Noah (3 page)

And I was having a bad day? I felt like an asshole. Bitching about getting cheated on when whole families were being shattered.

"Jesus," the suit nearest me said. "An associate of mine was supposed to be on that flight, but he was delayed. Didn't even make it to Philadelphia before the plane took off."

"What?" I frowned at the screen. Philly-Orlando? That had been the route?

I coughed as a sudden burst of nausea did a somersault on its way up my gut to my throat, but I swallowed it down and shook my head. That didn't mean anything. There were several flights going to the same destinations every day. School was just out for the year; families all over the country were heading to Disney.

I retrieved my phone to check the flight details from the text Ma sent me when they'd booked the tickets. I only remembered the airline, and now I didn't wanna check the news to see if it matched.

With the flight number going on a loop in my head, I steeled myself and looked at the flat screen. A helicopter was flying over the area littered with fires, smoke, and debris.

There were only two pieces of wreckage that were big enough to contain people, but they were destroyed by fire. Close-ups showed blackened seats, plastic melted—fuck. People. Or charcoal.

The anchor repeated that there were no survivors just as the flight number scrolled past on the screen again.

My stomach dropped.

The onslaught of emotions came so fast and fucked with my head so much that I chuckled first. My mind couldn’t work it out. There was no way. No fucking way. Tears welled up in my eyes. I chugged the last of my drink and then laughed again.

This isn't happening
.

One of the businessmen gave me a disapproving stare, and it pissed me off.

"Can I fucking help you?" I snapped.

A pounding headache settled in, and when I turned back to the screen, I had double vision.
Fuck
. No survivors, no survivors. Bile rose. My palms grew cold and sweaty.

Why does the flight number match?

"Jesus." I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling disoriented and sick.
It can't be
. This was the sort of thing you saw on the news, and you felt for the relatives of those lost.

My fingers shook as I searched my phone for numbers to my parents, sister, and brother-in-law. I could barely see the digits, and I swayed in my seat. Gripping the bartop, I pressed Call and placed the phone to my ear.

Mom would respond.

"Hi, this is Abigail Collins. I can't come to the phone right now…"

Fuck.

Next number.

I tried Mia and immediately got her chirpy voice saying something in German.

My brother-in-law's American number.

"You've reached James Hartley. Please leave a message or contact my assistant at…"

"Noah?"

I tried 'em all, over and over, but no one picked up the fucking phone. "Answer, goddammit!" I knocked back the stool and stumbled. My surroundings were blurry, and I heard voices, but I couldn’t decipher the words. Like a faint echo.

I started to hyperventilate.

My parents. My sister and James. Holy fuck, JJ, Linda, Julian…

"Noah!"

I turned toward that voice. I couldn’t get my head straight, my vision still fucked and my skull pounding, but I knew that one. Tennyson.

He knew. One look at his face, no matter how out-of-focus, made it clear this was why he'd insisted on meeting up with me. Daniel ran over too, not far behind. They both knew.

"I gotta call the airline," I rasped.

I needed to see the passenger list.

"Whatever you need, Noah." Tennyson squeezed my shoulder while Daniel grabbed my bag. "Come on, let's go home. Sophie and Brooklyn are at the loft, too."

"How did you all…?" I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat.

Tennyson hesitated but didn't hold back, thank fuck. "Sophie saw the news right after it happened, and she managed to track down your eldest nephew. Julian?"

"Oh." My insides twisted again. Okay, so Julian was at home. "It's not true, is it?"

This time, Tennyson didn't answer.

Chapter 3

Two weeks later

"Christ, not again," I whispered to myself. I wiped at my cheeks and headed for the living room. Felt like all I'd done lately was cry. I took a deep breath, waiting for some sense of relief, but it was nowhere to be found. The nightmare was true, and everything around me was real.

My parents' house just outside of Pittsburgh made it extremely difficult to believe the reality. The only thing that didn't fit was me—wearing a black fucking suit. My folks were blue-collar and casual.
Had
been.

Suits had no business in the house I'd grown up in. Family photos and Penguins memorabilia hung on the walls. Pop's chair stood in the corner, ratty and well-used. Ma had wanted to buy him a new one, but he'd always refused. Additions had been welcome, but no replacements.

"Don't fix what ain't broke, son."

I'd given him the universal remote and the surround sound system one Christmas. He'd immediately pulled out a VHS of the Stanley Cup final from '91 when the Penguins had won, and we'd watched the game together.

I brushed my hand over Lemieux's signed jersey that hung on the wall above the TV. Had Pop been here, he would've scolded me for going near it.

"Noah?" Sophie called from the kitchen. "Anything I can get you?"

"No thanks." I walked over to the window and stuck my hands down in my pockets.

The lawn needed mowing, a reminder that everything wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Pop always kept the yard groomed to perfection. Since he'd retired, it had been his pastime to make the backyard pretty for Ma.

