Page 100 of Knot Your Sunshine
She turns on her heel. The door slams behind her hard enough to rattle the bottles on the bar.
For three heartbeats, nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Then Josh lurches toward the door.
Noa's hand lands on his chest. "No." The defeat in his voice makes my stomach drop further. "She needs time."
Josh spins on him so fast I barely track the movement. "This is your fault!" The scream rips from somewhere primal. I blink. In all our years together, I've never heard Josh make that sound. "You and your need to control everything. Your stupid leadership.Youscrewed this up!"
Noa takes it. Just stands there, absorbing every word like he deserves them. Maybe he does. Maybe we all do.
"Hey, man, come on..." I step between them, hands out, trying to defuse.
Josh's eyes shine with unshed tears as he stares past me at Noa.
"I hold you accountable if she leaves us, Noa."
Then he's gone too. Another door slam. Another piece of us breaking away.
Noa and I stand in the wreckage of what could have been our chance at real happiness. At a family. At love.
"Fuck," I breathe.
Noa sinks into a chair like his strings have been cut. Head in his hands. For the first time since I've known him, our unshakeable leader looks completely lost.
Fuck.
Chapter forty
Mia
My chest heaves as the door clicks shut behind me. Each breath comes ragged, like I've been running.
The trembling starts in my fingers, just a slight quiver at first. Then it spreads up my arms, into my shoulders, until my whole body shakes with leftover adrenaline.
I manage to make it to the bedroom before letting myself fall face-first onto the bed. The fabric muffles the sound that tears from my throat, half sob, half scream.
I couldn't bear seeing you worried.
Noa's words circle in my head like vultures. I press my palms against my ears but can't shut them out.
We were going to tell you everything.
My fingers twist into the pillowcase until the fabric strains. Right. On their schedule, if that's even true. After they'd decided what I could handle.
We were trying to protect you.
The pillow tears. A small rip where my nails have dug through, feathers peeking through the gap.
I flip onto my back, chest still heaving. The ceiling blurs as tears spill over, running hot trails down my temples. They taste like salt and disappointment when they reach my lips.
My body curls inward without permission, knees pulling to chest, arms wrapped tight. Making myself smaller, as if I could compress this hurt into something manageable.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again.
Reluctantly, I reach for it. Missed calls from Grandma.
I check the time. 5:23 AM here means it's past 8 AM in Lakeview. She'll be at the salon, probably between clients.
