Breaking Noah (18 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing her away and walking into the master suite and locking the door. I just need a few minutes and then we can get back on the road. Get her back to town and try to forget Zara Hamilton ever waltzed through my door, into my classroom, and into my heart.

Just a few more minutes.

I have to do something.

This is my only chance to get through to him. Any second, he is going to walk out of that bedroom and drive me back to the city and whatever we had will be gone. I have one chance to try to salvage this and I’m not about to let that opportunity slip by.

With a quick glance at the bedroom, I move for the front door, grabbing his keys from the table in the foyer. I have no idea what I’m doing. I just know that we need more time together to figure this out. I fucked up…big-time, but he said he was falling in love with me. Doesn’t that mean we’re supposed to fight through hell to get to heaven? We have to.

Popping open the trunk, I reach in for my purse. I’ll call Mel, and she’ll explain to him that sure I was acting a little crazy, but I had good intentions. He has no reason to think she’s a liar, like he does me. I also have Karly’s letter inside my wallet. He’d said before he was living with the
what-ifs
. Maybe I can change that and give him a little comfort that there was nothing he could have done.

Setting the keys down inside my bag, I pull out the letter, reading over the first few lines. I’m so angry she lied to me and caused all of this, but had she not lied, I would have never met Noah or found out about Dillon. Tears prick my eyes as Noah’s shoes crunch on the gravel in the driveway.

Startled, I step back and slam down the hatch, not wanting him to think I’m doing anything devious.

“Where are the keys, Zara?” he asks, taking a few steps toward me.

“In my purse,” I respond, reaching down to grab my purse. “Shit,” I mutter. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“My purse is in the trunk. I’m so sorry. Do you have an extra set?”

Noah rushes to the car, trying all the door handles. When he can’t gain entry, he slams his hands on the roof, spewing a slew of curses. So much for wanting to make the situation better—apparently, I’m only capable of screwing shit up.

“You need help, Zara. Is this because I told you we were over?”

“No.” I shake my head, still clutching the letter in my hand. “I’m sorry…I wanted to get this for you. It was an accident, locking the keys in the trunk, I swear, Noah. I just wanted to show you.” I thrust the letter toward him, and he accepts it, scans over it, emotion filling his eyes as he reads her words.

“You didn’t have to share this with me, but thank you.”

“How far away are the nearest neighbors?” I ask in a small voice. Maybe I can still fix this. I don’t have a phone, but a neighbor will, then I can call the auto club or a tow truck.

“A good twenty miles.” He nods up at the sky. “Come on, we better get inside. There’s a storm forecast for tonight. I’m sure Derrick will figure out something is up when I don’t return his car in time for work tomorrow morning,” he adds, his voice dry.

He’s taking this better than I thought he would.
I follow him back inside the cabin and watch as he starts lighting the fire. A shiver races down my spine as I perch myself on the sofa with my legs curled up under me, the warm blanket draped over my lap.

“So we just wait?” I ask nervously. I glance around the cabin just as my stomach rumbles. I blush as he chuckles, though the sound of him laughing makes my heart surge. I’m clinging to the slightest bit of hope that I can still fix this. I have no idea how, but all I can do is hope that I’ll figure something out in the next twelve hours.

“Check the cupboards if you’re hungry. My parents are up here pretty often, so I’d be surprised if there was nothing around.”

I stand up and walk over to the kitchen. I check the fridge first, and find a few cans of fruit, but not much else. I go through each cupboard until I find a packet of potato chips. Opening the bag, I shove a handful into my mouth, wishing I’d had something more nutritious than a cup of coffee for breakfast—or lunch, considering it was well after noon when I woke up.

Noah wipes his hands on his legs, then stands back to survey his handiwork. The fire is crackling away nicely. If we were here under better circumstances it would be romantic.

I hold the bag out for him and he takes a handful, his fingers briefly touching mine. The funny thing is, now that I have him alone and for the night, I have no idea what to say to make this go away. Everything that he needed to know has already been said.

