Page 125 of Aria

Oh, hey. Sorry about that whole multiple gunshot wound thing. My ex gets a little crazy sometimes. But don’t worry—he’s dead now.

Hey, Noah. I heard you might never be able to play guitar again or gain feeling in your arm. Kinda my fault. So sorry.

Hi, there. You sort of confessed your love to me and then almost died. I feel like this complicates our friendship a little.

I wrung my sweaty palms together and tapped my foot against the floor of the passenger’s seat. The radio played at a low volume, serenading us with the vocal talents of Stevie Nicks. When we arrived at the hospital, I felt my heart beating in my throat. I was anxious, nervous, and eternally grateful. I was also teetering on the edge of an imminent breakdown…

It was a complex mix of emotions.

“Are you ready?” Lisa turned the engine off as we sat in the parking garage, an eerie silence sweeping over us. “I can stay in the waiting room if you want some private time with Noah.”

I found myself nodding. “I think I would… if that’s okay.”

“Whatever you need, Chels. I’m here for you.”

The walk down the white corridor felt long and foggy. My feet were heavy, as if I were trudging through wet sand. Noah’s room appeared before me, and I glanced down at the sticker on the front of my shirt that read ‘Visitor.’ I gulped.

Then, I knocked.

“Come in.”

That voice. Oh God, that voice.

I turned the handle, cracking open the door. My steps inside the room were hesitant and guilty as I swallowed back my reservations and walked inside.

My eyes landed on Noah. He was connected to IVs and monitors that beeped and buzzed, lying partially upright on the narrow hospital bed.

His eyes flickered with recognition when he saw me, flashing with relief. “Chelsie.”

I was torn between keeping my feet frozen to the ground and dashing over to him like a star-crossed lover.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” I whispered from across the room. My admission gutted me. I tried to keep the tears at bay, but my lip quivered with betrayal.

Noah’s trademark smirk danced to life. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

My feet carried me across the room, and I dropped to my knees at his bedside, cradling his hand between my palms and pressing my forehead to our interlaced fingers. I squeezed my eyes shut, ugly-crying until I felt his hand break free to tangle in my hair.

“Don’t cry, Combs,” Noah said, running his fingers along my scalp. “I’m right here.”

His voice was low and scratchy, tickling my insides. Sniffling, I wiped at my eyes. “You’re not dead,” I croaked out.

“Pfft. From multiple gunshot wounds? I assure you my death will be much cooler,” he teased.

I let a smile slip, but it didn’t stick. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

Noah forced me to look up at him, dipping his index finger beneath my chin. “Neither did you,” he said gently.

I took a moment to drink him in, from his messy hair to his bloodshot eyes. He looked tired and worn, but he was still Noah.

And he was alive.

“He’s dead, you know,” I told him. “Ian… he didn’t make it.”

“Are you okay?”

The question threw me. “I’m ecstatic. Relieved.”

“I guess it’s over then,” Noah replied with a nod. “You’re finally free.”

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