Page 71 of The Stepbrother 2: Noah

Before we could get into the cars, a woman came running towards us. I could hear her feet hitting the pavement.

"You killed my daughter! You devil bitch," my back was to her, but I recognized my mother's voice immediately.

I turned as she lunged towards Scarlett. A knife gleamed in her hand. For a moment, time seemed to slow. Before anyone could react, the blade entered Scarlett’s back.

In that split second, chaos erupted. Fans were running and screaming. Troy and Wolfgang moved to shield Scarlett and Creed, who was trying to help her mother. I was too stunned to move for a long moment.

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the night, sending shockwaves through the air. Creed's scream sounded muffled.

Clay, with his gun still in his hand, ran over, kicked the knife away from Tiffany’s hand.

Troy was begging Scarlett, “Please, baby don’t do this. Wake up.” My heart clenched with fear and disbelief as I dropped to the ground. I crawled the inches separating my mother and me, my hands trembling as I tried to stop the flow of blood from her chest. Clay had hit her directly in the heart. "Why would you do that?" I whispered, “You didn’t have to do that.” Tiffany was evil, but she was still my mother. I was watching her die. "Scarlett never did anything to you. Why would she stab her?"

There was no answer. I watched her life slip away. When her eyes finally fluttered closed, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

Noah-

I ran my fingertips over the smooth wood of the coffin that held my mother. Everything was so beautiful. Creed had arranged it when I couldn’t. I didn’t understand how she could be so strong for me when it was my mother who had stabbed hers.

It had been eight days since Tiffany's death, eight days of numb disbelief and sleepless nights. Tiffany had never really been around, but now, as I faced the reality of her permanent absence, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of emptiness. Even if she wasn’t in my life before, I got some kind of comfort from knowing she was alive and might come around to being a better person, a better mother. Especially after what happened to Maine and after my father returned. He’d requested a meeting with her that she’d never showed up to, so he decided that was all the closure they needed.

I kept seeing her get shot, hearing the impact of the bullet entering her chest. Clay wouldn't be charged, thank goodness. He did what he was supposed to.

Scarlett was in a coma. She lost so much blood her body shut down. The doctors didn’t know when she’d wake up. Around me, the pews were empty. Where were the mourners, the friends and family who should have been here to pay their respects? Tiffany’s death had made the news, the day, time, and place of her funeral had made the news, and no one came. Had she been such a terrible person that she’d driven everyone away? Why was I even here? Maybe she was crazy like me? Was this my destiny? In the end, I’d push everyone away and have no one? Would my daughter eventually hate me? Would Creed?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. I turned to see Creed, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen with tears, followed closely by Troy and Wolfgang, holding my daughter. Jason couldn't even look at me, so I wasn't surprised that he wasn't among them.

I tried to smile at Creed when she reached me. I hadn’t expected anyone to come. “We couldn’t leave you to do this alone. None of this is your fault,” she said, rising to kiss my lips. I swallowed past the large lump that had been lodged in my throat since that night as I nodded at her, then wordlessly I led them to the pews; the service would begin.

It began and ended in what felt like the same minute. Nobody stood to give kind words about Tiffany. There were no pauses in the service for people breaking down. Nobody cared that she was dead. The worst of it all was I felt her death made my life easier.

We were on the way to the burial when Creed's phone rang. She reached into her pocket and answered the call, her expression shifting from schooled to disbelief. "It's the hospital," she murmured, her voice trembling with hope. "They say Scarlett woke up." Without hesitation, we turned and rushed to the hospital. My father called the funeral home to give them instructions. We would arrive at the burial site until later. The ride was filled with tangible silence. All that could be heard was the heavy breathing caused by anxiety, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Creed's hand trembled in mine. I held it tight, my knuckles turned red; she leaned into me. Finally, we arrived, our hearts pounding in our chests as we rushed through the doors. The sterile scent of disinfectant greeted us as we made our way to the ICU, our footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. A nurse ushered us into a small consultation room, where a weary-looking doctor awaited us.

“When can I see my wife?” Troy rushed out.

"I'm afraid the situation is complicated," the tone of the doctor's voice sent my heart to my stomach. "Scarlett regained consciousness, but her injuries were severe. There's a possibility she may never walk again." Shock rippled through the room, leaving us speechless. Creed reached for me.

