Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Tori
Six months later
It’s been just over a year since I lost Trent and my baby.
Nearly six months since Noah asked me to try, to fight.
His words hit a nerve, and I knew he was right.
Six months since he gave me the most meaningful gift I have ever received.
I wear it daily, reaching for it when I lose my nerve or the day feels too much and I think of all the things that could have been, that should have been.
Sometimes, I take it off and admire the small silver compass pendant with the diamond in the center, and then turn it over and rub my thumb over the engraved words.
Memento Vivere.
A phrase I have done my best to live by.
It wasn’t my fault what happened to me, but it is my responsibility to get back up, to fight, and heal.
A lot has changed in the last six months: Harry, Jack, and Brad left the Marines, and Noah decided to stay, which upset me more than I cared to admit, but I shoved those thoughts to the back of my mind.
Despite my many protests, I agreed to go to Texas to a wellness and healing retreat if Harry moved to Miami with the guys to open up their bar that they have been talking about for years.
I couldn’t allow Harry to give up on his dreams and stop living life because of me.
I spent a month there, tending to horses, having daily therapy.
I was reluctant to open up initially, but when I did, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
I’m not healed, far from it, but I have accepted that what happened wasn’t my fault; that losing my baby wasn’t something I could control, and that truly feels like the biggest breakthrough in my recovery.
Letting go of that guilt helped me heal enough to be able to get up every day.
I started working for my dad’s security company part-time, remotely, just to get me back in the swing of things, and I have taken up daily runs with my friend, Hannah.
Healing and recovering is about small steps; it’s a marathon, not a sprint.
In the lead up to the first anniversary of Trent’s death, I feel like I’m in a better place than I was a few months ago, thanks to the support I’ve had.
My thoughts pull back to the present, and I focus on packing for my trip to Texas with Noah.
He kept his word and agreed to help me with Trent’s life list, and first up is cliff diving.
I close my suitcase and lie on top of it, fighting with the zipper.
You’d think I had packed for a two-week vacation and not a short break, but I am who I am: a girl needs to be prepared.
The familiar sound of Noah’s truck pulls up outside my apartment, and the anticipation of seeing him buzzes through my body.
My friendship with Noah means the world to me, and I am grateful to have him on this journey with me.
We have a twenty-hour road trip ahead of us, and we plan to stop off at a motel enroute.
It’s a hot summer's day here in North Carolina, and I know it will be even warmer in Texas, so I have dug out my old denim shorts, paired them with a cropped t-shirt, my tanned cowgirl boots, and Trent’s old cowboy hat.
He grew up on a farm, riding horses and tending to cattle.
Wearing his hat this weekend will feel like I have a piece of him with me.
I drag my suitcase through my apartment and open the front door to find Noah waiting, dressed in a white t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a baseball cap.
The sight of him takes my breath away. I haven’t seen him in months; he’s been overseas and clearly somewhere hot by the golden glow of his tan, and for just a second, I forget to breathe.
He looks good.
“Hey, you.”
I say, stepping forward to embrace him, and when his strong arms pull me in, I instantly relax because there is something about the way Noah holds me that has me believing that everything is going to be okay.
“Hey Tor.” His deep voice rumbles through his body, and I feel the vibration against my cheek that’s pressed to his firm chest.
“I missed you,” I confess, the words slipping from my lips so easily, and my spine stiffens in fear that my confession was too much, but when he tightens his hold as if he can’t bear to let me go.
“I missed you too.” My shoulders soften, and I take a second just to soak him in and smile as my body relaxes in a way that only seems to happen when I’m in his arms. I swear, one hug from Noah Jones could heal just about anyone.
We finally break the hug as I step back and nervously chew the inside of my cheek and clear my throat.
“You’re looking good Tor—” He stops, clears his throat, and adjusts his baseball cap. “Well, you’re looking well."
My cheeks heat at his compliment. In therapy, they talked about the importance of self-care, so every day I make a conscious effort to do something that makes me feel good.
Do my hair, cook a meal, paint my nails, read a book, and by doing these small things, slowly, bit by bit, tiny pieces of me have started to come back together.
“You could have waited in the truck,” I say, locking the door to my apartment.
“What, and let you carry your suitcase down that stairwell and risk breaking a nail. No chance.”