“I’m done,” I say, handing him the bag. I retreat back to my spot on the sofa under my rug and sigh. “There’s no television,” I say. I had known something was missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“No, there isn’t,” he replies, sitting down next to me. “My mother refused to allow one here because the idea of this place was to have a break from everything. Which is kind of funny, considering how high-maintenance my mother is. There are a few board games in the cupboard over there, but apart from that…” He shrugs.

“Board games?” I repeat, crinkling my nose.

“Yeah, pretty old ones, too. From when I was a kid, mostly.” He stands up and walks back over to the kitchen and begins rummaging through the drawers and cupboards. “Ha. I knew he’d have some scotch here, and there’s a bottle of wine.” He holds up the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. “If you’d met my mother, you’d understand why my dad drinks,” he says and chuckles.

“Did Shannon meet your parents?” I have no idea where that question came from. He looks up at me in surprise, but then nods.

“Yes. I wouldn’t say she left much of an impression, though, considering Mom could never get her name right.”

“I am sorry, Noah,” I say quietly. “For everything. I’m sure you wish we’d never met. You must hate me.”

He hands me a glass. I lift it to my nose, the malty scent hitting my senses.

“I don’t hate you, Zara.” He sighs and rubs his forehead before sitting down, this time in the armchair opposite me. “Honestly, what you did, it
scares
me. I can live without my career, that’s not even the issue. I really thought we had something, and to find out it was all an act—a calculated, malicious act…I don’t even know what to say. How can I ever trust you again?”

“I wish there was some way I could prove to you I didn’t upload that video—”

“But it doesn’t
matter,
” he interrupts, his voice rising. “You made the video, Zara. You recorded us. Whether you uploaded it or not is not the issue, is it?”

“I guess not,” I mumble, dropping my gaze. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes again, but the last thing I want to do is cry.

He sighs and pushes himself off his chair, walking over to me. I sit forward, my hands resting on my forehead, as my hair falls around me. I don’t want his pity, but I’m beginning to realize that is all he is willing to offer me.

My body tenses as I feel him in front of me. He crouches down, his finger pushing my hair from my face. I can’t handle having him this close to me when all I want is his lips on mine.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more for Karly,” he whispers, his expression pained.

I lift my head, my eyes meeting his. Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, I press my mouth against his. He resists for all of a second before he falls into the kiss, my heart racing as his fingers curl around my neck, bringing me closer to him. All I can think about in this moment is Noah, and how much I need him.

No matter how upset and angry he is with me, when my lips had touched his, he
kissed me back.
That has to mean something.

Her lips feel amazing. Soft yet demanding, but still compliant enough to yield to my control. Perfect. Absolute perfection.

I do need to try to exert a little self-control, though. After everything that’s gone on in the past few days, I need a little time to gather my thoughts and figure out what my plans going forward are. I can’t allow myself to forget I’m in this predicament only because of Zara.

Pulling back from Zara even though all I want to be doing is kissing her, I opt for a not-so-subtle change of subject. “Pick a board game from the closet. I’ll grab us that bottle of wine and some glasses.”

Without waiting for her response, I force myself to leave her side and gather our drinks. As I’m rummaging through the drawers for a corkscrew, what appears to be the sound of game pieces cracking against the tile breaks my attention.

“You okay in there?” I yell, not moving while I wait for a response. After a few moments of nothing, I make my way to the front room.

“Zara?” Looking around, I see the small metal pieces and fake paper money lying on the floor, but no Zara. A flicker of light from the main bathroom catches my attention as well as a shadow being cast from under the door.

“Zara? Are you in there?” Taking my chances, I turn the handle and push open the door. That probably isn’t the smartest thing I could be doing in my current state. Not even a little.