As I watched everybody absorb the devastating news, their faces falling, a sense of helplessness settled over me, a suffocating blanket. I couldn’t breathe. This was my fault. My mother's deeds were my sins too. I let Creed's hand fall, turned, and walked out of the room. I heard her heels clacking against the tile floor as she followed me. I picked up speed. The elevator was already open. I slid in, but she stopped it just before it closed.

She stepped in, not letting it close. “Noah, come back. I know you, and you're thinking you inherited your mother's baggage and failures, but you didn’t. What happened to Tiffany and what she did is not your burden to carry. I need you to get it together." She paused, waiting for me to say something. I couldn’t even look at her. My family had brought nothing positive to hers. I started to understand why Wolfgang had faked his death.

Creed stomped her foot like she was really tired of me, the sound echoing through the elevator, bouncing off the walls. Luckily, no one was near us.

“God damn it, Noah. It’s been over a week and you haven’t said anything, you don’t eat, don’t play with our daughter, and I know you haven’t taken your meds. You will not curl into yourself and hide,” she yelled. “If I have to, I’ll Baker Act your ass and have your meds forced down your throat.” She reached in and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. “You don’t get to give up on me after everything we went through." She left me with those words, stepping out of the elevator. I wanted to tell herI wasn’t giving up. I just felt like the universe had given up on me, but I couldn't get the words out past the lump in my throat. I closed my eyes and just breathed as the doors slid closed, and all I could do was hope that tomorrow, when I woke up, life was better and there was a good chance it would be. I had a daughter and a wife who loved me. I just needed to move past the guilt. I would eventually, wouldn't I?

Noah-

Ever since my mother's passing, guilt had clenched around my voice, suffocating my every attempt to speak. Creed wanted to say it was all about my mental health, but the truth is, it felt deeper than that. Every time I tried to voice my thoughts, the guilt was there—a relentless reminder of my failure. Scarlett was depressed and couldn't walk. Jason blamed me. My father was touring, but his absence from the music scene had made him irrelevant in this generation, and he was feeling rejected. I should have left him where he was. Troy was Troy, doing everything in his power to keep his family together. He had moved back into his house with Scarlett when she left the hospital. He called every day and would talk to me like everything was normal, even when I wasn’t talking back. I appreciated his efforts. I thought it would be Creed who kept me above the surface, but she’d chosen a different path this time around—silence that matched mine.

Leaving my office, I heard Creed's voice, low and light, singing. I found myself lingering in Ayaan's bedroom doorway, watching Creed sing her to sleep. The soft glow of the nightlight painted shadows across her face, highlighting how beautiful she was. She was angry with me, and I knew all she wanted me to do was talk to her. I couldn’t. How could I tell her I regretted that my mother never met Ayaan? Maybe she would have been enough for Tiffany to change. Without thinking, I stepped closer, the floorboards creaking under my weight. Creed didn't look up, but she knew I was there. I could see the tension suddenly in her shoulders.

I opened my mouth to speak, to spill some of the feelings churning inside me, but the words dissolved before they couldtake shape. My throat tightened. I reached out, stretching my hand toward her, but pulled back, my fingers curling into a fist. This was the first time since I was a child that I’d felt Creed and I weren’t connected. She couldn’t help me, and I couldn’t help her. When Ayaan finally fell asleep, Creed pushed right past me without a word. I followed her to the kitchen, so close on her heels I almost tripped her. She glared at me over her shoulder. In the kitchen, I watched her grab a glass, then go into the cabinet and bring out the Grey Goose. She poured herself a drink. I watched her, my insides twisting tighter and tighter, watching her tip that glass back like I wasn’t standing right there, like I was invisible. I wanted to grab that bottle, pour it all out on the floor, scream at her to justseeme, to justtalkto me. But I didn’t. I just stood there, locked in my own silence, feeling her slip further and further away.

It started in my head, the scream. I was screaming,Talk to me, over and over in my head until the words spilled out.

“Talk to me!” I shouted. It felt like I was also shouting at myself.

Creed froze. Her eyes went wide, and I thought—just for a second—I thought she’d say something, anything. But then she shook her head, slow, her lips pressing tight, and I saw the tears she wouldn’t let fall, her jaw hardening as she shook her head again, a silent no.

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