Page 89 of When the Stars Rise

“I love you,” I say, my voice low so as not to wake him. “I amin lovewith you. I’ve never stopped being in love with you.”

And no matter what happens in the future, I will never stop loving Noah. It would be silly to even try.

Feeling lighter and happier, I close my eyes and fall asleep almost instantly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Noah

Hayley’s mom loved me.She treated me like the son she never had. Same with Hayley’s dad.

They always made me feel welcome at their house.

Meredith used to bake my favorite peanut butter chocolate chip cookies just for me. Dale used to talk sports and ask my opinion on whatever was going on in the news.

They’d known me since I was four, and they knew I was a good friend to Hayley. They knew I would always be loyal and would always protect her, and that’s what really mattered to them.

I loved them too. I loved them like family because, for me, that’s what they were.

Meredith used to fuss over me like she did with Hayley. My mom’s never been like that. She’s not the type to fuss over her kids. She loves us to death, but she’s never been a helicopter parent. Thank God for that.

But Meredith was. Maybe it’s because she had only one daughter and was a bit older than my parents, I don’t know, but she doted on Hayley, and she was always looking out for me too.

When I cycled to their house: “Are you sure you’re okay riding home? It’s three miles from here, honey. ‘Dale, drive Noah home. It’s starting to get dark, and there’s a lot of crazy drivers out there.’” Ironic in retrospect.

When I got a cut on my hand from helping my dad mend the fence around the paddock: “Oh honey, that looks bad. Did they give you a tetanus shot in the ER?”

I didn’t even go to the ER or a doctor. That’s not how we roll in my family. My dad sprayed some shit on it that stung, bandaged it up, and we finished fixing the fence.

When I went on my first rock climbing expedition with a local club: “Make sure you always check those ropes and that harness. If you feel the least bit scared, don’t go up. Just stay at the bottom and wait for the rest of them to come down. We don’t want anything to happen to you, sweetie.”

My dad used to joke that if Meredith Peterson could wrap Hayley in bubble wrap whenever she left the house, she would have.

The point is Meredith didn’t only worry about Hayley. She worried about me, too.

So, that dream? It wasn’t about Shiloh. It was about me.

The mountain Hayley couldn’t remember the name of is Kjerag Mountain in Norway. After I climb to the top, roughly three thousand feet, I’ll jump from the Kjeragbolten, a massive boulder wedged in the mountain's crevice.

But now that Hayley’s mom appeared in her dream, it will be a thousand times more difficult to explain why I need to do this.

The whole time she was talking about it last night the guilt was eating away at me. I wanted to tell her the truth. I was so tempted to own up and tell her the mountain had nothing to dowith Shiloh and everything to do with me, but we’re in Denver now and Hayley’s about to face another difficult situation, so I don’t want to add any more stress to her life.

But on the plus side, Hayley loves me.

I wasn’t asleep. I heard everything she said, and I hope like hell she remembers that when we get back to California and I come clean about my plans.

“Ready?” I ask, coming up behind her as she stands in front of the full-length mirror assessing outfit change number nine hundred ninety-nine. We’re in a hotel suite in Denver and we only checked in an hour ago, but the bedroom looks like it’s been hit by a tornado. Just about every piece of clothing from Hayley’s suitcase is strewn around the room. Apparently, the king-size bed is her reject pile.

“Do you think this is okay?” she asks, smoothing her hand over her skirt and turning in the mirror to check herself out from different angles.

I wrap my arms around her middle and kiss the side of her neck. “I think it’s sexy.”

She groans. “I’m not going for sexy. Maybe I should wear—”

I grab her hand to stop her from changing out of this outfit—a micro mini skirt with an oversized sweatshirt and chunky black combat boots—which is, by the way, sexy.

But I switch gears because it’s obvious that if I want to get her out of this room, I shouldn’t be stressing the sexy factor.