Page 162 of Echoes of Us

When I got home, I threaded through the maze of packed boxes to Colin’s door and knocked lightly.

“Yeah?” he called out.

“Can I come in?” I asked.

Colin came to the door, and I could see he had started to pull clothes out of his closet. “Hey, Att. I thought you had class till three.”

“I went out for coffee with Holly. Or, well, we were at a coffee shop, and she had wine,” I said, and saw him pale.

“Oh,” he let out.

I leaned against the door frame. “I know you know about the overdose, Col,” I said and saw his shoulders slump. “After Holly told me, your reaction when I mentioned seeing Noah at the health center was a giveaway.”

His blue eyes stayed fixed on mine until he finally nodded. “Yeah, I knew.”

“I think I need a drink, and I figure you owe me one.”

“After training?—”

“We’re not going to training today, Col. I can’t see him right now, and like I said, you owe me,” I repeated.

He grabbed his wallet, and we left home.

We went to Colin’s local pub. They thankfully didn’t card me, and he got us whiskey. I stared at it, thinking about Noah again, and drank.

And drank.

And drank.

Colin told me he had heard about it one week after it happened. His mom had told him. He thought it had been a relapse, nothing serious, and decided not to tell me. He said I was having such a bad time with the breakup that he didn’t want to make it worse by telling me Noah was back in rehab. A little less than a month ago, Colin had talked to his mom, who told him how serious it had been. He talked to Holly after that and even Noah. After he did, Noah had asked him not to tell me. He told me Noah didn’t get into the details of what happened. His mom had been the one who told Colin about Noah being in the ICU and having multiple heart surgeries.

As he talked, the only thing I could think of was how small everything felt in comparison to this. I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities, everything that could have gone wrong. If Holly hadn’t answered her phone, if shehadn’t flown to New York that day, if the ambulance had taken longer. So much could have been worse, and Noah could have been dead right now.

I hated the taste of whiskey, but the burn in my throat was a welcome distraction from those thoughts. I didn’t talk much, just listened to Colin walk me through it. He asked me about a million times if I was alright, and I kept nodding.

On our way back home, I was unsteady on my feet and told Colin I just wanted to sleep it off.

I watched the ceiling in my room and saw the bedroom circling towards the left, stopping, and beginning again.

Noah could have died.

I grabbed my phone and thought about texting him, calling him. I put it back on the bed and closed my eyes. It wasn’t as if it canceled it out. He had still left. He had still treated me like crap.

But it felt like it did.

I opened my eyes, and the room spun again. I searched my phone and opened the music app, scrolling to Noah’s playlist. I saw all the familiar titles and then some. Song after song played and it took me through everything. The wonderful moments where I thought my heart would burst, the embarrassing lines that made my face flush, and eventually, the new ones, laced with regret and heartbreak. It was like traveling through time.

I found the Chicago song, the one that I knew would probably break me, and played it against my better judgment. The soft piano and almost familiar beat made my heart ache; it was so like Noah. All those songs he kept playing and singing to, every morning and during the day. It was a sad song, that much was clear. I sat and listened as the man sang and reached the chorus.

I braced myself.

It fit. Painfully so. We had been through so much. Did he really want to make it up to me?

The burning behind my eyes reached an unbearable level. I rubbed my hand over my face to keep myself from crying over this. It was so like him, being unable to say something so simple, but finding the words through a song that somehow made everything better.

Then it went on to say that I was the part of him he could never let go.

Damn it, Noah.

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