Page 162 of Even Exchange

Noah pulls his phone out.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Calling Elijah.” He places his free hand on my thigh. “I won’t say you can’t go. But youcan’tgo alone.”

I press my lips together, heart soaring at his overprotectiveness. “That’s really not necessary.”

Noah’s concerned eyes hold mine. “I do not trust Jonathan.” He moves his hand to my stomach. “You are not alone in any of this. Elijah said to call him if we need him.” He drops his forehead to mine. “We do.”

I release a sigh. “Okay.”

Five minutes later, Elijah has more than agreed to be my bodyguard. With shaky hands, I grab my phone up off the couch.

MOTHER

ME

I’ll be there.

* * *

Elijah pulls in the driveway, parking next to Jonathan’s car. It’s the only one here, which suggests he’s alone.Definitely don’t want his parents around for this conversation.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I tell Sophia before turning my attention to Elijah in the driver’s seat. “And thanks for driving.”

“Any time,” he says, with a weak smile, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Besides, you really think Noah would let you come face this prick alone?”

“I can handle him.” Tilting my head, I cock a brow. “And you should wait in the truck. I think your presence would piss him off, all things considered.”

Elijah’s lips press together, and he rolls down his window. “Holler if you need me.”

I open the door of his truck and hop out, Sophia following suit.

“I really can do this on my own,” I tell her.

“Of course you can, but”—she takes my hand—“you don’t need to.”

I take a deep breath, holding her gaze. “Please wait here.”

“Char—”

“I appreciate it, I really do. But Ineedto do this alone.”

“Okay,” she concedes reluctantly, pursing her lips. “You’ve got this.”

Swallowing hard, I stroll up the path, passing the rose bush that supplied all the flowers Jonathan would bring me.He insisted buying them was a waste of money.As I walk up the stairs, my eyes pause on the spot where he asked me to be his girlfriend.

The wooden porch creaks beneath me as I walk slowly to the front door I’ve stepped through hundreds, if not thousands of times. Often greeted with make-up kisses from the time we’d spent apart.

I place a hand over my stomach. Four years of my life. Four years that a young, naive girl, who had no clue about life, or love, or anything, really, wanted nothing more than to spend her life with this person.

I’ve suppressed Jonathan from my mind, but being here, surrounded by all thingshim—or rather,us—has those memories flooding back.

Sucking in a breath, I knock three times, then fold my arms over my chest, hoping the pressure will hold me together.

Reality? I’m seconds from blowing away like a dandelion in the wind.

There’s no response, and I jam my finger into the doorbell.

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