Page 45 of Something Like Hail
“You want to keep me awayfrom him? Why? Just because I—” Marcello was extremely wellinformed. Noah wasn’t sure how he knew half the things he did, buteven he couldn’t see into another man’s heart.
“I’m very interested in theremainder of that sentence,” Marcello replied.
“I’m sure you are,” Noahmumbled. Then he turned his own chair forward. The plane had dippedand was descending. He was pretty sure they hadn’t flown longenough to really get anywhere. Most likely they would land at thesame airport in Austin where Noah would officially befired.
If this was a tactic, it was working. Hedidn’t want to lose anything. Not the job and definitely notHarold. His one comfort was that Marcello couldn’t stop them fromseeing each other. Not unless he poisoned Harold’s mind with lies.Or threatened his job as well. It wasn’t hard to imagine whatHarold would choose. The job he loved so much, or the guy he barelyknew. Noah frowned, realizing just how true that was. Harold didn’tknow that Noah was homeless, or that his life had been a strugglefor the past few years. Marcello might be right to keep them apart.Noah hadn’t been dishonest exactly, but he wasn’t very truthfuleither. He had been skating a thin line somewhere in between.
They passed through a bank of clouds, theground reappearing below. Noah considered it glumly. Austin’sskyline wasn’t visible from this side of the plane. All he sawbelow was brown land and green trees. The private airport didn’tappear nearly as magical from up here. Or as nice. Where was thebuilding the jet had been parked beside? All he could see were twoelongated aluminum hangers, which he definitely didn’t remember.The airport they had left had been state-of-the-art, but now itseemed rundown.
They were landing elsewhere.
“Where are we?” he asked,feeling a jolt of panic as the wheels touched down.
“I haven’t the foggiest,”Marcello said. “Shall we go find out?”
Noah could refuse. Maybe this is howMarcello dealt with his problems, by flying troublemakers out tothe middle of nowhere and leaving them to rot. Or by making surethey couldn’t return. How much would it cost to clean this privatejet if his blood splattered the seats? Was he any safer inside?
“Come along!” Marcellosaid, already up and moving toward the exit. “I never could standsuspense.”
Noah followed, reassuring himself that ifRyan hadn’t been killed, then he wasn’t likely to be either.
Marcello wasn’t in the best position tolecture him about transparency because he definitely knew wherethey were. A car met them on the runway. The second they wereinside, it whisked them past dinky buildings, Noah straining to seea sign that might reveal their location, but the driver was in ahurry. They cruised along a mostly abandoned road that failed tooffer any helpful clues, but when they merged onto I-84, Noah knew.He had driven down that same road the week before.
They had landed in Gatesville. They werehere to see Ryan.
Noah’s mind raced in an attempt to do damagecontrol. He could admit to having known Ryan once. That wasunsavory, but it would explain why he knew the things he did. Aftercasually checking the dashboard clock, he saw that visiting hourswere over. Marcello might bluff and say they would ask Ryan how heand Noah knew each other, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not today.Noah could claim that they had parted ways a long time ago and wereno longer in touch. Not exactly true, but it might be enough toallow him to keep his job. And remain friends—if not more—withHarold.
The car slowed and pulled over. It was damnnear the same spot where Noah had stopped previously. The prisonhad just come into view, a bleak concrete fortress that hadeverything in common with despair.
“Still feelingtight-lipped?” Marcello asked. “Fine. I’ll tell you my version ofevents.”
“Wait,” Noahsaid.
“Why should I?” Marcellosnapped. “I’ve given you ample opportunity to explain yourself. Itold you we would meet again at the finish line.” He jabbed afinger toward the prison. “Thatis the finish line, and we are about to cross it,whether you are willing or not!”
“Okay,” Noah said weakly.No sense in lying now, or trying to pass off half-truths. If anychance of salvation remained, it would only come through honesty.“Ryan was the first guy I ever fell in love with.”
“Which shows exceedinglybad taste.”
“Which shows how young Iwas!” Noah shot back. “After my parents kicked me out and I finallyfound someone willing to love me again—” His voice faltered, but heforced himself to continue. “I had friends. I wasn’t alone, butthat’s not the same. I was pretty sure my parents didn’t actuallylove me anymore, so yes, I fell for Ryan quicker than I shouldhave, and I couldn’t bring myself to let him go, even when it gotreally bad, because he’s all I had left.”
“A depth of poverty beyondcomprehension,” Marcello said, still glaring. “Parting ways withthat brat would have made you vastly richer.”
Noah stared at him. Then he shook his headand reached for the door. “You obviously don’t know what love is.Goodbye.” He yanked at the handle, but the stupid thing was locked.He looked at the driver, who steadfastly ignored him, even whenNoah yelled that he wanted out. Then he felt a hand on hisshoulder. This only made him more eager to escape.
“Please,” Marcello said.“Calm down. I do know what love is. If anything, love is what hasme so angry. Imagine the tables were turned and it was my friendwho had shot Ryan instead. How would you then feel aboutme?”
Noah stopped trying to escape. “I wouldn’tblame you for what someone else did.”
“I’m not blaming you,”Marcello said, “but you must admit that it’s highly suspicious. Hadyou shown up at my office that day and been open about yourhistory—”
“You would’ve been soimpressed with my honesty that you would have trusted mecompletely? Really?”
Marcello seemed to consider the scenario. “Isuppose I still might have wondered if there was some greaterscheme at play.”
“Exactly,” Noah said. “Ifit was up to me, you never would have found out, because none of ithas anything to do with you. My history with Ryan—hell, even mypresent with him—is none of your business.”
“Ah, and we were doing sowell,” Marcello said, his tone cold again.