Page 52 of The Secret Of Us

My face crumples, tears streaming down the sides, my whole body shaking as the initial shock from the fall seems to be wearing off. I’m in so much pain, inside and out.

How can he look at me like that when this is all fake? There was a split second where I forgot this wasn’t real. A moment where I thought he really cared about me that much that he was on the verge of tears.

But I know it’s an act. I know he only came down here because it’s what people would expect him to do. Noah’s a great guy, but I didn’t think he’d be such a good actor. And now I’m crying in front of him, and everyone else, but they’ve all faded into the background.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His gentle voice breaks through my thoughts. It’s the only sound I can hear right now that actually makes sense amongst all the other noise.

I keep my eyes closed as I feel his arms move around me, one under my knees and the other at my shoulders. He lifts me like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like he doesn’t feel the weight of all my insecurities and worries and starts carrying me off the field. He doesn’t say a single word to anyone as he walks away. I wrap my arms around his neck, bury my face in it so that I can’t even see if anyone’s following us.

The tears won’t stop falling and I’ve probably soaked his entire shoulder but he doesn’t seem to care. His steps are steady as he takes me closer to the main school building where the nurses’ office is.

The one thing I’m meant to be good at is the sport Isaac fought so hard for me to play, and I can’t even do it properly. What would he think if he knew I didn’t want to play anymore? If he knew I’d wasted his efforts even more by making such a rookie mistake like rolling on my ankle like that?

And school. How will he react when I tell him I don’t want to go to university? That he wasted his time and energy by talking to our parents after they completely disowned him, just so he could convince them to keep paying for my school fees? He does so much for me, and I can’t even do a simple thing like staying on my feet while playing hockey.

By the time we reach the office, it doesn’t even feel like I’m in my body anymore. Noah says something to the nurse, but it’s like they’re in a bubble, and I’m floating outside of it, everything muffled as they speak to each other.

Noah sets me down on the bed, stepping away from me to go toward the door. I close my eyes. I can’t bear to see him leave.

“Poor thing. I’ll give you some painkillers in just a second,” the nurse says as she gently pushes my hair back from my face. “You can move that chair over here if you want. Keep an eye on her. I’ll be right back.”

The scrape of metal against the floor has me opening my eyes. Noah’s still here. He didn’t leave.

“You okay?” he whispers, his face so close to mine as he props his chin on the pillow that my head is resting on.

I tilt my head to the side to face him properly. The corners of his mouth are turned downward slightly, a crease in the space between his eyebrows that I want to smooth away, that shimmer still in his eyes. I’ve never seen him look this worried or scared, and I never want to see it again—especially if I’m the cause.

I nod, but my face betrays me as stray tears still fall from my eyes, my jaw clenched tight again. Noah’s hand closes over mine, his fingers grazing my side as he takes it. He gives it a gentle squeeze before he surprises me by bringing our joined hands closer. He kisses the back of my hand. It’s the smallest pressure, the softest touch, but it wrecks me completely.

No one is around to see him do this.

It’s not for show.

It’s just for us.

It’s just forme.

I’ve tried to avoid thinking about my feelings for Noah. I’ve tried rationalising that I feel so comfortable and safe with him because we have this agreement.

But none of that explains how I feel when I tell him my secrets, about my parents, and about my uncertain future. It doesn’t explain the relief I feel every time I give him these small confessions, how lovely it feels when he truly listens to me and doesn’t placate me with fake niceties.

It doesn’t explain why that simple kiss to the back of my hand has me wanting to tell him the biggest secret I’ve got right now—that I really like him.

And now he’s here with me, with no audience to see.

He has to feel this too.

His other hand comes up to stroke my hair, his thumb running across my temple before moving lower. I close my eyes, and he brushes the pad of his thumb over my eyelid, wiping the dampness away.

I dread to imagine what a mess I look like right now, but when I open my eyes, there’s a warmth in his, and something else I’m too scared to name. The sad smile on his face breaks my heart.

“No more crying, pretty girl,” he says, his voice husky as he moves his hand back up to my hair.

I scoff out a laugh, turning my head away from him to face the ceiling instead.

“There’s no way in hell I look pretty right now.”

“You do,” he says, simply. “You always do. Especially now.”

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