshole’s prison cell and throttle the life out of him whenever I think about what he did—but it could have been so much worse.
She could have ended up in the ICU, like Hector and Paul, where it was touch and go for a couple of days before they stabilized.
She could have been one of the fourteen unfortunate victims who were killed and buried in shallow graves on Accetta’s property; hopeful actors who responded to his fake casting calls and ended up drugged and kidnapped instead.
So when I look at it that way, Noelle got off lucky.
But it sure doesn’t seem that way when she wakes up screaming after another nightmare.
Or, in the first few weeks after her rescue, when she was too scared to even leave my apartment.
When the slightest sound would throw Noelle into a panic and she couldn’t bear to be alone, not even while she showered.
No. It didn’t feel like Noelle got off lucky, then.
Lucky would have never been getting kidnapped at all.
Lucky would have been avoiding Donaldson’s sick obsession with her, so she would never have been targeted by Accetta in the first place.
I still want to kill both those fuckers, even though one’s already dead and the other will spend the rest of his life in prison.
With all the evidence against Accetta and the dozens of felony charges against him, he won’t walk free ever again.
And if he gets off somehow—lost evidence, police fuckup, anything—I’ll take care of the problem myself.
But lucky or not, there’s still a lot to be thankful for.
Noelle’s alive.
She’s safe.
The wounds on her body have healed.
After two months of intensive counseling, her nightmares and panic attacks have gotten much better.
With her now living at Blade and Arrow for good, I know she’ll be protected when I have to go away for work again. My friends will make sure of it.
Her love for the theater isn’t gone, even though I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.
No, my incredible, strong, brave Noelle isn’t letting her traumatic experiences control her life.
“I’m not going to let Ken and Dario win,” Noelle told me after one of her counseling sessions.
“I’m not going to let them take the things I enjoy away from me.
I’m not going to stop working at the diner.
I’m not giving up being a stage manager, either.
And all those people who died…” She swallowed hard, and her chin wobbled.
“They loved the theater, too. I’m going to keep making magic on stage, and I’m going to do it for them. ”
My throat goes thick at the memory.
Shit, I love her.
I never knew it was possible to love someone like this. I never knew I wanted to.
But now…
“No?” Noelle asks. As we pass beneath a streetlamp, her eyes sparkle with flecks of bronze and gold. Her lips twitch. “Still not a fan of musicals?”
I kiss her cheek. Then I release her hand, wrapping my arm around her instead. Hugging Noelle close to my side, I reply, “It was great. Really. I enjoyed it a lot.”
Noelle cocks her head. One brow arches skeptically. “Really?”
“Really.” As we stop at the intersection to wait for the light to turn, I give our surroundings an assessing glance. Though it’s past ten PM, Times Square is still buzzing with activity, the sidewalks filled with theater-goers and people out for late-night dinner or drinks.
A frisson of anxiety plucks at me, having so many strangers in such close proximity to Noelle.
My muscles tense. When I notice a man several feet away admiring her, I shoot him a threatening glare.
A fearful expression crosses his face, and he averts his gaze.
The instant the walk sign flashes on, he darts across the road, casting one last worried glance back at me before disappearing into the crowd.
I’m not jealous, just to be clear. But after what happened to Noelle; first with Donaldson, then Accetta, I’m not taking any chances. Not in New York City, not back in Williston or Newberg, or any other place we go.
After all, obsession can come from anywhere.
As we make our way across the street, I remind myself to relax, at least a little.
If I don’t, I’ll end up ruining this trip for Noelle, which is the last thing I want to do.
Although she’s been looking forward to coming to New York to see Jaz, I know she’s been nervous, too.
After all, this is the first time we’ve ventured further than Williston since Noelle’s kidnapping two months ago.
And as Noelle’s supportive boyfriend, I should be doing whatever I can to reassure her that everything’s fine. That there’s nothing to worry about, despite being in one of the biggest cities in the world, surrounded by strangers who could—
No.
I slam the door shut on a train of thought that won’t go anywhere good.
We’re just two people in a crowd of thousands, I remind myself. Two anonymous fish in an enormous sea. Noelle’s no more a target than anyone else.
That doesn’t make me feel overly assured, either.
“Are you okay?” Noelle asks once we hit the sidewalk again. “Do you have a headache?”
“What?” I look at her in confusion. “Why would you think I have a headache?”
“Because your forehead is all pinched up. And you keep gritting your jaw. So it’s either a headache or—” She gives me a you’re busted look. “You’re thinking about how many people are in the city and trying to assess how much danger I’m in.”
“I’m not,” I reply quickly. “In fact, this is one of the safest parts of the city. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
“So you didn’t scare the crap out of that guy back at the intersection? The one wearing the green coat?”
“I didn’t scare the crap out of him. Trust me. If I’d wanted to do that—” I stop myself. Maybe it’s not the best time to talk about all the ways I could intimidate someone I feel is a threat to Noelle. “Anyway. He was being rude, staring like that. I just gave him a little warning is all.”
Noelle leans her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my chin. Despite the late hour, it still smells faintly of honey and vanilla, a scent I’ll forever associate with her. “My fierce protector,” she says, affection softening her tone.
“Yes,” I agree. I kiss her head before adding, “And to answer your earlier question, I really did enjoy the performance. I’ll admit, I was hesitant going into it, but once the story actually started…”
“It’s such a great story, isn’t it?” Noelle tilts her head to smile up at me. “I saw Wicked in Seattle maybe ten years ago, but there’s just nothing like seeing it on Broadway.”
“Do you want to see about tickets to another show?” I ask. “I know tomorrow night is Jaz’s play, but we could probably fit in a matinee or something the night before we leave.”
“Maybe.” Noelle glances at a restaurant as we pass by. “Or we could go out for a nice dinner on Tuesday night. I’m sure Jaz has some recommendations.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine with me.” I kiss the top of her head again. “This is your trip, gorgeous. You want to see another Broadway show, we’ll do it. Want to go to a fancy dinner, tell me where and I’ll make it happen.”
Her lips curve into a teasing smile. “What if I want to go to one of those super-exclusive restaurants? One that has a six-month waitlist for reservations?”
“Then I’ll call Tyler and ask him to help. You know he can get us to the top of the list, no matter where it is.”
“True. But I don’t want a super fancy dinner. Just someplace where we can get a table with lots of privacy, plenty of candlelight, delicious food…”
“Done. We’ll ask Jaz when we see her tomorrow. Then you just tell me which place to make reservations for.”
Noelle looks up at me again. Emotion works in her eyes. “Webb.”
“What?” Worry surges. “Is that not okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” she replies. “I was just thinking… you talk about how you don’t know how to be romantic. But you do. You’re amazing at it.”
“Am I?” I mentally tick through the things I’ve done for Noelle that I’d consider romantic lately.
There were the flowers I bought last Friday, just because.
There was the new stuffed animal to add to her collection, a crested newt named Rufus.
And then there were the champagne and strawberries I requested for the first night in our hotel room, a recommendation from Bea before we left.
“Yes, you are,” Noelle replies. “And it’s not just the gifts, though I love them.
It’s all the things you do. It’s how you always get my coffee ready in the morning.
It’s the towel warmer you installed in the bathroom so I’d have toasty warm towels when I get out of the shower.
It’s seeing these musicals with me, even though I know they’re not your favorite. ”
“I like them,” I add. “Just maybe not that one in the woods. They kept singing the same thing over and over. It got kind of redundant.”
She laughs. “Fair enough. That one’s not my favorite, either.”