Page 112 of Before We Fell

I gave him one last glance, memorized his features, his sadness and his complete, stupid unfounded worry.

His nostrils flared at my inspection, the only sign he heard me or for that matter knew where I stood three feet in front of him.

My heart broke as his eyes narrowed on me. There was disgust in them. A pain so quick and strong like the lash of the whip slammed against my rib cage.

He and I were different, as much as I told myself we worked. He was a city boy pretending to like living in the small town. Someday he’d leave. I was a girl content with a quiet life, wanting nothing but a family, and I had a glimpse of that for a short time, clung to it forgetting how different Noah and I were. He saw the worst of people, I hope for the best.

And there was another difference between us, something that would cause us to never bridge that ravine. I had a conscience. And Noah? Noah Wilkes couldn’t give me the benefit of the doubt.

Without another word between us, I turned and left his house. I closed his door behind me, made it to my car, and managed to make the quick drive around the neighborhood back to my house before getting inside, collapsing onto the couch, my coat still wrapped around me.

He ripped more than my heart out of my chest that day as I walked away from him. For the first time in my life, he had stolen my hope that someday I would be enough. That I would be more than enough. He’d stolen the dream I'd had since I was a little girl that someday I would find a man who loved me so much that whatever disaster befell my family never rattled him.

This news was rattle worthy, no doubt about it. Noah deserved to be angry, he had every right to his emotions. He had every right to lash out at me for them even though I wasn’t the cause. I would’ve taken them. I would’ve taken them and held him and let him burn all of his anger and his frustration and his rage and his pain out on me.

But the simple fact was? He didn’t trust me enough to be able to take it. And that hurt worst of all.

Thirty-Five

Noah

It had happened too fast.

Her arrival.

Her getting to the point.

Which is why I stood there, long after the door closed before I realized she’d left.

She walked away from me because I was too afraid, still too angry, to give her a reason to stay.

I’d needed time, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to give that to me.

I needed to get my own head figured out.

She didn’t know I’d gone to St. Louis last night, demanded to see Travis that morning. She didn’t know how strung out he still was, hands shaking, detoxing and jonesing for a hit of anything that could take away his physical pain. He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t remember anything about the night he showed up at her house, stoned out of his mind, throwing our lives into a blender and slamming his finger on the puree button.

And even when I took the few minutes to remind him, all he’d done was tilt his head, scratch at sores on his cheeks, and asked, “Do you have a cigarette? Anything, man?”

Like he still didn’t give a shit what he’d done.

And if he didn’t have any remorse, I didn’t in any way feel settled that all my fears wouldn’t eventually come true.

Even if it meant she hated me. Even if it meant being alone.

Thirty-Six

Lauren

March – Three and a half months later

It was time.

Christmas had come and gone. The school year had only a couple of months left.

The risk of snow was now gone, spring in the air, Spring Break was on the horizon. And me? I still felt like it was the dead of winter.

But it was time to move past it. Finally.

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