Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (15 page)

After opening it, I take my seat and put my keys in the ignition. Reversing out of the driveway, I keep my eyes on the road until I feel as though we are a safe distance away. From the corner of my eye, I can see Tatum’s hands trembling as she reaches up to touch her face. The need to comfort her is so overwhelming I almost can’t breathe.

I want to hold her, to ease her fears. I have to have her in my arms, to wrap them around her, solidifying the knowledge that she’s safe and within my protection.

Pulling over to the side of the street, I throw it in park and turn my body towards hers. She maintains her forward gaze, not daring to face me, but I can see the teardrops as they fall from her quivering chin onto her black dress. Her black heels are nestled in her lap, knees tucked just barely underneath her body, her bare feet against the side of my door. The sight shreds my chest into a million pieces. She looks so fragile. So broken.

Leaning over, I say nothing. I just reach for her and envelop her body within mine. She doesn’t fight me. The sound of the leather seats cracking fills the inside of the Jeep as she willingly enters my arms, crying uncontrollably as I stroke her hair. After a while, when her sobs subside to soft sniffles, I place my cheek gently on her forehead and I hold her. I would like to stay here like this for hours, but knowing that we’re on the side of the road, not exactly in a safe neighborhood, reminds me that we’re not out of trouble just yet. So, regretfully, I release her from my arms.

Placing my palm underneath her chin, I gently cup her face, and softly turn her head towards me until her swollen eyes find mine. As soon as they meet, she closes her own, releasing more tears, but succumbs as she lays her cheek against my fingers. I raise my other hand and lightly stroke the knot on her forehead, lifting the hair away from her face so I can better see her eyes. The left one is almost completely swollen shut now. I make a note to check the gash on her jawline. It was pretty bad and it probably needs some attention.

After a final swipe of her bruised cheek with my thumb, I release her, prompting her eyes to finally open and return my stare.

“You okay?” Stupid question.

“No,” she answers honestly.

“Me either.” Suddenly exhausted, I exhale at length before continuing. “Listen, we’re going to have to talk about this at some point, but for right now, I just want to get you far away from here. Is there anywhere in particular you want to go? Where you feel safe?” I leave out the fact that I plan on staying by her side regardless of her chosen destination.

Her blue eyes shyly break from mine, suddenly interested in the straps on the shoes in her lap. She twists them around and between her fingers as she speaks.

“I’d like to stay with you if you don’t mind.” She takes in a nervous breath. “I mean, I don’t want to put you out or anything, but I don’t really feel like dealing with Sadie’s bitch roommates. I’m sure this situation will give them plenty of ammunition for talking about me behind my back while I’m in the room. And Trace? Well, he’ll probably blame me for this, and honestly, I just can’t handle that right now.”

I watch her mess with her shoes for a couple of seconds before I reach over and place my hand over hers. Surprised, she looks up at me but not before putting her other hand over mine and squeezing it tightly.

“Please, Noah, I just want to be with you tonight.”

I know this is the most inopportune time to have any thoughts of her in my bed, but damn if my brain doesn’t go there. I store the moment in my never-gonna-happen-but-will-always-wish-it-did memory bin before letting go of her hand, facing forward, and putting the car in drive.

I know I can’t have her. I know it’s wrong. I’m leaving — nothing good for either of us can possibly come from this.

But, as I press my foot down on the gas pedal, I turn off any internal alarms and silence my own warnings.

For the first time in my entire life, I live in the moment.

I allow myself to follow my heart instead of my head…

And I take her home.

Noah Reese’s house is exactly as I imagined it.

Straight.

Orderly.

Structured.

Everything has its place and remains in it. As I walk by his desk, I find myself wanting to switch his Anatomy book with his Calculus book, seeing as though they are obviously in order of ascending height. I let my fingers glide across the wood of his study area, and when I come to the end, I lift them for inspection. Just as I thought.

Dust-free.

I smile to myself because I expect no less from him. There’s something very comforting in that. My life has been so out of control lately, Noah’s predictability seems to anchor me. Although, his actions tonight took me by surprise. We still haven’t spoken about what happened, but I know we will. Which sucks, because I was already subjected to a screech-filled, thirty-minute earful from Sadie about that happened at Cash’s.

Cash.

I lift my hand and run my fingers over my swollen eye. I can’t even begin to process everything that happened tonight. The anger I felt when I saw those boots wrapped around him, that wasn’t about his cheating. That was every single ounce of rage that’s been festering inside my soul since I was six years old. Every hateful comment I received, every lashing I took, every sleepless night spent hiding in my closet — everything I have ever unjustly experienced since childhood drove my reaction tonight. And I got my ass beat.

Typical.

