Page 12 of When the Stars Rise

Just thinking about him with other girls makes me seethe.

All my old insecurities rise to the surface, and just like that, I’m back in the eleventh grade, the most miserable year of my life. Meanwhile, Noah was the life of every party. That was the year he went off the rails. He used to drink so much that his eyes were always bloodshot, and I’d find him passed out on my bedroom floor, reeking of booze and other girls’ perfume.

He bumps his shoulder against mine. “What are you thinking about?”

“Our junior year,” I say darkly.

Noah scrubs his hand over his face as if trying to erase the memory. “Yeah, that was fucked up.”

“Just for the record, I didn’t force you to join me on this tour.” I feel the need to say it aloud, to remind him that it washischoice.

“So you’re saying you don’t want me here?”

“No. I want you here. That’s why I asked you to come. But only if youwantto be here.”

“You sleep better when I’m with you,” he says confidently. As if he alone can stop my bad dreams and ensure I sleep peacefully. He can’t, but not for lack of trying.

Whenever he’s with me, we sleep in the same bed. It’s a mixture of heaven and hell. I’ve never known a guy with more self-restraint than Noah McCallister.

Despite all the heartache, he’s still my best friend and I guess that’s where we stand now. Friendswithoutbenefits.

“Just admit it,” he says a few moments later when he gets the swing rocking again.

“Admit what?” I ask.

“That you need me.”

Noah has a savior complex. Always has and probably always will.

When we were four years old, he punched Chase Dunlop in the face for making me cry and has been trying to rescue me ever since, with varying degrees of success.

Now he’s waiting for an answer. His eyes narrow, and his muscles tense when I don’t respond immediately. Even though it’s not funny, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

“I don’t need to be saved. If anyone needs to be saved.” I poke my finger at his hard chest. “It’s you.”

Which is exactly why I asked him to join me. Not that I mentioned it to him. But as long as he’s with me on this tour, he won’t be diving off cliffs or jumping out of airplanes.

He rolls out his shoulders and pushes both hands through his hair, relaxing his stance. “I’m fine.”

“Then let’s just agree we’re both fine. We’re in this together. We need each other.” I raise my brows, prompting him to agree with me.

He looks amused as if it’s unthinkable thathewould ever need anyone. Still, he nods and grudgingly says okay.

“I’ve missed you,” I say out of the blue. But it’s true. I always miss him.

“Missed you too.” His smile comes easily, and I know it’s genuine, so I’m happy to sit and bask in the glow for a while.

He moves in a little closer, and for one giddy moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. I try to mask my disappointment when he doesn’t.

I want him to be more than just a friend, but I’m scared to broach the topic.

Why is this so hard?

I can write an entire album’s worth of songs exploring my deepest emotions, but I can’t even tell my best friend what I want. Probably because it’s so locked and loaded. But if I don’t say something, I’ll never know if he wants the same thing.

So I open my mouth to speak, to ask if we can try again when my phone rings. Our gazes snap to the wicker table where I left my phone as Asher’s name appears on the screen.

“You’d better get that,” Noah says, his jaw clenched. I stare at the door as it slams shut behind him and let out a heavy sigh.