“I did?”
“You knew something about me that no one told you.”
The chorus began.
Without thinking, I entered early.
Noah flinched, then laughed.
The sound broke into a gasp.
“I knew that.”
“Yes.”
“I knew you’d do it.”
“Yes.”
He pressed his right hand to his mouth.
His eye filled.
“It wasn’t a picture.”
“No.”
“It was just there.”
I reached for him and stopped halfway.
Noah caught my hand.
He pulled it to his chest.
His heart hammered beneath my palm.
“I remembered being annoyed.”
A laugh tore from me.
Of all the things.
All the tenderness, all the nights, all the promises hidden behind the damaged pathways of his brain—and irritation found the first open door.
“That sounds like us,” I said.
His face folded.
He began to cry.
I unfastened my seat belt and leaned closer.
“May I touch you?”
Noah nodded.
I cupped the back of his neck with my right hand.
