The talking wasn't working to distract her. She was still fixated on the man. She desperately cast her eyes around the living room as she spoke. It was spare, with an overstuffed couch and chair, a low coffee table. No sharp edges. There were no photos or paintings anywhere. No knickknacks. Through a doorway to the right, she could see his kitchen. The hallway behind him must lead to his bedroom and office.
She refocused her thoughts. This was too important to mess up. "Their grandma's health got worse, and the kids went into foster care when she had to be admitted to a nursing home. They bounced among foster homes. Missed a lot of school. Sometimes they were together, sometimes separated. And now they're with me."
She couldn't tell if hearing the kids' story was making a dent. Noah remained stubbornly silent, arms crossed.
"They haven't had a lot of good influences in their lives. They need a stable place to land." And she had no intention of letting them go back into the system, where they'd fall through the cracks all over again. "I'm doing the best I can."
He let his arms fall to his sides and stepped around the couch as he moved toward her. "As I recall, you had a pretty idyllic childhood. What makes you think you're qualified to parent them?"
His words were a direct hit. Was she doing enough? What if she failed them?
She raised her chin. "I love them. And things might be hard right now, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to give up."
He strode toward her, still with that thunderous expression, and, for a brief second, she wondered if he would bodily throw her out. "It's a nice sob story, but I don't care. It's time for you to go."
She stood her ground.
He kept on coming, getting in her space before backing off slightly, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he carefully blanked it.
He wasn't as cold as he pretended to be. He couldn't be.
"Noah, please." She touched his forearm, which was surprisingly muscled beneath her fingertips.
He jumped as if she'd physically struck him. When he took a half step back, her hand fell away.
"I'm sorry. I am..." She exhaled. "Sorry."
She hadn't been able to make out all the emotions that had flashed across his expression. But she couldn't stop now.
"Have you ever...?" She inhaled a shaky breath. "My mom died during sophomore year. Before we were really friends. For a while, I was lost. Casey and PJ and Lindsey are lost too."
Was that a crack in the tightness of his expression? She wished she could read him better. His eyes were unfocused, his gaze somewhere above her head.
"Have you ever felt something like that?” she asked softly. “Have you ever been lost?"
It was the wrong thing to say. It was as if a switch flipped inside him, and whatever slip of compassion disappeared completely.
His frown intensified. "Please go. Keep your kids away. They've caused me enough trouble."
Trouble. She swallowed hard. "You found out?"
He'd reached past her to open the door. A rush of cold air hit her in the back, sliding under the edge of her coat. But he went still. "Found out what?"
Oh. Oh no. There was nothing else to do but come clean.
"They graffitied the front of your house," she said quietly. She said the expletive that had been written, and it made him flinch.
Red crept up his jaw and into his cheeks.
"It's black spray paint." Her voice was shaking now. "It's huge and ugly. Each letter is about as tall as I am. I don't know which one of them did it. I didn't see it until after they'd left for school." The boys were tight. She didn't know if she could get one of them to confess, or if it had been both of them together acting out.
"They will have consequences," she said. "I'll pay to have it removed. What I'd really like is to have them to come over and work on it themselves."
"No. Absolutely not." His voice was quiet, almost deadly. "Get out of my house. Stay away from me."
"Please, Noah." She'd already been so rude, her mom would've been appalled. She'd entered his house without an invitation. She had no choice but to back out the door. "If you don't want them to work on the house, that's fine. I'll pay to have it fixed. Just don't call the sheriff. Please."
He made no response, only snapped the door closed in her face. And turned the lock with a decisive click.
What was she going to do now?
