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Noah’s a dear, sweet person, but doesn’t he know that I have no home?
THE HANDS ON MY CLOCK move so slowly. The longer I stare at them, the more they mock me, slowing down with each click of their hands. My old bedroom is so big—I could have sworn it was a small room, but now it feels massive. Maybe it’s me that feels small? I feel light now, lighter than I did the last time I slept in this bed. I feel like I could float away and no one would notice. My thoughts aren’t normal; I know this. Noah tells me this each time he tries to talk me back into reality. He’s here now; he hasn’t left since I lay down in this bed, Lord knows how long ago.
“You’re going to be okay, Tessa. Time heals all. Remember our pastor always said that.” Noah’s blue eyes are worried for me.
I nod, staying silent, and stare at the provoking clock hanging on the wall.
Noah drags a fork along the untouched plate of food from hours ago. “Your mother is going to come in and make you eat dinner. It’s late, and you still haven’t touched your lunch.”
I glance toward the window, noting the darkness outside. When did the sun disappear? And why didn’t it take me with it?
Noah’s soft hands gather mine in them, and he asks me to look at him. “Just take a few bites so she will let you rest.”
I reach for the plate, not wanting to make things more difficult for him, knowing he’s just doing my mother’s bidding. I bring the stale bread to my mouth and try not to gag on the rubbery lunchmeat as I chew. I count the time it takes to force myself to take five bites and swallow them down with the room-temperature water left on the nightstand from this morning.
“I need to close my eyes,” I tell Noah when he tries to offer me some grapes from the plate. “No more.” I gently push the plate away. The sight of food is making me want to vomit.
I lie down and bring my knees to my chest. Noah being Noah reminds me of the time we got in trouble for throwing grapes at each other during Sunday service when we were twelve.
“That was our most rebellious thing we did, I think.” he says with a soft laugh.
The sound puts me to sleep.
“YOU’RE NOT GOING IN THERE. The last thing we need is you setting her off. She’s sleeping for the first time in days,” I hear my mother’s voice say from down the hall.
Who is she talking to? I’m not sleeping, am I? I lean up on my elbows, and the blood rushes to my head. I’m so tired, so tired. Noah is here, in my childhood bed with me. It all feels so familiar, the bed, the messy blond hair sticking up from Noah’s head. I feel different, though, out of place and disoriented.
“I’m not here to hurt her, Carol. You should know that by now.”
“You—” my mother attempts to fight back, but she’s interrupted.
“You should also know that I still don’t give a fuck what you say.” My bedroom door opens, and the last person I thought I’d see pushes past my irate mother.
Noah’s arm is heavy across me, weighing me into the bed. His grip tightens on my waist in his sleep, and my throat burns at the sight of Hardin. His green eyes are furious at the sight in front of him. He crosses the room and forcefully yanks Noah’s arm from my body.
“What the—” Noah wakes with a startle and jumps to his feet. When Hardin takes another step toward me, I scramble across the twin bed and my back hits the wall, hard. Hard enough to knock the wind from me, but I still try to get away from him. I cough and Hardin’s eyes soften.
Why is he here? He can’t be here, I don’t want him here. He’s done enough damage, and he doesn’t get to just show up here and pick at the scraps.
“Fuck! Are you okay?” His inked arm reaches for me, and I do the first thing that comes to my twisted mind: I scream.
Chapter twenty-four
HARDIN
Her screams fill my ears, my empty chest, my lungs, until they finally rest somewhere inside me that I wasn’t quite sure could be reached anymore. A place only she can access, and always will.
“What are you doing here?” Noah jumps to his feet and moves between me and the small bed like some fucking white knight designated to protect her . . . from me?
She’s still screaming; why is she screaming?
“Tessa, please . . .” I’m not sure what I’m asking for, but her screams turn to coughs, and her coughs turn to sobs, and her sobs turn to choking sounds that I simply can’t handle. I take a cautious step toward her, and she finally catches her breath.
Her haunted eyes still rest on me, burning a hole into me that only she can fill.
“Tess, do you want him here?” Noah asks.
It’s taking every ounce of my self-control to ignore that he’s here in the first place, and he’s really pushing it.
“Get her some water!” I tell her mum. She ignores me.
Then, unbelievably, Tessa’s head moves swiftly back and forth, denying me.
That triggers her makeshift protector to raise his hand to me and grow bold. “She doesn’t want you here.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants! Look at her!” I throw my hands in the air and immediately feel Carol’s manicured nails digging into my arm.
She’s lost her shit if she thinks I’m going anywhere. Doesn’t she know by now that she can’t keep me away from Tessa? Only I can keep myself away from her—a stupid fucking idea that I can’t seem to hold to.
Noah leans in toward me a little. “She doesn’t want to see you and you would be best to leave.”
I don’t give a fuck that the kid has seemed to grow in size and muscle mass since the last time I’ve seen him. He’s nothing to me. He will soon learn why people don’t bother to even attempt to come between Tessa and me. They know better, and he will, too.