Page 58 of Stolen for Keeps
“But we were a resilient bunch. We made do and kept moving. Except there was one thing my mother never got over losing. Her necklace. It had been passed down from her grandmother. It was hers. So I took it back.”
“You broke into your uncle’s house?”
“Yeah. The house he stole from us,” I said. “Anyway, guess who got nailed for burglary? It was not great, but I was willing to face the music. Except he made sure it wasn’t just that. Someone planted evidence. Said I assaulted his daughter, my cousin, which was total bull. I never hurt anyone!”
My voice had edged too high, my face likely not dance-floor friendly. Because Noah spun me then, just enough to turn us out of sync with the crowd, to shield me away. And effortlessly, he made it look like nothing was wrong. When we came back together, his hand found mine again, firm, as if telling me he heard every word.
He murmured, “I believe you, Blue. Your uncle was an absolute prick.”
“He denied it, of course. He made sure everyone saw his daughter as the victim. Even had photos of her face all blue and purple. But I didn’t touch her. She must’ve been in some kind of accident. Not that it mattered. No one believed a word I said.”
The next words stuck in my throat, but somehow, they still clawed their way out. “My dad had a heart attack the day I was arrested.” My voice faltered. “He—he didn’t make it.”
Noah inhaled, his fingers flexing against mine.
I stared past his shoulder, past the glittering lights, past the dance floor, and past the life I couldn’t have.
“I’m sorry, Maya. That was terrible.”
That should’ve been my out. My chance to steer the conversation somewhere else. But for some reason, I kept going. Like once I’d started, I couldn’t stop.
“The last time I saw him, he was on the ground, gasping for breath. And I…I was in cuffs. I lashed out and tried to get to him, but they held me back. I couldn’t do a thing. I got slapped with a misdemeanor for it, initially assaulting a cop, though the judge went a little easy on me.”
A hollow laugh scraped up my throat. “The next time? It was at his funeral. The prison let me out just for that, but they sent guards. They made sure I didn’t forget exactly what I was. What they thought I was.” An ache gathered beneath my collarbone. “My mother hated me even more for it. Like I hadn’t lost enough already.”
Noah didn’t speak right away. He just held me, as if he understood something no one else had ever tried to.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was standing alone in the wreckage.
A beat of silence stretched between us.
Then Noah said, “You know, I don’t believe in bad luck. But if I did, I’d say you got dealt one hell of a hand.”
I didn’t know why, but that nearly undid me.
He wasn’t telling me I was strong. He wasn’t handing me some hollow line about everything happening for a reason.
He just…got it.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
I didn’t feel like I had to apologize, didn’t feel the urge to explain or justify. Because he listened.
The music softened, the world shrinking until it was just him and me, his fingers pressing lightly against my back, his breath so close that I could feel it.
Noah leaned in.
And for one reckless, breathless second, I almost let him.
But I pulled back, shaking my head slightly.
I wasn’t staying. A kiss would’ve been unfair to both of us.
His eyes flickered, but he didn’t push. Instead, he drew in a breath, then let loose a smile that wasn’t big, though it hit like it was. “Guess I’ll have to work on my timing.”
“Guess so.”
We found our rhythm again, slipping back into the waltz.
