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“Noah,” Scarlett says, pulling my arm back.
There’s a man, roughly my height, wearing a knitted sweater and dark blue jeans. He has a bottle of beer in his hand, and next to him sits a boy about Amelia’s age with Max.
He stands, extending his hand. “You must be Noah. Scarlett and Morgan have spoken quite fondly of your work.”
I should be flattered, but my confusion only stems further. “Thank you. And you are?”
“I’m Wyatt, Morgan’s husband, and this is our son, Michael.”
The core of my insides stiffens, and the echo I hear is only that of my heart being torn into shreds. The muscles inside my neck strain to remain composed, my posture demanding I fall over at any moment. But throughout the pain that’s currently crippling my every move, I twist my head to meet Morgan’s eyes.
“Noah,” she pleads.
I rip my arm away from Scarlett’s grip, trying not to lash out in front of the kid, but my tongue is tied, no words or sounds can be spoken. I want to die. Throw me into the pool and let me sink to the bottom. And then I remember her words. The ones that tore me apart more than I could ever have possibly imagined.
I was her rebound.
And standing in front of me is the person she was running from—her husband.
I latch onto Kate’s arm and pull her through the house, ignoring my name being called. Pushing through the glass door, I stomp toward the car, getting in the driver’s seat and roaring the engine to life.
“Noah, calm down,” Kate begs, motioning for me to get out of the driver’s seat. “You can’t drive. The last thing you need is a DUI on record.”
I tell her to get in and shut the fuck up, my anger fueling me to leave this place and everyone behind. There’s banging on the window, Morgan desperate for me to open, but I refuse. Placing the car into gear and slamming my foot on the accelerator, I kick up stones as I drive down the hill, almost taking out a few statues.
“Where are you going?” Kate cries, holding onto the handle while I skid out of the property.
“Anywhere but here.”
KATE
“Noah, you need to stop.”
We’ve only driven out the gate and a few houses down before I manage to get him to stop, so I can take the wheel.
A whirlwind of emotions blurs my rational thoughts, still reeling at the sight of Morgan with her family—her husband and son.
His eyes are the first to react, stunned with a hurt glaze while he momentarily pieces the puzzle inside his head. My eyes are immediately drawn to his fists curled up against his side, and almost like I throw myself into battle mode, I do my best to prepare myself for a physical altercation.
The tension of his muscles is evident, and his inability to think clearly soon follows.
He’s in a world of pain.
And I have no choice but to comfort him as he has done for me.
His anger becomes an explosion of rage, but I don’t have a death wish. Drunk Noah behind the wheel isn’t how I want our lives to end.
With my hands firmly on the wheel, at least controlling our lives for just this moment, I ask him where he wants to go. He refuses to go home, needing to let off steam and not wanting Charlie all up in his business. So, we settle for a bar not too far from the strip. Maybe, with more alcohol in him, he will pass out rather than go on some sort of angered spree.
But like the idiot I am, I began to drink—subconsciously trying to do the same. Forget certain feelings because they aren’t worthy of holding my attention anymore. After my second drink, I decide to stop. One of us needs to be responsible, and it sure isn’t going to be Noah.
“I don’t need to do anything…” he slurs, dipping his hand into the peanut bowl and eating the urine infested nuts. “Oh, these taste crunchy with a slight tang.”
I motion for the bartender to stop serving us, and he happily obliges, warning me several times t
o calm Noah down or my ass will be on the pavement. Fucking wanker.
“She’s fucking married, Kate… and with a kid,” he shouts for the millionth time.
