Page 50 of Undone

I needed to be her support, her protection, not someone who confused her more than she already was.

I dropped my hands, clenching my fists to give them something to do before I pulled her back to me and found out just what it’d feel like to give in.

“We can’t,” I said. “Not right now.” I pulled back, my chest tight.

Her face fell.

“Shit, Noah. It’s not that I don’t want to.Fuck, I want to kiss you every second of every damn day. I think of nothing except your lips all day, every day. But you’ve had a hell of a day, and I don’t want this kiss to be one more thing you’ll have to question later. I should go.”

I wanted her to kiss me, to really want me. But I wanted her to when it wasn’t about him, or today, or any of this mess.

“Yeah… You’re right,” she whispered.

Her eyes followed me, that same uncertainty lingering there. For a second, I thought she might say something, maybe even stop me.

But she didn’t.

And so, I stepped back again.

Because if I didn’t put distance between us, I was afraid there would be no going back.

I walked away, each step dragging me further from the porch and her. I turned for one last look to see she hadn’t moved, her eyes fixed on me. This felt wrong, leaving her like this. But staying would only make it worse.

“Take care, Noah,” I muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear, and opened my truck door.

And with that, I was gone. But I knew damn well that I wasn’t leaving her behind. Not really. Because no matter how far I went, how hard I tried to run, she was always there. Haunting my thoughts. Plaguing my dreams.

EIGHTEEN

Noah - August

FEELS LIKE - GRACIE ABRAMS

Gracie’s fingersmoved slowly along the lines of the book, her lips forming each word with careful precision. Her brows knitted together, her focus unshakable, even when a particularly tough word gave her pause. We’d met several times over the last few weeks, and she was improving with each session.

“That was a tricky one,” I said, offering an encouraging smile as she finally made it through the sentence. “But you nailed it.”

Her face lit up, and a shy but proud smile lifted at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks, Noah.” She hesitated, the tip of her finger tapping the edge of the page. “You know, I think I learn more from you than I do from my teacher. Or even from Daddy.”

A genuine laugh escaped me. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

She tilted her head, considering her answer like it was a math problem she wanted to solve. “You make it… easier and fun. I can understand it better when you explain it.”

My heart squeezed. “Well, you’re working so hard. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come already.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at the book, a bashful grin playing on her lips.

Moments like these were why I became a teacher—the small victories, the moments when a child’s confidence grew word by word, step by step. That helped me study and learn and research everything I could to find new ways, tactics, and strategies to help my students. I wanted to be the teacher they needed. The one who they would remember when they were thirty years old, thinking fondly back to their childhood.

“Can we read another one?” she asked, her enthusiasm bubbling over. I nodded.

“Of course. Let’s pick a good one.”

As we continued, I noticed how much more at ease she seemed. It wasn’t just about getting through the pages anymore—she was actually enjoying herself. There was something about that change that made me proud of this little girl I’d only recently met.

Eventually, Gracie set the book down and met my gaze with a serious expression.

“Do you think I’ll ever be as good at reading as the other kids?” Her voice was small and uncertain, and the question tugged at my heart.

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