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Brazen

Sunday is taking a personal day today. When I got up this morning, I wanted to do the same.

How could Noah think for even a second that I was the one responsible for hurting Sunday? It’s pretty much the last thing I’d do. Sunday being hurt is everything I’m working against. I’m the one trying to put her pain to an end once and for all. Yet Noah believed I was capable of such a cowardly, hateful act.

I check in on Sunday in the guest bedroom before locking up and heading to work.

Will Noah even be at the office, or did yesterday scare her off for good?

Despite how hurt I am about her accusations, I’ll be even more hurt if Noah isn’t waiting for me at work. The moment of truth isn’t far away as I pull into my parking spot. I envision her desk empty and what that’ll mean.

Will I chase her?

Yes. Unequivocally, yes.

Would she want me to?

I don’t know. I hope so.

However, there will be no chasing today. Noah is standing right in the entryway, as if she’s waiting for me. A tiny bit of the pressure on my gut subsides. Her hands fidget at her sides. Her face is free from makeup, and worry lines frame her profile.

So, when I reach her, the first thing I do is hug her. I pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Brazen,” she whispers.

I don’t respond. I know she’s sorry, and I don’t want to make her feel worse about having assumed the worst about me. This bright, optimistic girl I’m getting to know jumped to the conclusion that I was a monster.

It doesn’t feel good.

My arms stay tightly wrapped around her, so she can’t see the pain on my face.

“How’s Sunday?”

“Sunday’s okay. She’ll be okay.” I don’t know how many times I’ve told myself that over the years, but it’s been way too many fucking times for me to believe it wholly.

Noah pulls back to look up at me despite my trying to prevent it. “Who hurt her? What happened?” She wins the struggle for eye contact.

“That story isn’t mine to tell.” I hate being so firm with her.

“Brazen, you can’t just close me off like that.” Hurt infuses her every word.

“Oh, yeah? You want me to open up to you when, yesterday, you thought it was me that put my hands on her? Isn’t that asking a little much?” Okay, that was a dick thing to say, but if my using her guilt against her keeps her from asking me about the truth, I’ll do it.

“Brazen, I said I was sorry.” Shame hangs heavy on her apology.

“I need you to know, to truly believe, that I would never, ever hurt Sunday, you, or any other woman. I’m trying to protect Sunday and keep her safe.” I look into her eyes while I plead for her to believe in me.

“I know that. I do. I’m sorry. I was just scared yesterday.”

I pull Noah to me once more and hug her again, this time without any doubt.

“She’s going to stay with me for a little while,” I speak with my chin resting on her head. I breathe in the delicious scent of cake batter that I’ve come to associate with the woman in my arms.

“Good. That’s exactly where she should be.”

An insecure or lesser woman might argue about another woman in my home, but there was never a doubt in my mind that Noah would understand the circumstances.

Thank you, Noah.

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