“It’s okay,” I murmur into his hair, though I have no idea if it is. “I’ve got you.”
Noah presses his face into the crook of my neck, his arms squeezing me tighter like I’m the only thing keeping him upright. He’s trying not to sob. I can feel it in the way he holds his breath, in the way his chest keeps hitching against mine as he tries to contain it.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it. “Are you okay?”
Noah shakes his head, and a fresh wave of tears spills over. “I need—” His voice breaks. “I need to get out of here. I can’t be here anymore.”
I pull back just enough to look at his face, searching his tear-streaked features for some clue to what happened. My mind races through every awful possibility. What did Rick say to him? What did he do?
“You want to leave?” I ask carefully. “We can go home now, if you want.”
Noah stares at me for a long, silent moment, his dark eyes glassy in the dim light. Then he nods, a tiny, miserable movement.
“Please,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I say immediately, even as my stomach twists with anxiety. “Let’s go.”
I brush a tear from his cheek with my thumb. Then I remember.
“Should we tell your parents? Maya? They’ll be waiting for us at breakfast.”
Noah steps back from me and shakes his head, tears still streaming down his face. “No,” he whispers, voice raw. “I can’t. I don’t want to see anyone. I’ll text them from the car.”
His hands are trembling, fingers twisting the hem of his shirt.
“Okay,” I say gently. “Okay, Noah. Let’s pack our things, then.”
He nods, but he doesn’t move.
I watch him, trying to stay calm, to be the one holding it together, but my heart is pounding so hard it’s making me dizzy. He can’t stop crying. He’s trying—I can see him fighting it, swallowing hard between sobs, wiping roughly at his face—but the tears just keep coming.
Something is very, very wrong.
“Hey,” I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intend. I clear my throat and try again. “Did Rick—did he hurt you?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything I’m too afraid to say out loud. Did he force himself on you? Did he hurt you physically? The thought of anyone touching Noah without his consent makes rage tear through me so fast it scares me.
“No,” Noah says quickly, shaking his head. “No, God, no. He’s not like that.” He draws a shaky breath. “It’s not that.”
Relief crashes through me, though it does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. If Rick didn’t hurt him, why is Noah falling apart like this?
“Let’s pack our things,” I say again, because it’s the only concrete thing I can offer right now. “We can be on the road in ten minutes.”
Noah nods, wiping his nose on his sleeve. The gesture is so vulnerable, so unguarded, it makes my chest ache. I want to wrap him in my arms again and never let go, but that won’t get us out of here faster.
Instead, I grab my bag and start shoving clothes inside.
We pack in silence, the only sounds our quick breaths and Noah’s occasional sniffling. I move on autopilot—shirts, pants, toiletries—while keeping one eye on Noah, who’s folding the same T-shirt over and over, his hands shaking so badly he can’t get it right.
“I’ve got it,” I say softly.
I take it from his hands and help him with the rest of his things.
“Thanks,” Noah whispers when we finish, and the brokenness in that single word makes me want togo into the room next to us and punch the shit out of Rick’s smug face.
What has that asshole done?
I can’t stop the terrible scenarios playing through my head. What did Rick say to him? What could possibly have happened to shatter Noah like this? Did he reject him again? Did he say he’ll still marry Cassidy?
