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Rich kids aren’t supposed to have problems, they aren’t supposed to be flawed, but that’s what I was. Just a pretty boy harboring some fucking issues.
“I know.” I tell him, running a hand over my jawline and sighing heavily. I still have shit to work through with Mikaela, and some of it we’ll probably never work out, but step one was getting her to trust me again.
“What do you think is gonna happen when she remembers?” Vaughn speaks this time, asking the question that’s probably on everyone’s minds.
“It will ruin her,” Beckett whispers.
People think they want the truth, like it’s a fundamental right they deserve. But I think some things are better left hidden. Some truths will bury you, not bring you peace.
“If she hasn’t figured it out by now, I don’t think she ever will.” I answer, voicing my hopes out as if it’s reality. Sometimes that’s how truth works. If you’re confident enough, you can will anything into being true. You just need enough people to believe you.
“And your dad?” Pax asks this time, a single eyebrow lifting with the ques
tion.
My father is a whole other problem. We weren’t on good terms before the incident, but this has fucked our relationship even further. I don’t know if he ever plans on handing the company over to me, or if he just plans on holding it over my head for as long as possible. Something to dangle in front of me to keep me compliant.
I run a hand through my hair, messing it up more than it already is. “I don’t know.” I breathe. The guys nod their heads, staying quiet. I’m the key to our plan, to our end game. We each take what we want from our fathers and then the four of us will run this town. But first, we have to get them out of the picture, something easier said than done.
Beckett stands, clasping a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll come back to you, man.” He voices lowly. “She’s in there still.”
I hang on to that. Hoping that he’s right, that the love of my life is still in there somewhere.
That all of this will still wash away and we’ll be able to find ourselves again.
The truth can fuck off.
Halloween - One Year Earlier
MY PARENTS DON’T ANSWER WHEN I call them for the third time. A flicker of shame washes over me when I realize that we announced the engagement to this entire party before I even told my parents. Noah doesn’t quite understand, and this wasn’t a surprise for him so the people he wanted to be here are here celebrating with us.
My parents have claimed I’ve been distant since I met Noah two years ago. Well, my mother doesn’t say a bad thing about Noah, so mostly it’s been my father. I feel like this will be another nail in the ‘I hate Noah’ coffin.
“Come on,” Noah gestures for me to get up and head back out to the party with him. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes holed up in his childhood bedroom trying to get in touch with my family.
I hold the phone tightly in my hand, weighing my options. Wait here or wait downstairs. Either way, I had to wait for my parents to respond to me.
“Fuck it.” I chug the rest of my champagne and slam the glass down onto the end table. “Let’s enjoy our night.”
Noah grins, extending his hand for me. I toss my phone back onto the bed and rise.
They can hear the news later, right now I want to celebrate.
For the first time, I don’t dream of Auden. When I wake, my face looks brighter. Softer and more vibrant. It’s weird that I’ve been living with Noah for a week and somehow I look better than I did when I walked through that front door for the first time.
I should probably look pale. Depressed, broken, something other than glowing and vibrant. Traitorous, that's how I should feel, and yet I don’t.
I want to skip back onto the bed and let him fuck me again. Is there something wrong with me that I can fall back into his good graces so quickly? So easily.
It’s only been a week, but it feels like years have passed.
A year of progress has been made in our seclusion. Noah works during the day, and I take online lectures and finish homework. At night, we sit at the dinner table eating whatever his parents’ chef brought over and avoid hard conversations. Then later, I let him hold me in his arms and I sleep in his bed.
All the barriers I had tried to establish crumbled to the ground the minute I pledged my loyalty to him.
I fluff my blonde hair, even that looks shinier. I’m not sure why, it seems wrong that being back with Noah would bring me some sort of comfort. But it feels right. I spare a glance at the rock that weighs down my ring finger, even that feels right.
Noah steps out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His toned abs and chest are on display. The tattoos that wrap down his shoulder and to his forearms are showing, the black ink mesmerizing.
