Page 22 of Love Unexpected

I hide out in the kitchen, needing a few minute to compose myself. I pour a refreshing glass of iced tea and return to the room. Noah doesn't notice my return, he's completely focused on the bed in front of him. The crib is finished and now sits over by the window, the mattress nestled inside. I watch him, my breath caught in my throat, as he stands there with his hands on his hips, staring down at the crib as if imagining a tinybaby sleeping peacefully in there. The image fills my head with visions of the future.

“I hope you like tea,” I say softly, extending the glass towards him.

He clears his throat. “I do, thank you.” He takes a sip, his eyes locking onto mine, capturing me in those dark depths. I wish I knew what he was thinking in that handsome head of his.

“So, tell me what’s next. It looks like I’m your assistant for the day," he says with a playful smile that lightens the room.

“Ha-ha,” I laugh sarcastically, but it’s more of a façade hiding the emotions I’m barely keeping at bay.

He chuckles in return, the sound deep and rich. I relish the sound. My heart aches, the need to bridge the distance between us and touch him is too strong.

Chapter 21

Emma

A few hours and more than a couple of cuss words later, all of the furniture is assembled and set up in the room. Noah and I sit next to each other on the floor, our backs resting against the wall, finishing up the last of our salads I ordered. I really wanted pizza, but Noah wouldn’t have it, saying it was too salty for me.

With my heart racing and my palms sweaty, I swallow the lump in my throat and muster the courage to rip the Band-Aid off. “Can I ask you something?”

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation. Turning his head to look at me, he gives me all of his attention.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me in the hospital… about your brother. Can you tell me about him? That must have been so hard to lose someone at such a young age.”

He lowers his gaze down to his lap, contemplating his words. “It was. It still is," he says eventually, his voice thick. "His name was Henry.” Taking a deep breath, he continues. “He was the good brother out of the three of us. The sensitive, sweet,and generous one. He had the kindest soul I’ve ever known and would do anything for anyone.”

Feeling his pain, I place my hand on his thigh, hoping to provide some comfort and encourage him to continue. He stares blankly at the wall, lost in his thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, it may be too painful for him to think about.

Noah takes another deep breath, and the pain in his voice sends a chill through me. “He was in high school at the time, only fourteen years old. Marcus was twenty, still a kid himself. As for me, I was twenty-six, already navigating adulthood and living on my own. Marcus was living on campus, enjoying the college experience. Henry, our youngest brother, still lived with our parents, alone." Noah grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers together on his thigh.

"One day, I get a call from my mother. She was hysterical, I had never heard her like that before. 'Get to the house NOW' she screamed through the phone. When I arrived, she was already waiting for me in the driveway. Her face was pale and she was shaking so bad. I had no idea what was going on but I was terrified. She led me straight to the backyard and just pointed, she didn’t say a word. Beneath the old oak tree, a body laid there. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing so I moved closer.”

I shift closer to Noah’s side, desperate to ease the pain from his memory, as the color drains from his face. I squeeze his forearm with my other hand and begin rubbing his arm in an attempt to soothe him.

“I got closer to the body until I saw a gun laying on the ground next to it. The face was completely unrecognizable, disfigured beyond belief,” he continues, his voice barely a whisper. “But I recognized the infamous shoes Henry always wore, and I knew right away…” his voice trails off. “My mother still hadn’t even called 911 yet.”

“Oh my God. No one should ever have to see something like that,” I murmur. Chills take over my body as the horror settles in my bones.

“No, they shouldn't," he agrees, a bitter sadness cloaks his voice. "That kind of thing stays with you, it haunts you. I can still see him laying there clear as day when I close my eyes at night.” His jaw clenches, “I never forgave my mother for putting me through that, and I will always resent my father for not coming home. His business trip was more important than helping me plan a funeral apparently. My mother couldn’t handle it, and with me being the oldest, I had to step in and carry the weight of making all the arrangements. I haven’t talked to either one of them since the funeral. They were lousy parents.”

Tears fall down my cheeks silently, the enormity of his grief is too much. “And you believe he did it because of your father?” I ask softly.

“Oh, I know he did. It was hell living in that house. I got Marcus out of there as soon as I could. The minute he graduated, I moved him into the dorm rooms on campus and paid for it myself. Henry was too young to live with me legally. If he'd been older, I would have taken him too. If I could turn back time,I would have stayed in that house and protected him until he turned eighteen.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that," I say gently, looking deep into his eyes. "You had a life to live, too— “

“And what about his life?” His voice raises, raw and filled with pain. “He had such a bright future ahead of him, and then it was snuffed out in the blink of an eye. I was the big brother. They both looked up to me their whole lives. I should have protected him. I knew what it was like to live in that house and I still left him there.”

The anguish in his voice takes the pain in my chest to a whole new level. Unable to bear the pain anymore, I straddle his lap, wrap my arms around him, and hold him. He buries his face in my neck and holds me back, his breath hot and shaky against my skin. We stay in each other's arms in silence for several minutes.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Noah," I whisper against his neck. He tightens his hold on me in response, burying deeper into the embrace.

"And that’s why you don’t want to be a father?" I continue, treading the subject carefully. "You’re worried something like this could happen again?”

“That’s a pretty damn good reason to not want kids, don’t you agree?” he asks bitterly. The muscles in his jaw tighten once again as he leans his head back against the wall, breaking from our embrace.

“It is a very valid reason," I acknowledge. My fingers brush delicately over his jaw, feeling the hard edges. "But I know you’re nothing like your father.”

He shakes his head vigorously, a dark storm filling his eyes. “You don’t know me. You don’t understand the kind of darkness I carry from my childhood.”

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