Page 64 of Remember Us This Way

My constant need for approval has me springing to my feet, my eyes wide with the mere idea of getting in trouble, and I grab Noah’s hand, pulling him up behind me. “Shit,” I breathe, glancing up at the clock and realizing I’ve been gone from class for far too long. “Ms. Lennon’s going to eat me alive.”

“Bullshit,” Noah murmurs, his hand low on my back as we make our way out of the student office. “Every single teacher in this school has their heads so far up your ass, they wouldn’t dream of getting you in trouble.”

I smile because he’s right, and as he meets my eye, all I can do is grin up at him. “Pays not to be an asshole,” I tell him. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll pass,” he says, walking me back down the hall despite the fact his economics class is in the opposite direction. “Besides, I have it on good authority that you like bad boys.”

I gape up at him. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Who do you think?”

I shake my head, not bothering to respond.

It seems I need to have a little chat with my sister when I get home.

27

Noah

Hobbling through the door of my home, I drop my shit and stride through the house. Training was a fucking killer this afternoon. Liam decided he wanted to talk back to Coach, and as a consequence, we all paid the price.

My hand slips into my pocket, pulling out my phone, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m typing out a number I’ve tried so hard to forget.

Noah: That offer to make out in the back of my car still stands.

Zoey: Who’s this?

I shake my head, a shit-eating grin tearing across my lips as something squeezes inside my chest.

Noah: You know damn well who it is.

Zoey: Ahhhhh, the resident asshole. How could I have missed that?

Noah: You better not be changing my name to that in your phone.

Zoey: Too late!

Noah: So…back of my car?

Zoey: You need to work on your pick-up game. This is terrible! It’s a mystery how you have so many girls desperate for your attention.

Noah: A mystery? Have you seen my face? I’m fucking gorgeous.

Zoey: *Poop emoji*

I laugh as I slip my phone back into my pocket, knowing she has to have the last word. Otherwise, we’ll end up going back and forth until our phones die, and I’m not above sitting by my charger. Actually, neither is she.

My hand hovers at my bedroom door when I find myself turning around and taking the few steps back to the one door I haven’t pushed through in three years.

Linc’s bedroom.

Nerves settle within me. I don’t know what Mom has done in here. She may have emptied it out already, or I might be about to walk into a time capsule that makes me feel as though he’s still here. For three years, I’ve avoided this room as if it stopped existing at the same moment that Linc did. I’ve never found the strength to open the door and walk in, but over these past few weeks, especially after sitting with Zoey outside Mrs. Thompson’s office today, something clicked into place.

I don’t want to grieve for him anymore. I want to celebrate him.

I still feel an overwhelming amount of guilt for Linc’s death, and despite how Zoey feels about it, I will always shoulder the blame for what happened that day. I was his older brother. He was my responsibility, and in my own selfishness, I sent him away. That will always remain my greatest regret. Yet, Zoey’s faith in me and her ability to see who I am through the darkness has somehow managed to breathe life back into me. For the first time in so long, I feel as though I’m ready to face everything that happened that day and accept it for what it was—a tragic accident.

Sucking in a deep breath, I curl my fingers around the cool handle, and as I exhale, my hands shake. I slowly nudge the door open, and my eyes timidly shift around the room.

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