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savannah

I don’t know if the rest of the house is out or already sleeping, but it’s eerily quiet tonight.

The wood slat blinds above Noah’s bed let in the tiniest sliver of moonlight.

I pull my cheek from his bare chest and take a peek up at him.

Shadows blanket his face, lining up perfectly to make his already sharp jawline appear even more pronounced.

His pouty lips shine in the pocket of light, and although his hair covers his forehead as usual, a single, rogue piece hangs over his eyebrow.

My fingers itch to run along those full lips, to glide through that full head of hair, and to cup his jaw, but despite how striking he is, my chest sinks with a heavy discomfort at the sight of the deep crease between his brows.

His heart beats at a steady, but oddly quick pace beneath my palm, and I wonder what thoughts are running wild beyond those beautiful eyes of his. I’m about to lay back down when he rises, inhaling sharply, and whips his head to the side.

“Hey,” I whisper, cupping his cheek and searching his eyes.

He blinks once, seeming to realize where he is, and releases a controlled exhale as he drags a hand through his hair and sinks back down onto the mattress.

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are wide as they stare up at the ceiling.

As someone who spent years waking up in the middle of the night just like this—often with a more extreme reaction—I know that whatever he’s battling right now isn’t going to go away just because he’s opened his eyes.

I lay back down and attempt to rub a comforting circle over his chest. His heartbeat is still quick, but it no longer feels steady.

I close my eyes and settle my breath. “On our third birthday, my brother and I got our first pair of skates,” I whisper into the darkness.

“My dad coached a youth hockey team at the time. I think he wanted to introduce Leo to the sport, but since we were twins under the age of five, we always got the same gifts.”

I continue to brush my fingers across his chest, although I’m not sure who I’m trying to comfort more now—him or myself.

“It worked out, though, because we both fell in love with it. My dad would volunteer and coach our teams, and my mom was the ultimate hockey mom. She never missed a game or practice, always had snacks and a warm dinner made when we got home. Our gear was always clean...” I trail off, feeling the light sting at the back of my eyes.

It’s like a warning prick, telling me that if I keep talking, it’s only going to hurt worse. I continue anyway.

“When we were kids, we got to play together, but once we turned thirteen, the co-ed teams stopped. The serious ones did, anyway, and then I was forced to play on an all-girls team.” Looking back, that all-girls team might have saved my life because it’s where I met Chloe, but at the time, it was the bane of my existence.

“And just to be clear, I didn’t think the girls were any less than the boys.

They could rip. I was just more pissed off that I didn’t get to play with my brother anymore.

” I swallow. “Also, I was a hormonal teenager, so I’m sure that didn’t help. ”

The smallest huff of laughter escapes Noah. His big, calloused palm covers mine where it rests on his chest, and I know he’s completely focused on me now.

“I had a bad attitude about it for a while. I got more penalties than anyone else. But my mom, she… she would always bring me back down to earth. She would say, ‘ There’s always going to be some shit’.

” I smile at the memory, almost wanting to laugh at how shocked I was the first time I heard her say that.

“ ‘It’s how you respond to that shit that defines you—you as the person, and you as the player ’.

” My voice cracks, but I don’t bother trying to cover it or the memories.

“Anyway, it took a while, but I finally accepted it. More than that, I thrived on my new team. I met my best friend and made other friends along the way. I never would have admitted it then, but the best part was that I usually got to watch my brother play his games as well. I would bring a cheap microphone with me sometimes and commentate on his games.” I smile at the memory.

The silence in the room feels almost unbearably loud, and suddenly I’m extremely grateful for the darkness. As if he can feel me struggling, Noah’s hold on my shoulders tightens, and his thumb comforts me with soft strokes.

“One weekend, Leo and I had games at different venues on the same day. My dad took Leo and my mom took me.”

The memory of sitting in the backseat with my headphones on is so vivid that I almost choke.

I can still see the NOFX sticker on the back of the No U-turn sign.

“We were at a stop light. I was looking out the window, mouthing along to Rhyim’ and Stealin’, trying to get myself in the zone after once again being annoyed over something as insignificant as a scheduling conflict. ” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it .

“Two streets.” My voice cracks. “We were two streets away from the arena. The light turned green and?—”

A discarded sock lifted from the floor and soared across the back seat in slow motion, almost like there was no gravity.

My phone felt like it had been sucked with force from my hand as it went tumbling down to the ground.

The memory knocks the wind out of me. It’s so visceral that I can smell my mom’s hair.

Orange blossom. My lungs constrict, and only the knock of Noah’s heart beneath me brings me back.

“She turned right, and in that split second, my own lights went out.”

One of his hands clamps tightly around mine, and the other holds me closer to him, like I might be the one to disappear at any moment.

“I woke up in the hospital. Leo was in the corner, wearing a torn-up game day jersey, his face red and swollen, and my dad was asleep in a chair with his head on the edge of my bed.” The tears are falling freely now and I don’t bother wiping them as they drip down onto Noah’s chest.

“They said she died on impact and there was nothing they could do. I’m sure the hospital staff were glad my vocal cords were shot because the only thing I remember after that was screaming violently until I passed out again.”

Noah’s mouth presses to the top of my head. I can’t see his face, but I feel his support, his understanding, and his quiet way of telling me he’s here.

“When I woke up again, everyone told me how lucky I was to be alive. But of all the things I’d ever felt in my life, lucky was the absolute last.”

We sit in silence, and I let myself exist with the uncomfortable feelings for a moment before I clear my throat and continue.

“They say everyone handles grief differently—they being my therapist. Leo chose to work out his aggression on the ice. He got cut from a few teams before he finally decided to work through his shit. I chose to turn my back on it. I wanted nothing to do with hockey ever again. For years, I felt like it was my fault. Like if I hadn’t had a game that day, she would still be here. ”

“Savannah.” Noah’s pained voice startles me. He sounds… broken.

I shake my head. “I know realistically, it wasn’t. But at the time, I fully believed that, and I couldn’t be convinced otherwise. I carried that guilt and that burden around with me until it chewed away at every part of me.”

I wipe the salty streaks away from my cheeks and press myself up onto my elbow. Noah’s red eyes never shy away from me. I reach up, running my fingers along the side of his head, down his ear, and rub my thumb along the little silver hoop there.

“Our first date. The ice skating.”

I can see the wheels turning in his head. His eyes slowly shut with realization, and he digs his head into the pillow.

I grab his face in both of my hands, forcing him to look at me. “It meant everything to me, Noah.”

“I knew something was up, but you have to know, I would have never?—”

I drop my lips softly to his. “I know,” I whisper. “I know.” I pull back, but keep my hands on his face. “I wouldn’t have done it myself, and I wouldn’t have even realized what I’ve been missing.”

“Savannah, I don’t know what to say. I’m—” His Adam’s apple bobs deeply when he swallows. “‘I’m sorry’ just doesn’t seem like enough.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” I run my thumb from the bridge of his nose up to his forehead, attempting to release some of the tension there.

“I just know that when I used to wake up like that.” I nod to him.

“I would have given anything to be able to think about something other than what had just woken me up.”

His brows furrow, deep in thought again, and the muscles in his jaw are tense. It’s obvious he’s struggling, but I can’t tell if he’s weighing whether or not he wants to tell me or how to tell me.

For now, I lay back down beside him, silently telling him I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

We continue to lay in the dark room, neither of us speaking and neither of us sleeping.