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CHAPTER 29

Noah

I do my best to ignore Reed for the next few days. We only talk when he helps me bathe or if I’m eating. Other than that, I keep to myself, enjoying being outside without the worry of something dead coming after me. Or reading a romance book that Reed thankfully showed me. When I had to ask whose they were, because I doubt he's reading about romance and smut, he got quiet. I figured it was someone he used to work with, or I assumed with what I read.

Thankfully he didn’t see the photo I found. It was seconds before he walked in that I shoved it back into the family folder. I wonder if he forgot it was in there, or did he not know?

Three guys stood next to each other; one wore a black mask with a white skull, only his eyes showing. The middle one had an AR-14, but there was no missing Reed on the other end. The smile across his face was nothing like I’ve seen before, it was real. Genuine.

I wanted to know the Reed in this picture. Over the last two days, the question of what hardened him plays on the tip of my tongue. He had the scar on his lip there, but he wasn’t wearing a mask. We quickly figured out the virus wasn’t airborne. It couldn’t be because of his scar; it was beautiful.

But that small part of my brain told me to stop, to slow down. I’m used to violence. While my parents were a scientist and a doctor, they had enough security around them that caused tension and a few fights here and there. And now with the dead walking among us, well, it has to harden you somehow. But what about it that has my brain telling me not to trust him?

“We need to take your stitches out today,” Reed calls out from the kitchen. I peer over my shoulder to show him that I’ve at least heard him before returning back to my book. Needing anything to distract myself from the impending doom beating down my throat.

“Noah!” Reed calls out louder this time.

Turning my head, I raise a brow, waiting for him to continue on what he needed to say.

“Did you hear me?”

My brows furrow; he either didn’t hear me or something else is bothering him. But Reed hears everything, even if we’re inside. I’ve caught him more times than not turning his head up, telling me to shush.

“Yes, I heard you.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“No, but I looked at you. I acknowledged you.” It’s a weak excuse; it’s also dumb to think that me just looking at him would be enough. If he were to do that to me, I’d probably throw that stupid mug in his hand at his face, but Reed, he’s somehow more composed than ever. It used to bother me, but now it’s normal. I kind of like it.

Reed tilts his head to the side, studying for a moment before he crosses the kitchen into the bathroom. I hear him moving around before reappearing with a small bag in his hands. Coming over to me, he sits down on the coffee table before opening the bag. I watch him pull out large tweezers and a pair of surgical scissors.

Anxiety hits me; I clearly wasn’t awake when the stitches got put into my body, but the idea of him now ripping them out.

“Can’t they just stay there?” I asked, closing my borrowed book. I would be fine never using my left hand again. I’m right-handed anyway.

Reed gives me a stern look, obviously telling me that’s a no. But it’s also that look right there that has my insides melting. Though that feeling quickly dies when he picks up a pack of sterile gloves.

“How bad is this going to hurt?” I hold the book up against my chest.

“It’ll be like a two; the most you’ll feel is a few tugs.” He pulls out a gauze pad and a brown bottle.

“I’m not too sure about this.” I mumble.

Reed rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything as he grabs the top of the sling and slowly eases my arm out of it. A dull ache settles deep in my left shoulder, a stiffness that even breathing feels like I’m being dragged through the mud.

Reed leans forward with supplies in his hand. I slam my eyes closed, not being able to watch him pull those things out of me.

“Did you know that cows have best friends?” I blurt out the moment he does the first tug. “They do; they create this special bond that’s so strong that when they get separated they become stressed.”

“Cows, huh?” Reed mutters, tugging against my shoulder.

“Yup, they also have amazing memory. So if you’ve ever been mean to one, they’ll know.”

Reed listens to me as I give him random facts about cows. I’m not entirely sure why it’s cows I decide to start spewing at the mouth about. But it keeps my mind off what Reeds is doing until he’s done.

“The scar isn’t too terrible; it should fade,” Reed says.

I lift my head, blinking my eyes open. Taking a peek down, relief washes over me when I see my wound closed and healed for the most part. The question about what happened sits on the tip of my tongue.

Reed gathers the supplies he used and stands. I flex my left fingers, testing to make sure I could still move them. A tight pull shoots through my shoulder to my elbow. My breath hitches; pain flickers in my chest.

“It’ll take some time, but soon you’ll forget about the pain,” Reed utters behind me.

I swallow, my throat tight. The words are there, the question itching to be asked. I’ve tried to ignore the nagging of what happened, but I can’t ignore it. I glance at Reed over my shoulder, watching him move around the kitchen.

The silence stretches between us, unspoken tension, and I’m not sure what comes over me before I’m marching over to the kitchen. Slamming my hands down, I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from crying out in pain.

“I want the truth,” I finally announce.

Reed stops in his tracks, peeking at me from the corner of his eye. I refuse to back down, even if that look tells me I should probably walk away.

