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I shrug, "It's just a little something I wrote. I didn't mean anything by it," I add.
Although he may have made love to me last night, everything inside me tells me that Noah is a runner. That even if he did feel something, even if he did recognize me for what I thought I could be to him, it could never last.
He still looks uncomfortable, so I tuck my notebook away, chiding myself for reading something so personal in the first place.
"What do you want in your life, Skylar?" he asks softly. He’s staring at the distant horizon. "Do you want to go to school? Do you want to get married and have five kids…"
I snort. “I don't think the two are mutually exclusive," I joke, and he tosses a pebble at me.
"I’m trying to be serious here."
My smile fades and I nod, feeling like I should start asking him questions, because here he is, stripping me bare.
What was I supposed to tell him here? Was I supposed to tell him that for the last couple of years, all I wanted to do was get off this island and move away? Or about my dreams to attend the best English program in the country. Do I tell him that I want to be a New York Times best-selling author, and I want people to know my name? Or do I tell him about another silly dream I had, that I wanted to have a book at the airport. I wanted to walk into one of those places that sells floss and chocolate covered almonds, and see my books tucked in the corner, well-known enough that they would belong there.
Or was I supposed to tell him that falling in love with him was making me wonder if it was even possible for me to leave after all? That none of those dreams come close to winning his heart.
"Go to school, write I guess, if I'm lucky," I finally say casually.
"And you?"
His cheek tics and I know that he's well aware I've given him a simplistic answer, but thankfully, he doesn't press me further.
"It doesn't really matter what I want," he laughs, and it comes out all wrong, bitter like spoiled coffee. "My future’s pretty set in stone. Following my dad's footsteps. As soon as I'm done with school at the end of the year, I’ll be just another fisherman on his crew. I was born on this island, and I’ll die on this island."
Set in stone.
Is anything ever that definite?
I wasn't sure about that so I decide to press him just a little.
"Why do youhaveto do that? It doesn't sound like you want to do that. It doesn’t sound like that would be the life you envisioned for yourself."
"Envision?" He chuckles disheartedly. "There is no vision of a different future for me. It’s what everyone in my family has done. It’s what everyone expects me to do. I’m not like you, Sky. I don't have some crazy talent just waiting to be unleashed on the world. It's a good steady job, and my dad is counting on me to help him. It's all good. I’ve made my peace with it."
Even as he says the words, it sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than me, and I'm not sure he's being very successful at it.
"What would you like to do, if you could do anything…what would it be?" I ask fervently, reminded about the time I snuck into his computer and saw the hidden folder with all those expensive sailboats in it.
"I'm not even sure anymore," he finally says after a long pause, sounding almost…ashamed.
"My mom was sick for so long. I poured all my focus on getting her better, and then later, spent whatever time I had watching her die. I guess I’ve just been existing since then." His shoulders droop. "I think she'd be so disappointed in me if she saw me now. I know she would be."
I flinch at the self-hatred in his voice. Noah always comes across so confident. Yes, I’ve seen him absolutely devastated, but I've never seen him like this, so laden with self-hatred.
"I think you're wrong about that," I murmur to him.
"Yeah, well, you didn't know my mother, did you?"
I have the urge to flinch away with the way he just lashed out at me, but I know his dark thoughts are the ones that are ruling him right now. The ones provoking him to keep me at arm’s length.
"In a way, I feel like I do know her," I say carefully, reaching up and brushing a piece of his golden hair from his tanned face. "I think you're your mother's son. And like her, I think that you're the kind of person who would sacrifice your future to help and make your father happy. I think you’re fiercely loyal, and ridiculously sweet on the inside despite your gruff exterior. Just by knowing the kind of son she raised, tells me that I know your mother pretty well after all."
He stares for the longest time dumbfounded at me.
"The way you see me… I'm afraid one day you'll wake up and realize you’ve got it all wrong."
He says the words so softly they almost fade away in the wind, but nevertheless, they pierce me right in the chest. Because I know that I feel the same way. I'm afraid that this beautiful, broken god of a man will wake up one day and see me for what I am– the mousy bookworm that's better off in the shadows rather than the main stage.