She'd enjoyed bragging about her flower beds. At the time, I'd been bored to tears hearing about it, but now I'd give everything to hear it again.

The sun was out. Blue sky. No clouds in sight. The cherry tree would bear a lot of fruit this year.

I hung my head.

What a fucking waste of life.

They still weren't sure why the plane had gone down, but experts were speculating freely about several causes. I wasn't sure I cared. Good luck finding the black box in the Florida wetlands, anyway.

They had ruled out everything from terrorism to sabotage, leaving all the mechanical shit that could go wrong but usually didn't.

Regardless, my entire family was gone.

Not Julian, I reminded myself, but fuck that. I'd spoken to him over the phone once we'd gotten our fears confirmed, and then he'd gone off the grid. His father's assistant had visited their house in Berlin, and Julian had left it all in shambles.

It wasn't until yesterday he'd contacted me to say he'd be here for the memorial service today.

He'd sounded hungover as fuck, which…to be honest, I couldn’t blame him for. I'd been on a bender since I pushed Emma out the door.

Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and took myself back in time. The fragrance of home wasn’t likely to go away anytime soon, and it worked like the most painful comfort now.

These walls bore scents of decades of Ma's cooking, her perfume, and flowers. Pop's cologne and the soap he used. The house was essentially a bottle of memories, and if I concentrated, I could see flickers of film rolling. Mia and I chasing each other around when we were kids. All the pranks. Prom dates, fights, bitching, Pop yelling at the TV, Ma crying when I went off to college, Ma crying even more when Mia moved to Berlin.

I wasn’t ready to let go.

Returning to the kitchen, I leaned against a counter and stared at the floor. The third board creaked, which was good to know when you had the midnight munchies and wanted to get leftovers without waking up the 'rents upstairs.

Tennyson, Sophie, Daniel, and Zane were with me, and the "How are you doing?" question hung in the air, though no one ever asked me. For obvious reasons.

Everything was shit, and they knew it.

"We should head over to the church," Daniel said quietly. "We'll call when we've gotten rid of the reporters."

"Good luck with that," I muttered.

It bugged me to no end. Only because I was semifamous and linked to A-listers Sophie Pierce and Tennyson Wright, I'd found myself in the spotlight for this circus.

Sophie and I had both lashed out at the paps for following us, and it probably hadn't helped the matter.

Enter Daniel. He was Sophie's manager and knew how to work these situations, along with her publicist. But getting rid of reporters completely? Un-fucking-likely. They were vultures.

"Thanks, guys." I didn't look up from the floor, but I wouldn’t be a complete dick. Without my friends, I wouldn't have gotten anything done. Sophie and Tennyson had been there every step of the way, taking charge and helping me plan the memorial, and Daniel and his man had joined us here in Pittsburgh this week.

"Don't mention it." Zane clapped me on the shoulder as they passed. "See you in a couple hours, okay?"

I inclined my head, having nothing else to say. They had it all covered, what to run past the priest again, check on the photos Sophie had helped me pick out, arranging of flowers and whatever.

"Let's have a drink." Tennyson pushed out the chair across from him at the table and refilled our glasses with bourbon. "Have a seat, my friend."

"You boys drink." Sophie stood up. "I'm gonna call Brooklyn and Asher and check in on the kids."

Tennyson snatched up her hand so she couldn’t leave. "Give them my love." He kissed her knuckles before letting go, and she smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Of course."

I envied them.

They deserved everything they had, and I was nowhere ready for something that heady, but I craved human contact. Being bear-hugged by li'l Sophie was nice and always welcome, yet it lacked the comfort I wanted.

Maybe because the people I wanted to hug were dead.

There wasn't even anything to bury.

I took a seat at the table and nodded in thanks as I got my drink. I had no desire to discuss my life, so that left me with two options where Tennyson was concerned. Film and family.

"You ready for Kayden to start first grade?" I asked.

He loosened his tie and took a sip. "Ready might be a stretch, but I'm not freaking out about it."

Like Sophie was, in other words. She wanted their kids to remain her babies.

"When're you heading up to Mendocino?" As far as I knew, that was where Kayden would go to school. Then Ivy, but she had a few years to go. She was only four.

Tennyson smiled ruefully. "We don't have to talk, you know."

The man knew me well.

We clinked our glasses together and then stayed quiet as we drank.

*

My sister and mother had always loved twilight. Sun setting, rush hour ending, families reconnecting after a day of work or school, and the sky painted in stunning colors.

It was the main reason I'd picked a late service, and it seemed like the weather was working for us. I stood outside the church with my closest friends and greeted everyone who showed up, and the sky above us looked like fruit punch.

Every "I'm sorry for your loss" made me wanna vomit, but I pushed that shit down. This wasn’t for me. The memorial service was for the others. The friends, the old coworkers, the distant family, and the community my folks had been part of.

