Page 98 of Even Exchange

A sharp pang of sadness grips my soul. “I can’t even imagine,” I say, resting a hand on his face.

“My father called me yesterday,” Noah admits, and my brows rise in surprise. “I didn’t answer. But he always tries on my birthday… Maybe that triggered the nightmare.” I wrap my arms around him, holding tight.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“I wanted to tell you.” He looks towards me. “So many times. But I didn’t?—”

“Noah, I’m a politician’s daughter. I get being careful with a story like that. Some people would use it as a rising from the ashes story?—”

“And others would say I have a violent background, paired with a career in an aggressive sport. Then spend pages analyzing what kind of man that makes me.” He sighs, wringing his hands together, and looks at me. “I’ll understand if you don’t wanna do the whole lessons or fake dating thing anymore.”

“What?” I sit up. “Why wouldn’t I want to continue?”

“Like you said, you’re a politician’s daughter.” He shifts in place. “And if we were dating—or fake dating—and that got out, I guess it wouldn’t look good.”

“You think any of that matters to me?” I ask, tilting my head, and his lips press together. “Well, it doesn’t.Youmatter. And I am not afraid of youorthis information.”

His eyes hold mine, and he reaches out, cupping my neck. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Joining me in the dark for a little while.”

“What are friends for?” I say stupidly.

“Right.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek. “What are friends for?”

18

CHARLOTTE

“Can wepleasego eat something?” I beg on the third mile of our run as trees pass by in a blur. Nausea rises, and I force it down.

Damn Noah for making me do cardio before breakfast.

It’s been a week since his nightmare, and I’ve slept over since. The fear in his eyes is embedded into my memory, and I never want him to experience that alone again. He’s always there for everyone else. Now he needs someone to support him. He needsmeto support him.

“We’re almost there,” Noah says, not even slightly out of breath.

I huff loudly, keeping in stride, so focused on trying to stay awake, I can barely keep my eyes open. “Fine.” We run a few more minutes, and just as I think I’ll have to take a break, Noah stops abruptly.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He grabs my shoulders, spinning me around to a sea of a million wildflowers. A beautiful blend of green, pink, orange, purple, and white is before me. In the distance, a few cabins and a goal post border the rolling field.Breathtaking.Noah walks forward and reaches down to pick something up. He spins to face me, holding out a tiny dandelion.

“For mysoffione,” he says with an unabashed smile.

“What does that mean?” I ask, unable to fight my curiosity any longer as I take it between my fingers.

“It’s Italian for ‘dandelion.’”

“Because I’m a weak little weed?” I tease, biting my lower lip, knowing that’s how he viewed them during the camping trip.

“No.” He pushes my hair behind my shoulder, cupping my neck. “Because you’re incredibly resilient.”

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