Page 68 of Before We Break

Quinn: Fine. Don’t hurt Elphaba. She’s been through enough. It was Noah. He has a card on file to pay for your order.

Me: You’re hilarious.

Quinn: True. I’m also dead serious.

My heart rams against my ribs, so strong and sudden it steals my breath.

A whole year. Why would he do something like that? Up until about a month ago, I thought—no, I was sure he hated me. Suddenly, my world has been flipped on its axis. Up is down, right is left, and Noah Weston isn’t at all who I thought he was.

SEVENTEEN

YOU’RE A FAKE, NOAH WESTON

♫ 23 - Noah Kahan

NOAH

One year ago

Andrea is dead.

No matter how many times I repeat the words to myself, they aren’t sinking in. My brother is a widower. My nephew is motherless.

Did Jonah relapse, too? Is he going to follow her to the grave like Dad did Mom?

Both questions I don’t have the answer to because my brother isn’t speaking to me. Even if he was, I don’t know that he’d be honest.

Emma called me at three o’clock in the morning. She said she’d be staying with Jonah so she can look after Auggie, but I shouldn’t come, because Jonah asked me not to. It was like a stab to the heart. I couldn’t sleep, so I rode out to the cliff to watch the sunrise, and that’s where I've been for the past hour.

The sky is painted in pastel pinks and oranges, reflecting off the rippling waters below, but not even this view can break through this hollow feeling that’s taken root.

Jonah and I disagree on a lot of things, love being one of them. It’s another form of self-destruction, a different sort of addiction that only leads to pain in the end. Andrea’s death only reaffirmed that belief for me.

We weren’t especially close, but I respected her as Auggie’s mom, and more than anything, it hurts to think about how her loss is going to affect him. Losing our mom is what sent our life into a downward spiral.

I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Part of me wants to drive out to Starling Falls, to hell with Jonah’s request, and have it out with him once and for all. Lay our cards on the table and put all this shit behind us. But there’s another part of me—a guilty, horrible part—that never wants to see him again. At least then, I can hang onto the few memories I have when he was my best friend, and it felt like maybe we could bear the weight of the world because we were doing it together.

Another hour passes and the early morning traffic flies by as the residents head off to work. To them it’s just another day. But not to me.

I park along the curb in front of my shop and turn to head inside when my shoulder knocks into someone, sending an entire tray of coffee tumbling to the ground at her feet.

My temper flares, and Clio is the unwitting recipient. “Fucking hell. Watch where you’re going.”

It’s a shitty thing to say considering I bumped into her.

“Sorry.” Her face crumples as she crouches down to clean up the mess. She reaches for one of the cups and hisses, pulling her hand back and cradling it against her chest as she mutters something I can’t quite understand. A tear glides down her cheek, and she swipes it away.

I should help her.

But I don’t.

She gets the cups placed back in the holder and tosses them into a nearby trash can. That’s when I notice her red-tipped nose and bloodshot eyes, and a pang of guilt hits me square in the chest.

I reach into my pocket and offer her some cash. “Here. Let me replace it.”

She gently places her palm over mine and pushes it away. “It’s fine. I don’t need your pity.”