“What’s going on?” I ask to the gorgeous blonde standing before me in only a pair of jeans and a black see-through lace bra underneath a ripped shirt. Even with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Shit,” she mutters, grabbing a small hand towel from the rack and trying to cover her chest, but it barely does the job. “I was getting a game and I think a nail or something hooked into my shirt and ripped it. Then a giant spider attacked me. I dropped the game and ran in here to make sure that demon wasn’t inside my shirt somewhere. And now here I am.” Zara laughs nervously, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Fighting the urge to take her against the bathroom counter here and now, I silently excuse myself from the room. I don’t miss the heavy sigh coming from the bathroom when I leave, but it’s the right thing to do. Walking into my bedroom, I find a few pairs of sweatpants and a couple T-shirts in the drawer. Putting out one set for me and another set for Zara, I change quickly and take the others back to her.

“Since your shirt’s ripped, toss this on. It’ll be more comfortable to sleep in, anyway.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, as I walk back into the living room.

Since Monopoly is out of the question, I scan through the other remaining games, but none catch my attention. There has to be something to do in this damn house. Then I remember. When my cousin and I would come up here with our mothers, he used to sneak a portable DVD player with him and hide it here. If my memory serves me right, it should be under the spare sheets in the guest room off the dining room.

All but running to his old room, I’m excited to find the small device sitting exactly where I thought it would be, the charger next to it and all. It’s a small win, but at this point in the game, it’s better than nothing.

“Zara!” I call down the hallway. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“But you don’t have a TV,” she says, coming into sight, retying the hair on top of her head, wearing only the shirt I gave her. Glancing at her legs, my eyes shoot back to hers. If this is some kind of game she’s playing, it’s going to end badly…for me. She’ll come out victorious.

“Sorry, the sweats kept falling down and there wasn’t a string to tie them. I grabbed a pair of boxers. I hope that’s okay,” she says, lifting the shirt a bit, cracking a smile. All along, men thought that women in their shirts were sexy. That’s probably because they never saw a woman in their underwear.

I hold up the DVD player, trying my hardest to focus on her face and not how the black contrasts with her creamy thighs.

“You got any movies to go along with that thing?”

I didn’t think that far ahead. Trying to remember what the last thing we watched was, I can’t for the life of me recall. Powering the device on, I pop open the disk tray to see what’s inside. Praying that it’s not porn, I’m pleasantly surprised when I see the name written across the small silver circle.

“
Super Troopers
work for you?”

“Absolutely. I’ll grab the wine, you set that up right meow,” she jokes, turning on her heel to walk out the door.

My new favorite thing in the world is the boxers she’s wearing.

Looking between the couch and love seat, I choose the smaller sofa for us to sit on, so we’ll both have a table to set our glasses on without having to reach over each other. I’m sure I can handle being close to her, but if she’s reaching over me or vice versa, I can already sense my resolve wearing.

Once everything is situated, I barely sit down on the cushion when Zara makes her way toward me carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, two glasses in the other, and a bag of chips between her teeth. She bends forward to set everything on the coffee table and my dick instantly hardens when her perfectly shaped ass is only inches from my face. She’s close enough that I could reach out and caress the soft flesh, but luckily I’m able to stop myself before I actually make contact.

“Movie ready?” she asks, turning her head slightly and in enough time to catch me staring at her. A sly smile appears across her plump lips. If I thought the air was charged earlier, I was wrong. Acting with more class than I’ve just displayed, Zara ignores me further, plops down on the cushion next to me, brings her feet up under her, and pops a chip into her mouth.

The next hour we spend watching
Super Troopers
brings the tension down a little. But then I let my head get away from me. Watching her laugh and be carefree…this is almost worse than her standing in front of me bare naked.

I can see things. I can visualize a future with Zara. One where after a long day of work I come home to her and she’s just hanging out in a T-shirt and underwear. We could curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Enjoy ourselves. Laugh. Love life. Each other. I could see myself doing exactly this for the rest of my life.

It’s terrifying.

It wouldn’t have been if she’d never violated my trust. It would have been the best-case scenario. What I always wanted with Shannon but knew we’d never achieve.

