Page 2 of Bond Strength

I’d met him in elementary, and we’d become fast friends. He’d tagged along with me and my siblings frequently with whatever nonsense we’d gotten up to, whether diving into rivers or playing cops and robbers at the playground. But things had disintegrated between us in high school. He’d gone the traditional jock route, the QB on the football team, and he’d started hanging out more with those guys. Divergent paths might’ve been fine, but he had made it a point to always tug at my hair or steal my hat while his friends all laughed. Annoying shit that pushed us further and further apart.

What was worse? I could speak up to almost anyone, but for some reason, I got tongue-tied around him.

Even though three guys hung around him, all dressed in similar coveralls or threadbare jeans, he separated from the herd and sauntered my way.

Noah was one of those guys who smiled often and at everyone, with eyes that reminded me of the golden retriever my brother andhis boyfriend had just brought home. With his cleft chin, strong nose, and broad build, he was what others might classify as conventionally attractive. I classified him as a pain in my ass.

Or a pain in my hair. Every day, I took time to make sure the strands fell evenly, and whenever we met, he messed it up.

I couldn’t fathom why he went out of his way to bother me. Our circles had shifted entirely, although he occasionally ran into my brothers, since he worked as a contractor like they did. However, every few months we ran into each other, and he’d inevitably mosey over to catch up.

“Declan Brannon,” he said.

“After thirty-two years, you’ve learned my full name. I’m shocked.” I fake-clutched my pearls.

“What are you doing sitting at the bar on your own?” He plunked into the booth as if he’d been invited. My irritation simmered at the same time my skin prickled, an unfortunate occurrence that seemed to sweep in whenever he was around. Something about him set me on edge.

“Enjoying my company.”

He snorted as if I’d joked, and then reached forward, hand outstretched. I backed up so he couldn’t get to my hair. Nice try, asshole.

“You’re here with friends, I’m guessing?” I gave an up-nod in the direction of the guys at the bar.

“Yeah, we’re unwinding after a long job. The best beer in town is here.” He glanced at the beer Balthazar had left before she’d stormed out in a huff. “Two beers by your lonesome?”

“You can finish it if you don’t mind risking the germs. I had a date. We didn’t click.”

“I didn’t know you were dating.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, getting comfortable, which was the last thing I wanted him todo. I wanted himuncomfortable. About as uncomfortable as I got whenever we interacted.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Noah.” I sipped at my beer, simply for something to do with my hands. I hated the way he ramped up my nerves, how I grew so much more aware of my surroundings, my own processes around him. If only I could drown out his presence.

“Oh?” He arched a brow. “Pretty sure I know how you got the scar on your knee.”

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten it if you’d been better at holding me upright,” I shot back. We’d been trying to climb in through my window at my house after sneaking out to go stargazing at the park because it had a better view of the sky than my backyard. In those innocent years before Noah dropped our shared interests and started acting weird around me.

“Don’t you have drinking to get to?” I asked.

He picked up the half-finished beer from my date and took a sip. “Mmm, just did.”

Annoyance simmered through my veins. “You probably gave yourself strep.”

His brow wrinkled. “Was she sick?”

“No, but tossing back random unfinished drinks seems like a surefire way to get sick.” My tone came out a little more droll than normal. “You’d be the first loss on the Oregon Trail. Here lies Noah—died of dysentery.”

Noah waggled his brows. “Sounds like you’re worried about me.”

“Only if I teamed up with you on the Oregon Trail. Chances are, your corpse would attract coyotes, and then it’d be game over for me too.”

“You’d leave me to get eaten by coyotes? Cold-blooded.”

“Lies implies we buried you. It’s not my fault you drank random beer, got parasites, and died of dysentery. I’m just trying to survive the Oregon Trail.” As much as Noah annoyed the crap out of me, I enjoyed this conversation with him far more than with my date. And that was part of the problem. Noah used to be someone I liked to be around, where I didn’t have to mask, and I could be myself in all my autistic glory.

Those people were goddamn rare.

Then high school happened, and he changed, and we never found our footing afterward.

“This beer was a good choice.” He lifted the glass. “Is it the Libra one on tap?”

---