Page 149 of Stop and Seek
Jesus, what a dump.
Clothes all over the floor, take-out boxes stacked like a sad little tower in the corner—was this where Theo spent his nights?Thiswas the vibe?
Noah scrunched his nose. It smelled like weed and stale fries. No candles, no incense, no air freshener. Just funk and ego.
No wonder Theo’s apartment had been a disaster that first time. He probably picked up his habits from fuckingJagger.
Shuttingthe door behind him, Noah scanned the space—living room, stairs, hallway with some basic-ass pictures. Kitchen in the back. He filed it all away, just in case.
“You got beer?” Noah asked. He shoved the keys into his pocket and his eyes landed on a photograph hanging—Jagger and Theo.
HisTheo.
Theo had his arms wrapped around Jagger’s neck, big, open mouth grin—so wide it practically glowed. His glasses were different. Hair a little shorter. Still him. Sohimit made Noah’s heart ache.
Noah wanted to black out Jagger’s face, keep the picture as a souvenir. He trailed his fingers over the frame, staring at Theo’s smile.
I hope he looks this happy with me.
Before he could snatch it off the wall, Jagger came back, the beer hissing as he opened the can and handed it over.
“Now what?” Jagger asked. “Do you want me to grovel?”
They were so past that.
“Where are you meeting Theo?”
Jagger popped open a second can, and the sound of him sipping made Noah grip the beer tighter. It was warm. That alone should’ve been considered a crime against humanity.
“You could have asked me this at the shop,” Jagger mumbled. “Roots. It’s a restaurant in Cleveland above the—”
“I know the place. Expensive. Good cocktails, though.”
The aluminum was cutting into Noah’s hand and he couldn’t force down any more of the beer.
“He’s a big foodie,” Jagger said, like he wasn’t in a world of trouble. “I figured he’d appreciate it more than my other dates.”
Date. You fucking wish.
Noah’s eyes floated back to the picture, and Jagger was still talking. Probably to fill the space. Probably because he was nervous. It turned to white noise in Noah’s head—something about astrology or some shit. Cancer, Scorpio—none of it made sense to him. None of it mattered.
His breath came slower, heavy and uneven, but the pressure in his chest kept squeezing tighter, like part of him was wound up and ready to snap. His hand shook when he set the beer down, and the weight of everything Jagger said just sank deeper, each word a nail driven right through his ribs.
The way Jagger talked abouthis Theo? He had no right. He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as him. Walk on the same earth as he did.
Noah’s stomach turned.
That wasn’t forgivable.
That wasn’tanythingclose to forgivable.
The sound dropped away for a second.
The world turned off.
And before he could think, his hand was moving.
The frame hit Jagger’s face with a sickeningcrunch, wood splintering like bone, glass popping, the whole thing crashing to the floor in jagged pieces.
