Page 35 of Finding Noah

“Seth, right? You said his name was Seth.”

My head bobbed with another nod, and somehow, I already knew what she was going to say, but I wanted to hear it. I needed to hear her say the words.

“He's gone, Noah,” Meg said, never taking her stare from mine.

The breath in my lungs was forced out with a gasp as my lips fell open.

“You never have to be afraid of him again.”

And for the first time that night, I found it in me to be truly, unabashedly … happy. Because I knew then that, even if Soldier didn't make it—and, God, I hoped, hoped, hoped he did—I had kept my promise to Mom.

I had saved her, and I had done that by finding someone who could. And he had done it. And for that, I would be grateful to him forever.

CHAPTER SEVEN

UNWANTED

AGE SEVENTEEN

Soldier Mason had died that night.

Twice actually, and every time, they—the paramedics and the surgeons—brought him back to life.

He was in a medically induced coma for a while. Mom and I spent most of our time in the hospital with him, Aunt Stormy, and sometimes Soldier's friend Harry. Other people visited too. I recognized some of them, but others were strangers. All I knew was, even though they cried and shared their hopes and wishes for a full recovery, none of those people loved Soldier the way Mom and I did.

They didn't need him alive, but we relied on it.

Every night we left, I wondered if it was the last time we'd see him alive.

Every night, on the ride back to Grandma and Grandpa's house, where we were staying, I stared out the car window and prayed we'd see him the next day—alive.

Every night, as I fell asleep in a bed that no longer felt like mine, I wished and wished and wished he'd wake up.

Then, one day, he did.

And while he went through multiple surgeries and recovered in the hospital, Harry and Grandpa and Officer Kinney—now Sergeant Kinney—cleaned up our house at 1111 Daffodil Lane, so Soldier would have a house to come home to that didn't have blood on the floor.

They even fixed the broken steps outside.

He was weak for a while, and that was weird to witness. He leaned on Mom when he tried to walk, and he got angry when he couldn't. He even cried a few times when the pain became too much to bear, and that made me want to cry with him.

He had told me once that he cried sometimes, but Soldier wasn't supposed to be sad. He wasn't supposed to hurt. He was the biggest, strongest guy I'd ever known, and to see him look so small and tired and frail opened my eyes in a way I struggled to grasp and accept.

Like learning that Superman could be easily defeated by a drop of kryptonite.

But like Superman, Soldier grew stronger once again, and after a few long weeks, he was home, and then life seemed to fly at warp speed.

Mom and Soldier got married, Soldier adopted me, and he officially—and legally—became Dad.

My wish had come true.

Then Mom got pregnant, and collectively, we agreed we needed a bigger house.

So, we moved to a fixer-upper deeper in town, closer to Main Street, with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a whole backyard. Soldier spent months working on it with Patrick Kinney and his brothers, waking us up at the butt crack of dawn to the sounds of power tools and hammers, and as annoying as it was, it was definitely worth it in the end.

We got another cat, and then we got a dog.

And finally, Miles was born.