But what was
not
typical was having someone else so affected by my pain. I’ve never seen Noah lose control like he did this evening. Actually, I’ve never witnessed him express an ounce of emotion. Ever. I’m not really sure what to make of it. I know we’re friends, but his reaction, well — he took what happened to me personally. That’s the only explanation I can come up with, and I don’t understand why.

Part of me wishes that he thought of me as more than a friend, I’m not going to lie, but I have to be honest with myself. I’m a fucking head case, number one. I would definitely disrupt his
perfect
life. There’s no way he could possibly want anything romantic with me, especially with everything going according to his
perfect
plan. Number two, even if he wanted something more than a friendship with me, well, I just got my face pummeled by my
ex
-boyfriend. I’m pretty sure that I need to sort some shit out regarding all of that. Number three, he’s leaving in a month. He knows it, and I know it, so what would be the point? I’m not one of his friends with benefits, like Ryder. I’m his friend only. And his
friend
I shall remain.

“Shower, Tate!” Noah yells from the other room.

“I’m going,
Noah
! I’m searching for dust particles in here, give me a minute!” I can’t stop my grin, no matter how much it kills my face.

“Well, you’re not going to find any, so get your ass in the shower. I laid some clothes on the bed. When you’re done, we’ll talk.”

I huff out loud at that last remark, suddenly wanting to stomp and cry like a three year old. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk. I want to explore Noah Reese’s room.

So, that’s what I decide to do. Turning away from his desk, I head over to his dresser and swipe my index finger across the top. Damn. He’s right.

Taking inventory of the items on top, I stop when I come to a black journal sitting by itself. There’s something sticking out of it, marking one of the pages. I glance behind me, making sure he hasn’t come in to make sure I’m in the shower and once I know I’m in the clear, I turn back towards the book and open it to find a napkin folded in half sitting between the two pages.

I know this is
so
not right. Snooping is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

But, I do a lot of wrong things, so…

Taking the napkin from the journal, I slowly unfold it and let out a surprised gasp.

My heart sends a breathtaking shock across my body as I come to recognize the same ten hearts, thirteen smiley faces, five huge flowers along with my name written forty-two times that I doodled on the napkin during our lunch together my very first day working at the duplexes. The same day we fell in the bathtub. The same day he touched me for the first time. The same exact day that I realized there was more to Noah than being an arrogant asshole, and the same day that I let my guard down with him as we became friends.

I guess that day meant something to him too. The question is what? Why would he keep this?

Still in astonishment, I place the napkin on the dresser, giving it one last delicate touch before I pick up the journal. At first, I barely skim the writing in the book, but with page turned, my eyes take in the words and my heart begins to race faster, until eventually I feel as if a hummingbird is flying around in my chest.

My hands are holding quite possibly the most beautiful collection of poems or lyrics that I’ve ever read. Every single line written is raw, pure, heartfelt. My own heart aches as I read them. Tears fill my eyes while I lovingly run my fingers over the pages, just to touch them. To touch
him
. These are
his
words, filled with so much emotion and passion, they steal my breath.

Feeling lightheaded, I back up until I’m forced to sit on his bed as I continue to read. The pain expressed in his words is so similar to my own. The fears, the wants, the needs, the desires — my eyes take them in as my heart absorbs them, each word a soothing salve for the constant ache of its broken pieces.

The door creaks and I look up from the bed to find Noah standing in his doorway, watching me as I read. Tears streaming, I close the book and set it on the bed beside me, leaving my hand on top of it because I’m not ready to let go of it just yet.

“Noah, your words are beautiful.” He shifts nervously but holds my eyes. “Are they poems?” I ask.

He lets out a long breath as he runs his fingers through his hair. “No, they’re lyrics.
My
lyrics. That’s my lyric journal. No one’s ever read it besides you,
snoop
.” He gives me a sexy half-smile before walking over to the bed. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone. Now,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I guess I have to stay right here, guarding my possessions, while you get undressed for the shower you’re supposed to be taking at this very moment. Your privacy privileges have officially been revoked.” He reaches over and removes the journal from underneath my fingers, then makes his way toward the dresser. He stares for a bit before turning back around, now donning a huge grin.

“So, you found the napkin?” Holding it in his hands, he folds it gently and places it back inside the journal, leaving it sticking halfway out just as it was when I found it. I fight not to laugh at the gesture. I’m starting to think he might be a little OCD.

“Yeah, I’m busted. Or
you’re
busted. However you want to look at it.” I smile back as much as the pain receptors in my face allow. “Why do you have my doodle napkin? Hoping to make millions off my artwork some day?”

He smiles, but breaks eye contact with me to look down at the floor. “No. I have it because, while your doodling is truly amazing, it was the first day we were together that we actually didn’t want to strangle each other. I thought it was a momentous occasion, so I kept it.”