Page 55

I don’t deserve you? These are words I cannot accept.

Taron should know I won’t accept them.

If he wants to break up with me, he can do it to my face. Another week passes, and the anger in my chest has effectively burned away the grief I feel.

Sawyer joins us for lunch, and I have a bag packed. “I’m going to Nashville.”

His dark brow furrows, and his eyes cut up to me. “Why?”

“To see Taron.”

“He’s not coming back, Noel.” My brother’s voice is quiet, definite, and my heart rips in two.

I want to scream. I want to throw things.

My hand shakes so hard, I can’t drink my coffee. I set the cup down with a bang. “Then he can tell me to my face.”

“It’s not like that.” Sawyer’s eyes change. They become pleading, holding mine as if he’s begging me to understand. “He’s not the same. He’s changed. We all are.”

His voice trails off on the last part, but I won’t be denied. “If he’s hurt, I’ll help him heal.”

“You don’t understand—”

“You don’t understand!” Standing, I take my dishes to the sink. We made promises. I made promises… “I know Taron better than anyone. Maybe even him.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” His words are the same ones Taron said to me so long ago, right before I gave him everything. “This is something you can’t fix, sis.”

“Maybe not, but he belongs to me. I’m going to get him.”

It’s dark when I arrive at the address Sawyer texted me. I spent the three-hour flight wringing my hands, wondering if my brother was going to give me what I asked of him.

He said I should wait, but it’s the last thing I intend to do. I’m pissed at him for letting Taron shut me out. He’s supposed to be on my side, the protective older brother. Instead, he won’t tell me anything other than giving me Taron’s letter.

I’m furious with both of them for acting like I’m not strong enough to handle whatever might happen. Like I didn’t sacrifice these last almost two years.

Now, standing in the lobby of the high-rise apartment, I wait for the silver doors to open. My brother said Taron lives with Marley. Patton arranged for them to take jobs at his dad’s commercial real estate firm, and set them up in a penthouse apartment.

None of it makes sense. Taron said he grew up with nothing, the only child of a single mom who moved back to the mountains when he was in high school, yet here he is living like a king. At least, that’s how it looks from the outside.

The elevator door opens to a beige lobby with deep brown, mahogany accents. I step across the small foyer and wait, trying to calm my breathing before I knock.

My hand shakes as I lift it, but my eye catches the turquoise ring on my finger.

I promised.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I knock hard and firm.

No response.

My breath is so loud in the small space. I take a trembling inhale, exhale then do it again—this time with my eyes open. I knock louder, longer, then I wait.

Even my heartbeat aches. I haven’t seen Taron in person in so long. My brother said he’s hurt; he sent me a letter telling me not to come. I’m so impulsive.

A trickle of fear, cold as ice filters through my chest. What if I find something I don’t want to see? What if his face is mangled or he’s in a wheelchair? What if his brain is damaged? What if he lost a limb?

I never actually considered the possibility. I assumed he’d be like my brother—physically whole, internally suffering.

These thoughts bombard my mind, but a calm reassurance fills my chest. It doesn’t matter—we can face any of these challenges together.