I roll my eyes and give him a playful shove and point to my suitcase with my freshly manicured nail.
“You might wanna put your back into it with this one,” I joke.
“Give it here,” he says, reaching for said case, which he lifts with one arm, and clearly, the weight of it takes him by surprise when he drops it.
“Jesus, woman, how long are you staying in Texas? This thing weighs like a hundred pounds.”
“I did warn you,” I sing as I lock the door to my apartment.
“I’ve carried kit bags for a team of five lighter than this,” he says with a tight voice as he hauls my case over his shoulder, and I follow him down the stairs and out to his truck.
He opens the passenger door and gestures with his arm for me to get in.
“Such a gentleman.” I hum playfully. His truck is so high I have to use the step on the edge and the pull handle inside to heave myself up. He closes the door and puts my case in the trunk.
His truck smells of him. Mint and cedarwood. I buckle up and let my body sink into the worn leather of the seat.
He jumps in and fires up the engine, country music blasting through the speakers.
“Texas, here we come,” he declares with a grin.
Nine hours in, and we have stopped twice so I could pee, get more gas and snacks. I’ve eaten two bags of Sour Patch Kids, a bag of Cheetos, and drank a too-large cup of cream soda, a bottle of water, and a coffee.
I fidget in my seat and cross my legs.
“You need to pee again, don’t you?” Noah says, eyes focused on the open road. The sun has begun to set, and we crossed the border into Alabama nearly an hour ago.
“No,” I say tightly.
“Really?” He gives me a side eye.
My body sags in defeat. “Yes, okay, I need to pee. Like really badly. I have since we hit Alabama. Happy?” I spin my head to face him.
A grin spreads across his face.
“Well, I’m not surprised. You’ve been drinking like a fish,” he jokes, and I slap his bicep, noting its firmness.
“Cheetos make me thirsty. Please, can we stop at a restroom?” I plead.
“Sure thing, darlin’.” The word falls from his lips so smoothly, and we both still.
Darlin’.
The word does something to me, but the urgency to pee makes it hard to decipher exactly what.
We sit in silence, and I’m thankful when Noah breaks it. “There’s a motel a few miles up. Do you think you can hold it until then?”
I nod.
“Change the station, distract yourself.” Noah points to the radio. I fiddle with the knob, stopping when one of my favorite songs blasts through the speakers.
Madonna. Like a prayer.
“Oh my god, I love this song,” I squeal.
“I didn’t have you down as a Madonna fan,” Noah asks, flicking his gaze between me and the road.
“Oh, yeah. In college, me and my friends went to an eighties-themed night at one of the sorority houses. I went dressed as Madonna from the Like a Virgin video, and ironically, it was the night I lost my virginity.”
Noah’s hands clench the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, and I wince. “I’m sorry. Is it weird that I just told you that?”
Noah laughs under his breath. “No, Tor, it’s not.”
“Come on then, your turn. When did you lose yours?”
He inhales and blows out a deep breath as he takes one hand off the steering wheel and rubs it over his five o’clock shadow.
“Senior year of high school. A cheerleader named Breeana. My on and off again girlfriend.”
“Go on,” I encourage, twisting in my seat to face him.
“We were at a party, we got drunk, and one thing led to another. I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing.” He smiles as if he were reliving the memory.
“Where is Breanna now? Do you still keep in touch?”
He shakes his head. “No, she went off to college, and last I heard, she’s married to a surgeon, living somewhere near Florida. What about your guy? Did you keep in touch with him?”
“Oh, God, no. He was awful. We were so drunk, he was all hands and no skill. He was trying so hard to get me off, twisting and flicking everything he could, and I lay there thinking, are you trying to have sex or play a game of Bop It with my body?”
A laugh rips from Noah’s chest, startling me, but then I fall into a fit of laughter too.
“Oh my god, stop. I’m going to pee myself.” I press my hands in between my legs and squeeze them tight, feeling the pressure in my core build, but loving the way it feels to truly laugh again.
“A game of Bop It. Shit, Tor, I forgot how funny you were.”
I straighten my spine, flicking my long hair over my shoulder. “Why, thank you.”
His eyes flicker to me every few seconds with a grin that stirs something inside my belly. I like the way he looks at me.
“What?” I ask nervously, suddenly feeling shy.
“I just like hearing you laugh.”