Page 103 of House of Payne

I swallow past the lump in my throat and run a hand over my face.

You are not going to cry. You’re here to pack up your things and hold your head high. Mason doesn’t get to see this side of you, or he’ll find a way to exploit that, too.

I want one thing to remain untouched, the memory of my old self untarnished as I leave her behind.

Slowly, I stand up and look around the room, seeing myself as a six-year-old sprawled on the carpet with my legs crossed as I colored. Then, I look at the bed and imagine ten-year-old me with a scarf wrapped around her neck and a brush held to my lips as a microphone. When I blink, fifteen-year-old me is on her back staring at the ceiling as she twirls a lock of hair and whispers to her friend.

Of all the versions of me this room has witnessed, my eighteen-year-old self is the one I want to remember the most.

The one who stood in front of the mirror in her graduation cap and gown, stomach swimming with butterflies and heart open to possibilities.

I have no idea how I’ve let myself stray so far from the life I envisioned.

All I know is that it started with the diner, and I briefly allow myself to feel resentful of the run-down place for taking so much from me. Exhaling, I press two fingers to my temples and rub in slow, circular motions. A short while later, I drop my hands. I’m doing another survey of the room when I hear a loud banging sound coming from downstairs.

Without thinking, I reach for the nearest weapon, an old baseball bat from middle school, and I race downstairs. My heart is hammering in my throat, and I taste fear on my tongue as I skid behind the nearest wall and raise my arms over my head. I hear another clattering sound again and grip the bat tighter. Then I jump out, the bat held high over my head, and wait.

Noah comes out of the laundry room, his face covered in dirt, and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. My grip on the bat loosens, and myheart stops.

No, no, no. What are you doing here, Noah? You’re not supposed to be here. You need to leave before Mason sees you, or there’s no telling what he’ll do.

I don’t want Mason to hurt Noah, even if I’m still wrestling with the fact that we don’t have a future because of me.

Noah does a double take when he sees me and then his mouth spreads into a slow, grateful smile. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Helping your dad out with a few fixes,” Noah says. “Why didn’t you tell me you were home?”

I lower the baseball bat and swallow. “I… I didn’t know I was going to be coming today.”

Noah steps forward and throws out his arms. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses. I’ve missed you so much. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

I hold up a hand, and he stops. “I’m not home, Noah. I mean, I am, but I’m not back.”

Noah’s smile slips, and his brows draw together. “What do you mean you’re not back? You’re here.”

If only I could tell you the truth. I’m sorry, Noah. There’s so much I want to say. So much I wish I could make you understand. It shouldn’t have come to this.

I clear my throat. “I’m just here to pack up a few things.”

Noah’s expression hardens. “You’re still going back to that club? What the fuck, London? You’re smarter than that.”

I draw myself up to my full height and ignore the lurch in my stomach. “You don’t know the full picture, Noah, and until you do, I’d appreciate it if you kept the judgment to yourself. I’m doing what I have to do.”

“How is shaking your ass for money doing what you have to do?”

Noah is hurt, and he’s trying to hurt me.

I keep telling myself that’s all this is, but it doesn’t make his words sting any less.

Does he really think so little of me?

It’s like he doesn’t know me.

I want him to see past what it looks like and figure out the truth, but I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Or you’re just afraid that if he sees the side of you Mason has drawn out, he won’t like it. Come on, London. Is this about protecting Noah, or yourself?