Page 34 of Keeping Guard
“Thank you. You’re a good friend.” To please her father, she’d accepted Dalton’s proposal before really getting to know him, but her eyes were open now. She shuddered to think if she hadn’t overheard him minutes before their wedding, she would be married to him now.
After saying goodbye to Joseph, she headed for her loft. She wanted to know why Noah had walked off the way he had. What did his demons have to do with playing a guitar?
Chapter Twelve
Why had he touched that guitar?
Noah leaned his back against the wall and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He stared at Peyton’s locked door, wishing he could get in and close himself in the guest room before she came back. She would want to know what happened, but no way was he talking about it.
For a few minutes, he’d forgotten that not playing a guitar was his punishment for his tragic mistake. It didn’t matter whether it was his or someone else’s. He hadn’t known just how much he would miss his guitar. That instrument was his go-to when he was stressed or lonely or angry. Putting his fingers on the strings and letting the music take him away calmed him. It was his Xanax.
He was angry that he’d forgotten because those few minutes of having a guitar in his hands again reminded him of what he’d been missing. He’d almost gotten used to not turning to his guitar when a storm was brewing inside him. Now, he had to start over. He was pissed about that.
The elevator door opened, and his...theprincess stepped out. If he was smart, he would walk right past her, get in that elevator before the door closed, and remove himself from her life. He’d be doing them both a favor. The door closed while he stayed attached to the wall. Looked like he wasn’t so smart.
She stopped in front of him and put her hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
No. He was not. Funny thing, though. Her fingers were warm on his skin, and the volcano inside him ready to blow cooled down a little. Strange how that worked, her warmth cooling him.
Still, he needed to be alone, locked in his room where her concerned eyes weren’t trying to see into his soul. He wouldn’t share his ugly secrets, especially with her. Peyton was sunshine, and he wouldn’t allow the dark inside him to kill her light.
“Can you open the door, please?”
Hurt flashed in her eyes. “Sure.”
Already he was disappointing her. He wanted to tell her that that was what he did...hurt people. It seemed only fair to warn her, but the words wouldn’t come. As soon as she unlocked the door, he headed for the guest room. Lucky raced circles around him, excited to see him.
Damn dog. As much as he wanted to hide, he had to take Lucky out before closing himself in for the night. He grabbed the leash and hooked it on Lucky’s collar.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Peyton said.
“No, I’ll only be a few minutes.” There was that hurt in her eyes again. Maybe it was good that she was learning that all he did was hurt people.
“Okay. You hungry? I can make us a snack.”
“Thanks, but no.” He walked out. As he waited for the elevator, she ran out. She was going to ignore his wishes? The simmering volcano grew hotter.
“You might need this.” She handed him a plastic baggie.
Puzzled, he stared at it. “For?”
She rolled her eyes, as much as telling him he was stupid. “If he poops, you need to pick it up.”
Right. He was stupid. “Thanks.” The elevator opened, and he took the baggie. Without another word, he stepped inside. The door closed, and as he rode down, he called himself every vile name he could think of. He was acting like a jerk, and she didn’t deserve that. An apology was in order, and he’d do that when he returned.
Lucky did his business, and ten minutes later, he was back in the loft. Peyton was nowhere in sight. Her bedroom door was closed, and he paused. He raised his hand to knock then dropped it. He’d apologize tomorrow.
If he was going to stay here for a few days, he needed his duffel bag. He considered going to get it, but he didn’t want to leave Peyton unprotected, and he couldn’t be around her tonight. He was too much on the edge to be around anyone.
He’d thought he was doing okay until he’d touched that guitar, losing himself in the music. Then clapping had sounded in his ears when the last note had faded, and he’d been horrified to see a crowd had gathered. If they knew what he’d done, they would have turned their backs on him instead of cheering him on.
Stretched out on the bed, he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t have to sleep to see those few minutes that were seared into his brain. All he had to do was close his eyes, and it was there, his own personal horror movie playing behind his eyelids. As if that wasn’t enough, when he finally succumbed to sleep, the nightmare came, with one addition that hadn’t actually happened. In his personal hell, Asim looked straight at him with accusing eyes, and then the bomb exploded. So, he resisted closing his eyes for as long as possible.
He didn’t deserve to play his guitar or anyone else’s, didn’t deserve the pleasure or the escape the instrument brought him. He’d forfeited the right to lose himself in the peace playing it gave him.
His eyelids grew heavy, slid closed. Asim looked at him with those condemning eyes. Noah jerked up, his scream dying in this throat. Lucky put his paws on the bed and whined.
“What?” There was concern in the animal’s expression. Even the dog knew he was messed up. If he was still at the temporary apartment, he’d get in his car and drive somewhere, anywhere. But he couldn’t leave Peyton unprotected. Getting up, he stepped quietly down the hallway in his bare feet.
