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Kristina stared at Noah’s back and wondered what the hell just happened.
The distant, sullen man who couldn’t be bothered to be interested in or spend five minutes with her was not the Noah she’d known most of her life. Tonight wasn’t the first time since he’d come home from the Marines that he’d acted weird around her. And weirdness was something they’d never had between them, not in all the years she’d known him, not when they’d confessed things to one another they would never otherwise say, and not even when they’d dated other people and shared the juicy details.
For a long moment, she stood at the edge of the party and debated, and then she decided—she wasn’t letting it go this time.
Her gut told her Noah needed her.
Making her way through the other partygoers, she headed toward the deck, intent on confronting Noah about what was going on with him once and for all. Because that’s what best friends did—that’s what they’d always done.
Growing up, Kristina had always clammed up whenever her father’s schizophrenia worsened—and Noah knew her well enough to know her silence and withdrawal meant something was bothering her. Every time, he worked to draw it out of her no matter how much she resisted. He’d always been relentless about it, knowing she needed to let it out even when she hadn’t wanted to face just how troubled her father was—and that he might never get better.
Noah needed Kristina to be that relentless now. Her gaze followed him as he disappeared inside the house.
For a lot of reasons, she’d been holding back since he’d gotten home from the military. Because he’d been upset about being discharged. Because he’d earned the right to feel anger at no longer being able to do what he loved. Because after everything he’d been through, he’d needed time to heal without her jumping on him.
Well, not jumping on him. Because, even though Noah was totally freaking jumpable, they were just friends.
Actually, just friends didn’t begin to do them justice. They were so much more than friends. Kindred spirits, maybe.
Kristina jogged up the steps and nearly ran into Mr. Cortez as he came out of the back door, his hands full of bags of buns for the burgers and dogs.
“Ah, there you are,” he said wearing that big open smile that all the Cortez men had. Well, Noah used to have it. Had she seen him smile even once since he’d been home? “How are you doing, Kristina?” He gave her a one-armed hug.
“Summer’s almost here, Mr. Cortez, so I couldn’t be better,” she said, giving him a wink. Truth be told, she loved being a teacher, so she didn’t spend the school year wishing for June’s summer dismissal to arrive. But she appreciated the extra time summer gave her to concentrate on her writing, which was harder to come by when she had papers and homework assignments and course preps needing her attention at nights and on the weekends. Teaching was one of those jobs where, no matter how much you worked, there was always something else you could be doing.
Mr. Cortez laughed. “I bet. Make sure you get something to eat,” he said, gesturing to the bags of buns. “We made enough food for the entire neighborhood.”
“I will,” Kristina said, giving him a smile and then slipping inside the Cortez’s big, warm kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Cortez were both amazing cooks. Kristina had many fond memories of watching the couple in the kitchen, of spending time with what she’d sometimes wished was her happy family, of meals filled with laughter and conversation, rather than the tension and awkwardness that had often filled her home.
Searching for Noah, Kristina peered into the family room, then the living room. No luck. In the hall, she opened the door to the basement where he’d been living the past few months. “Noah?”
All was quiet.
She jogged halfway down to where the wall gave way to a railed bannister and peered into the open rec room. A pool table sat at one end and a big, comfy seating area and TV filled the other. “Noah, are you down here?” she called again.
Despite the lack of response, she continued down and crossed the room to the mostly closed door in the back corner—Noah’s bedroom since he’d returned just before last Christmas. God, Kristina had thought she’d received the best Christmas present ever—Noah home safe and sound.
Well, mostly sound, anyway. An IED blast had taken the hearing and most of his vision on his left side, and he’d struggled with bad migraines and equilibrium problems when he’d first returned. But he was home and he was alive, and having him back again had made it feel like she could finally breathe after years of knowing he was in danger every second of every day.
She knocked softly. “Hey Noah, it’s me.”
All she heard was a long exhale of breath, but it was enough.
Why hadn’t he answered her? Her stomach clenched as she pushed open the door far enough to see Noah standing in the dark doorway to his bathroom, his back against the door jamb, his arms crossed, and his head hanging on his big shoulders.
She didn’t need to ask if he was okay, because he was radiating not okay loud and clear. Kristina walked right up to him. “What’s going on?” she asked. Dim light from the rec room filtered over him, allowing her to just make out the tight clench of his square jaw, the narrowed cast of his dark brown eyes, the harsh set of his beautiful mouth.
Wait. What? Where had that come from?
Noah shook his head, forcing Kristina to drop the ridiculous line of thought.
She stepped closer so that she could look more directly into his eyes. “Come on, Noah. It’s me.” She ached for him to open up, but what she noticed even more was the low buzz rushing through her body. From how close she stood to all his taut hardness. It wasn’t like she was just noticing that Noah was hot, like, dayum hot, but nearly five years in the Marines had matured him and built hard muscle that hadn’t been there before. And clearly her body was just noticing, probably because they hadn’t had the chance to spend much time together since he’d gotten back.
“Kristina,” he said, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper, or a plea. He leaned his forehead against hers. It was such a sweet, needful gesture that Kristina’s chest seized.
“First, I’m hugging you. Then we’re talking, buddy,” she said, wrapping her arms around his big shoulders and planting her cheek against his chest. The embrace wasn’t unusual—they’d always been affectionate with each other. She’d lay against him while they watched a movie or he’d sling an arm over her shoulders while they were out together. When things were bad with her dad, he’d hold her when she finally gave into her grief about it and cried. That’s how they’d always been.
He embraced her right back and leaned his face against her hair.
