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It’s possible he could’ve lied. He could’ve made everything up just to get the work done. But from the way he’d reacted after class earlier, I knew he hadn’t. These were his true thoughts. His true feelings. His true actions.
He’d broken rules, done things I normally would’ve been appalled about, but he’d done it for the noblest, sweetest, most amazing reason. His desperate love for his siblings had given him the determination to get where he was today.
I shivered, hugging his essay to my chest as the last of my tears dried on my face. If only someone had loved me the way he loved his brothers and sister.
Well, one thing was certain. Noel Gamble had achieved the impossible; he’d managed to completely revise my point of view of him.
Oh, hell.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.” - Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
~NOEL~
“So, what do you think I should do?”
Groaning, I closed my eyes and let the back of my head clunk against the weight lifting bench underneath me. Above me, the bar I’d just bench-pressed rested solidly in the chrome uprights.
“I don’t know, Caroline.” It was too early for this. I’d worked late last night, and I had ladies’ night to look forward to again this evening with still only four of us to man the entire bar. “How bad’s the bruise?”
“What do you mean, how bad is it?” My sister’s voice screeched through the phone. “It’s a freaking bruise...around his eye. You know that little thug gang of bullies gave it to him.”
I blew out an exhausted breath. We really needed a fifth bartender at Forbidden. Immediately. I loved the money working overtime brought, but this was going to kill me. “Yeah, probably,” I said halfheartedly, only to yawn.
“Oh, my God,” Caroline chastised. “Don’t pretend to care about us or anything. Our middle brother’s getting jumped by a gang. But poor Noel is tired so—”
“Christ!” I sat up, scowling across the training room as I cut my sister off. “I’m sorry if I’m not completely with it. I’ve been working my ass off to help support you, you know. Which reminds me, did you get the last check I
sent on Monday?” Or had our mother intercepted it again and bought more drugs?
“Yeah, it arrived yesterday, but that doesn’t help—”
“What do you expect me to do? Drive twelve hours to come home to kick the little punks’ asses? I don’t even own a car.”
“I wanted you to talk to him.”
“Fine.” I rubbed my aching temples. “Put him on the phone.”
“He’s sleeping right now.”
With a sigh, I closed my eyes. “Okay, then. I’ll call later today after classes and before I head into work. Now, what about Colt? Is he still feeling better?”
His fever had persisted for a few days after his episode with strep throat. Caroline had called me in tears on Saturday, just before my scrimmage game, to wonder if he’d ever get better again, but then yesterday, she’d finally reported he’d returned to school.
“Oh, he’s fine. You can’t even tell he was ever sick. I’m not sure why I was so worried.”
I smiled fondly. “Because you’re a born worrier. You’re probably worrying as we speak about that dance you have this weekend.”
“Am not,” she argued, but I could hear the grin in her voice.
I chuckled, only to fall sober as I asked, “Mom ever come home?”
It was a question I rarely bothered to voice any longer, but my sister seemed more stressed than usual. She needed some relief. And horrible parent that our mother was, her presence had to be better than nothing.
“She dropped in for a few hours on Tuesday night. Ate half the groceries in the fridge, then took a shower, and was gone again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sounds about right.” At least she hadn’t brought some loser in with her to harass my siblings this time.