James's parents were here, too. His mother could barely keep it together.

Some kids had shown up with their folks, coming all the way from Germany. Classmates and soccer friends of JJ and Linda.

That made the grief tighten its grip on my heart.

The church was filling up, and when there was a break in between arrivals, I checked my watch and wondered where the fuck Julian was. His whole family had died, too. It'd be nice if he could be here on time.

His biological mother had never been one to stick around. She'd come and gone over the years, so it hadn't taken long before Julian had begun relying on my sister. She was Mom to him. No one else.

"He'll be here." Daniel nodded firmly. "His flight was on time, and I sent someone to pick him up."

I grunted and pulled out a flask from my inner pocket.

That earned me a look from my buddy, but he was wise not to say anything.

I had to speak in front of all these people. It was my excuse for bringing a little something.

There was no denying I'd turned into a sad motherfucker, though. I could barely spell health anymore. I didn't know when I'd last worked out or eaten something that didn't come in a Styrofoam box. I drank every day. I hadn't shaved in two weeks. It was a chore to get in the shower.

"Could that be him?" Daniel asked.

I pocketed my flask again and looked to where he was watching. A young man was stepping out of a black car, and it could be him, yeah. It had been years, but I remembered that dark, curly hair he could never bother with. His skinny tie was crooked, his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder.

One piece of luggage.

"Yeah." I turned to another few latecomers and nodded politely. "Thanks for coming."

An old lady patted my hand. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, dear."

Forced smile.

Julian hurried over, his clothes wrinkled and his eyes probably as haunted as mine. He looked like shit. Like a kid in mourning.

I felt for him.

"Sorry I'm late." He fidgeted with the strap of his duffel, only pausing for a moment. Then he continued inside.

All right, then.

"You sure you guys are family?" Daniel quirked a wry smile.

I shrugged and rubbed the back of my neck. "It's been a while."

Besides, why talk to me when Julian could go over to his grandparents on James's side? We'd never been that close, anyway.

"Come on, I wanna get this over with," I muttered.

*

The pews on the first row were occupied by me, James's folks, a few of my aunts and uncles, their spouses, and Julian. I'd never been religious, so having my friends behind me was a relief when the priest droned on and on about God adding to his harem of angels. Maybe those weren't his words, but whatever.

There were breaks every now and then, and it was when those of us closest to the family shared stories and gave speeches.

Pop's brother fell apart at the podium, which shattered a bit more of me. I didn't think that was possible. But seeing these men—of that generation—get emotional was unheard of.

"Jesus, that bitch needs to give it a rest," I heard Sophie whisper.

I frowned and looked over my shoulder, finding her glancing apologetically at those who had heard her.

"Sorry." She was mortified, and then she gave me a subtle look and a roll of her eyes. Holding up her phone, she showed me a missed call from Emma.

I shook my head and faced forward again. Sophie was right. Emma needed to give it a fucking rest. She'd been trying to reach all of us since the news broke about Noah Collins losing his family, but she was the last person I'd talk to right now. I had more important things to deal with.

Gerald, James's pop, spoke of his son with pride. Some about his successful career, but mainly about his fortune in finding my sister. He went on about my niece and nephew, choking up, and Daniel tapped me on the shoulder, indicating I was next.

It made me queasy. I didn't feel forty. I wanted to be seven again. I wanted to fucking hide. Or drink myself into a coma and never wake up.

It seemed like no time passed, and then I was the one standing up there. I blanched for a second, seeing all those faceless people. Maybe going unscripted had been a bad call, but I'd never been good with written speeches.

I adjusted my tie and cleared my throat. It was hot in here, or perhaps it was just me.

Glancing behind me, I saw the photos we'd had enlarged and framed. Ma, Pop, Mia, James, JJ, Linda. Their smiling faces.

What the fuck did I say?

There was nothing left.

So that’s what I went with.

"Life goes on, they say," I said, raising the mic a bit. "I just don't see how at this point. My family's always been there for me, even when we were separated by oceans. Each and every one of them played a huge part in my life, so I don't have a favorite memory. I have hundreds." I paused, staring unseeingly at the speech someone forgot earlier. "They're supposed to be here. And—" I had to clear my throat again. "And now that they're not, it's kinda like running out of purpose."

I was always so fucking excited to share something with my family. My passions were mine alone, but they supported me. Had.
Had, had, had
. With them being gone, I had no clue how to stay motivated.

"I guess it's selfish, needing them for me." I scratched the side of my head. "It is what it is, though. I'll miss the little things. JJ and Linda calling me on Skype to fill me in about soccer and dance classes, bitching with my sister about everything between heaven and earth, catching a game with Pop…" I smiled wistfully and dragged a hand over my face. "They made everything worth it, and I'll miss them more than I can say."