Page 129 of Aria

I jolted in place when my phone vibrated in my pocket, Noah’s name lighting up the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey, Combs. It’s great to hear your voice.”

I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my lips. Clearing my throat, I asked, “How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” he sighed. “Hanging in there. Glad to be home.”

“I’m so glad you’re home…” A pang of guilt swelled in the pit of my stomach. I had only visited Noah once in the last two weeks, right after he’d been released from the hospital.

Rosa had a background in nursing and seemed to be holding down the fort just fine. I had helped Noah settle in and enjoyed aPaw Patrolmarathon with Sam, but when they’d insisted I stay for dinner that night, I’d declined. I had wanted to stay, more than anything… but seeing Noah sitting in his wheelchair, unable to play on the floor with his son or cook his own meal—well, it was heartbreaking.

And I’d felt wholeheartedly responsible.

While we’d stayed connected with texts and phone calls, I felt that keeping my distance was for the best.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Noah whispered after a few beats. “I miss you.”

The guilt in my belly turned into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. “I miss you, too. I’m sorry I haven’t been over to see you lately.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

I swallowed, closing my eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I hope you know that.”

“You feel responsible,” Noah said. “You think you’re the reason I was shot.”

How did he do that?How was he always able to strip down my walls and access my tormented center?

“Noah… God, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop being sorry.” His tone was adamant and firm. “You’re not responsible for what happened to me. You’re not responsible for what happened toyou. You need to get the hell away from that toxic mindset and realize that sometimes bad shit just happens. Bad people happen. It’s not your fault.”

My breath caught as I absorbed his words. My mother had always told me that my self-deprecating thoughts would be the end of me someday. “You’re right,” I conceded, running my fingers through my hair. “I’m just making everything worse. When can I see you?”

“Really?” Noah hesitated, thrown by my question. “Oh… well, I’m free right now.”

It was my turn to be thrown as my insides hummed with anticipation. I glanced at the time on my phone, noting it was a few minutes after eight P.M. If I hurried, I could tuck Sam into bed. “Okay, I’ll head over.”

“Yeah?” Noah sounded surprised.

Hopeful.

“Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s definitely okay.”

Tension swirled between us, loud and heavy. It was full of unspoken words, months of pent-up feelings, and something so powerful, it made my hand start to tremble as I held the phone to my ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

When the call disconnected, I lifted a hand to my heart, feeling it thump wildly beneath my pink hoodie. I squeezed the fabric between my fingers and sucked in a nervous breath.

I felt like a frumpy mess in my hoodie and leggings. My shorter hair was tossed up into a small ponytail, while yesterday’s mascara still adorned my eyelashes.

Jumping off the couch, I stepped into the room adjacent to Lisa’s, careful not to disturb her, and changed into a pair of skinny jeans with a tank top and cardigan. I spritzed my favorite perfume onto my pulse points, pulling my hair down and untangling the strands with my fingertips. I touched up my mascara and reached for my blush, only to realize my cheeks were naturally flushed pink. My palms trailed to the rosy stains on my face, cursing myself for feeling like a giddy junior-high girl with a first crush.

“It’s just Noah,” I said to myself, studying my reflection in the mirror. I gulped back a lump in my throat and flattened out the wrinkles in my cardigan, wondering why I even cared about my appearance. Noah was used to seeing me in sweatpants and no makeup.

Why did this visit feel so…different?

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