Page 1 of Finding Noah
Prologue
Noah
Istared at the photographs in my hands, not quite believe what I was seeing. I tried turning them to a different angle. Tried to see if maybe the sunlight was hitting them the wrong way. Perhaps…
Nope.
Leroy. Fucking some white dude.
MyLeroy.
As in my boyfriend. As in the man I planned to marry. As in the guy whose apartment I lived in.
I tried angling the photograph again.
Nope.
Whoever took these photos was incredibly talented. These weren’t from just some camera on a phone.
Nope.
Telephoto lensfrom…
I closed my eyes and tried to picture our ground-floor apartment. With the privacy fence… My eyes popped open.
Yep.
The guy who took these—although admittedly it might’ve been a woman—had to have climbed the tree in the park behind our apartment complex.
This was all kinds of sleazy. And definitely illegal. Big-time illegal.
Yet, I didn’t blame the photographer. Well, perhaps a bit. I kind of liked living in ignorance. I could no longer live in denial. The proof sat in my hands as I got fingerprints on the beautiful glossy shots.
“Noah?” Christian sauntered up the walkway to his house.
I sat on the front stoop. Moping.
He offered the boyish grin I expected. My best friend was the happiest guy I knew. Despite all the shit that’d happened to him.
“What’s wrong?” His voice took on urgency since I didn’t respond to him right away.
Emotion clogged my throat. I held the photographs out to him.
He tossed his messenger bag next to me, then snagged the photographs. Slowly, he flipped through them—one by one.
I knew. What he saw. What he thought.
How stupid I was.
Because, frankly, how could he not? He had proof of Leroy’s cheating in his hands. He had proof of my idiocy before him.
Don’t ever call yourself an idiot.Christian’s words circled in my mind. He was so adamant that I never be hard on myself. I always believed him fanciful and, in this moment, I didn’t believe I was worthy of…self-worth. Clearly, I was an idiot.
Slowly, he held his hand out.
I gave him the envelope the photos came in. Just my name in block script with a black pen. Absolutely nothing remarkable aboutanything. Nothing to give me a hint as to the sender—either their identity or their motive.
Christan tucked the photographs back into the envelope.