“I need the truth, Reed. I’ve asked what happened, and you refuse to tell me; why? I already know you’re a killer, and apparently that hasn’t scared me. Even though it totally should. I mean, who in their right mind just accepts the fact they got blown by a murderer?” My face heats at the mention of his mouth on me. But I can’t think about that right now; if I do, I’ll forget that I wanted to get answers out of him. Ones that I refuse to let him get away with.

“I mean, we never even talked about that. You killed people, Reed. Why? Do you plan on killing me?” The idea suddenly dawns on me. He was a murderer—he still is. I’ve seen him kill zombies, and sure they’re technically dead, but they were still people. It was hard for me to accept.

The silence was unbearable, the way he stared at me like an object versus a person.

“Answer me,” I demand. My fingers curl into fists, my short nails digging into my palms.

“No, I’m not going to kill you.” I gave him the fact that he answered one of my questions. But it wasn’t the one I wanted to truly know. Reed knew what happened, and I hate that he won’t tell me.

“You know that’s not what I want to know. Tell me what happened!”

The answer lingers between us, but it’s beyond my reach. It’s trapped between his perfect lips, locked away like it’s some terrible secret. It can’t be that bad. I just don’t understand why he won’t tell me.

“For fuck’s sake! Just tell me!” My voice cracks under the sheer desperation that he’ll see me break and tell me.

But it’s silent. I feel the suffocation pressing harder against my chest. Pushing me until I feel my feet dangle over the edge. Something inside me was breaking, and before I could stop it a scream tore through my throat. Raw and unrestrained. It rips out of me, the once quiet air no longer holding any kind of peace. It was all forgotten.

My lungs burn; my entire body trembles from the force, the need to be heard. I need to break through the invisible wall Reed has built so tightly around his heart. He’s worse than I am when it comes to trust. And that’s saying something. I might pretend to hold trust in those around me, but it’s all a lie.

I learned to trust no one. But somehow inside me I want to trust him. I want to hold myself open so he can stitch the broken piece back together. I want him to be the reason I feel whole for once in my life.

It’s not until my breath gives out, leaving me gasping, that the silence plunges between us once more. I felt the dampness on my cheek before I realized I was crying. I told myself I would never let him see me break, but here I stand. Broken and begging him to trust me with the truth.

Just when I don’t think he’s going to answer me, Reed rounds the corner. Grabbing my chin, he tips my head up.

“It was my fault. You were shot, and it was my fault.”

My brow furrows, confused as I search my brain for the memories. Suddenly everything flashes before my eyes. I was leaving; I couldn’t stand the thought of Reed being the one to walk away from me. He was asleep and?—

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

The burst of gunfire sounds; my vision blurs for a second before I feel the searing heat of the explosion in my shoulder. In slow motion I watch Reed jump up, his eyes searching for what happened.

“NOAH!”

My mouth opens to say something as my knees weaken, my shoulder burns, and my world fades to black.

“I—I was shot...” my voice trails off.

“Yes, my love, and it was my fault.”

None of his words make sense. My mind feels sluggish trying to remember what happened after, but I don’t.

“I don’t understand. How was it your fault? You didn’t shoot me.”

I stare at him, searching for an explanation of how he can think that me getting hurt was his fault. But all I find is guilt.

“I would never,” he whispers.

“Then, I’m confused. How was it your fault?”

A strange, twisting feeling wrapped around my stomach. I tried to push past the fog in my head, but the memories wouldn’t come. After I passed out, there's nothing, not until I woke up in bed.

He glances away, trying to hide himself from me. I swallow around the pain, wrapping my arms around his waist so he can’t move from me.

“You have to speak to me; I can’t read your mind.” I try to convince him. Fear licks up my spine, afraid that he’ll push me away further, that he’ll break what little thing we have going on.

“It’s better if you can’t read my mind,” Reed mumbles, turning his head back towards me.

“I’m not letting go until you tell me, so you better get used to wearing me like a second skin. Or I’m going to keep nagging every second of every minute of every hour of every day. I’m stubborn, so pick your poison. Not being able to get rid of me or tell me why you’re blaming yourself?”

Reed’s jaw clenches, his hand dropping from my face. The space between us stretches wide, fragile and threatening to snap under the weight of him not being honest with me.

I tighten my grip around his waist, earning a growl from Reed. I smile and decide to test the waters. Leaning forward, I rest my chin against his chest.

“I can wait here all day,” I remind him.

Reed sighs, his head dropping back.

“We were thirty minutes from the cabin. From here. We were right here, and if I would have just pushed us further, you wouldn’t have been shot.” He finally lets the truth out. Only I’m confused, as I have never been good at reading between the lines.

“I’m not understanding.”

“Noah, we were this close,” he puts his fingertip and thumb close enough together that you can barely see between them. “I shouldn’t have let you stop. I should have told you we were close to the cabin.”

“If you want to blame someone, you can blame me.”

Reed’s head snaps down to look at me.

Taking a deep breath, I confess, “I was going to leave.”