Page 156 of Finding Noah

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SALVATION

Charlie's truck pulled into the parking lot on the other side of the gate. He jumped out of the cab, fumbling with the keys as his eyes met mine with the expression of someone who might've just seen a ghost.

I imagine Charlie Corbin had seen more than his share of specters in his lifetime.

One side of his mouth curled into a smile, but he said nothing as he worked with haste to unlock the gate.

Meanwhile, my father climbed out of the passenger side, and it took every bit of strength left in me not to collapse there on the sidewalk.

“Noah!” Dad exclaimed, desperate, as he charged through the gate the moment Charlie had it opened.

The air was forced from my lungs the moment his body collided with mine as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. His hand cupped the back of my head as I pressed my face to his shoulder, an agonizing sound of relief emitting from my throat.

“You’re here,” I whispered, uttering the same words I’d spoken the moment he told me over the phone where he was.

Here. In Massachusetts. Right inside the cemetery gates.

He had come to find me—but of course he had. Because he was Soldier Mason and he was a hero. It was what he did. And I couldn’t begin to comprehend the vulnerability and weakness he’d felt, realizing there was nothing he could do but wait.

“Thank you, God,” he uttered, breathless, holding me to him like his very life depended on my life being preserved. “Thank you, thank you, God.”

He kissed my temple, his hold on me tightening, and I released a sob against the solid structure of his shoulder.

“I was so scared,” I admitted in a trembling whisper.

“Oh God, Noah. I've never been more terrified in my life,” he replied. “But you're here. You're alive. That's all that matters now.”

Then he gripped my shoulders and took a step back, his eyes scanning my body. I seemed to wither under his investigative, wandering gaze, terrified he’d see the secrets hidden beneath my skin. Terrified he’d know by a single glance the horrors I’d endured. Terrified he’d no longer see me as a man.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and without uttering a word, I gave my head a quick shake. He frowned. “You’re hurt?” He frisked his gaze over me again, as if he hardly believed it when I was here, standing before him. “Where?”

“I’m …” I sucked in a deep breath and diverted my gaze, where my eyes landed on a blue-eyed woman with wild, curly blonde hair, standing beneath the overhead glow of a nearby lamppost, and the air was stolen from my lungs.

She stood there quietly with her hands lying over her belly. She exhibited patience and calm, though I knew she was anything but in this moment. She held her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying and gnawing, as her eyes roved over me, just as my father had. Assessing. Searching. Trying to find if she could read the wounds I wore and understand what had happened to me without asking.

I knew I’d have to tell her.

I knew she’d need to know.

I just needed to find the words, but I didn’t have them now.

Not for her and not for Dad.

He looked over his shoulder to see her, and he sighed, reluctantly releasing his hold on me. His eyes reflected regret, as if he just now realized he’d been selfish and disrespectful by brushing her aside with his own concern for me. But I needed him to know that it was both of them—him and her—I had lived for.

I snagged his wrist in my hand before he could back away, and I looked into his eyes as I tapped my temple.

“You were in here,” I muttered quietly. “Everything you taught me. You kept me alive.”

He nodded solemnly, and I thought he might say something else. But instead, he just laid a hand against my arm and offered a gentle smile.

Then he took a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on me, as if he couldn’t quite believe that I was here, alive and standing before him. He blinked a few times, his eyes welling with tears, before giving his head a shake. Then he turned and pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked toward where Charlie stood, silently observing with his head bowed and his hands folded at his waist, as if in prayer.

Meg took the opportunity to hurry the few steps to close the gap between us. Her hands lifted to press her palms to my cheeks as my fingers dug into the tangled mess of her hair. I inhaled for what felt like the first time in days, weeks maybe, breathing her in as my forehead touched hers, and finally, I began to cry.

“Oh God, Meghan,” I whispered so quietly that I barely heard my own voice above the cacophony of the world outside our little bubble, once again whole and complete with my hands on hers and her breath being pulled into my lungs.