Page 84 of Until Then

Both colors of his eyes are lined in red and fatigue when he rolls his head to look at me. Noah curses and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I thought I dreamed you were here.”

“Nope.” I kick my legs over the edge of the bed.

“Hayley, go home.” He’s firm, but there’s still a touch of agony in his tone. Something desperate. As though most of him doesn’t want me to see the harder pieces, but he doesn’t want me to go, either.

“I don’t think so.” I go to the window of his room and lift the shades. There’s a fading sun over the ocean and it casts away the shadows of his room.

Noah winces against the slivers of light. “What are you doing?”

With care, I prop one knee on the corner of his bed. “I know you probably want to stay in the dark and in bed, but we need to get up. I’ve got a shower ready for you, and we’ll pick up a little, then I’m kidnapping you.”

Noah flattens over onto his stomach again, and tucks a pillow under his body. “I’m not good company right now, Hayley.”

I hate how everything sounds flat, it’s missing the brightness that is Noah Hayden. He’s not even calling me his Wildfire.

“Well, if I only took you when you were good company, then I’d be a pretty rotten girlfriend.”

Noah’s lips curl into a brief smile, there and gone.

“I’ll shower,” he grumbles after a long pause. “But only because I can smell myself. You don’t need to wait around for me.”

I stand in the doorway of his large bathroom, towel in hand, and watch as he slides from the bed to his feet. “Keep trying to kick me out, Pretty Boy. It won’t work. You’re stuck with me, deal with it.”

Noah takes the towel from my hand, mouth tight. “You probably want to talk about?—”

“No.” I press two fingers to his lips. “I don’t want to talk right now. I want to see you standing a little straighter first, maybeget something in your stomach other than liquor. There’s always time to talk.”

Before he can shy away from me again, I rise on my toes and peck his lips. Noah winces, but I don’t think it’s from disgust. The way he cups the back of my head and holds my brow to his, it doesn’t take much to guess Noah needs touch, needs someone present, more than he wants to admit.

While he showers, I throw out some of the scattered trash throughout the condo, then dig through his fridge, looking for something to make. He has a good array of veggies. I settle on a simple omelet, and fail to figure out how to work his fancy coffee maker.

Water’s probably best anyway.

Noah emerges, still shirtless, and I’m not complaining. He runs a towel over his damp hair, and squints against the lights in the kitchen.

He studies the plate of food, gripping the back of the chair tightly. “I’m embarrassed you had to see me like this.”

The words cut a new scar in my heart. I round the counter and trap his face between my hands. “I’m not. Hey, look at me.” I wait until Noah lifts his gaze again. “I want every part of you.”

He swallows and covers one of my hands with his own. “I get stuck in . . . dark thoughts sometimes. It crushes me and I can hardly move.”

I wrap my arms around him, not saying anything. Sometimes words do nothing against severe depressive thoughts. Sometimes it means more to know someone else is simply there.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” I whisper. “I’d be honored to help you find the sunlight again if the thoughts get too dark.”

Noah’s shoulders slump. His arms hold my waist. For a long moment we merely stand there, holding each other. When hefinally clears his throat and pulls away, I laugh awkwardly and use my thumb to wipe away a stray tear.

He takes a few bites of the omelet, thanks me, and says I’ll need to finish for him.

It’s progress from straight whiskey.

I turn on some upbeat songs and gently nudge Noah around the kitchen, cleaning together, until he smiles. When I hip bump him near the sink to the beat of one song, he even laughs and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

There’s so much to say. I want to hear his experiences, his struggles; I want to know what happened downtown.

And I need to tell him my fears, my insecurities; I need to tell him about my dad.

TWENTY-FIVE

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