Zara could have been mine.

I slam the DVD player closed and Zara jumps, spilling her glass of wine all over the both of us. “I’m so sorry. You scared me.” She leaps off the couch, runs into the kitchen, and returns with a wet cloth. She attacks the couch first, dabbing the red stain on the fabric. Moving on, she wipes the liquid from her leg then starts in on me, rubbing the cloth across the cotton of my sweatpants. A little too close to the one part of me that doesn’t care what she’s done or what she’s capable of doing.

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault. I’m just tired. I’m going to get some sleep.” Brushing her hand away, I stand and take a few steps into the guest bedroom. I could sleep upstairs, but it’s filled with memories of my childhood that I don’t necessarily want to remember.

After I brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face, I peek in the living room to check on Zara. She’s lying on the couch in the dark, tucked underneath my mother’s quilt. I’m not sure if she’s already asleep, but I highly doubt it. That thick, almost tangible tension is back and stronger than ever.

Deciding to keep the door open in case she needs me, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, praying for sleep to take me. But it doesn’t. Too many things run through my mind, from those that are important to others that make me question who I am as a man.

I knew it was wrong to get involved with a student, but I did it anyway.
Why did I think she was so important that I would risk throwing my career away?

Was anything we shared real?

Did Zara really feel anything for me? Is it possible that she really was falling in love with me?

If this was an act for her, and I thought I was starting to fall for her, can I still have those same feelings if she’s not who she said she was?

Can I really blame her? If something like this would have happened to someone I love, the way she loved Karly, could I have let it go and moved on? Or would I have felt the overwhelming need to right a wrong?

What kind of man am I? Allowing her to sleep on a couch while I have a queen-size bed with a pillow-top mattress all to myself?
My mother raised me better than this.

Throwing the blanket off me, I pad into the living room, flicking on the hall light on the way. When I approach the couch, Zara’s shoulders violently shake and her sobs fill the room.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, honestly concerned.

“I don’t know how to come back from this,” she says, rushing out every word.

“I guess we’ll have to figure that out. Not tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s pretty scary out here, too. There’s nothing to drown out the sounds of the outside. The wind whipping through the windows, the tree branches clipping against the outside of the house, the animals making noises. I can’t take it. This is like a scene from a scary movie. All I need is a man in a mask to break through the front door wielding a knife aimed for my face. On top of all that, I can’t close my eyes and not see Karly and how disappointed in me she’d be.”

Deciding to do the gentlemanly thing, I pick her up, carrying her down the short hallway and into the bedroom. As I lay her on the mattress, she scoots to the far side, flipping the blanket back.

“Please don’t go. I’m really scared. We can have different blankets, but if I sleep alone and I’m already this creeped out, the nightmares will come. I can’t have another one. Please,” she begs…and I cave.

“What kind of nightmares? I used to have terrors as a child and I remember being told to talk about them when I’m awake and they’re less likely to come when I’m sleeping.”

Taking a deep breath, she rolls away from me. “They’re usually about Karly. What I could have done to help her. But it always ends the same way. She’s dead and there’s nothing I can do.”

I don’t push. I’ve had the same nightmares. I know how much they hurt, and I hadn’t known Karly like Zara had. Letting the conversation go, I resign to sleep in the same bed as Zara, hoping I can keep my hands to myself.

With her warmth next to me, it’s only minutes before I’m starting to fade away. Just as I’m on the brink of sleep, Zara starts talking.

“Do you think you could still try to love me? After everything I’ve done?”

“I don’t know, Zara. I really don’t. I’m not ready to count you out yet, though.”

“So maybe we have a chance?”

“There’s always a chance. Now get some sleep.”

Zara rolls away from me, nestling into her pillow. “I hope you can love me, because I think I love you,” she whispers. I don’t respond. I don’t want to hurt her…or myself, because I think I might love her, too.

How the hell are we going to make this work?