He rescued me every single time I didn’t need him to. And now, the time I could use his empathy, he’s a stone wall. “Noah,” I call after him, but he’s unwavering in his path to the door. Giving up, I drag my feet after him because he’s already halfway through the kitchen.
With my face angled down, I follow him to his car, and we ride in silence until he pulls up behind my car. Not even putting his car into park, he stares straight ahead, waiting for me to get out.
I’m terrified to go back to my Airbnb. I won’t get any sleep. Not with my mind reeling like this. My shaky fingers find my door handle, but I toss a look back at him. Apparently, Noah can put up a great stone wall, but I offer a last very quiet, “I know it may seem like I’m only sorry everything had to come out with this stalker, but that’s not why I’m sorry at all. I’m sorry I trusted my dad. I knew better.”
His Adam’s apple moves up, marking his deep swallow. Not wanting to be a bother, I open my door and slip out of his car, resigning to the fact I have a long drive ahead of me.
I failed this assignment.
Not the photojournalism one.
The life lesson one.
My hands tremble as I climb into my car and shift into drive again. I’m actually grateful I ran out of gas earlier this week. Since then, I’ve been leaving my gas tank topped off, which makes it easy for me to jump directly onto the interstate to return home.
thirteen
Noah
I take deep noisy inhalations as soon as she slams my car door.
I’m not a jerk.
I’m also not okay with letting Paisley stay by herself tonight, but the bigger truth is I’m not okay myself.
My meds haven’t kicked in, and I can't let her see that my anxiety is soaring so much that my body is breaking down. Measured breathing usually is enough to get me back to baseline, but it does nothing. I close my eyes to start my visualization exercises. There’s no way I could be this weird in front of her. Light flickers, and my curiosity piques enough for me to open one eye. Her taillights speed out of the parking lot, taking a north turn back toward the interstate.
She can’t drive to Long Island tonight.
I shake my head, hating that I can’t function. I thought she'd go back to her rental. That's too far to drive, and she still doesn't know if she's safe. I roll my lips in, hoping she at least calls herdad back to let her know she's on her way. She's a grown woman, though, and it’s probably best she be near family.
I speed back to my house, making it back in record time. I hurry through the door and step over Puck, who’s oddly passed out on his side with his nose buried into the blanket that covers his plush dog bed.
It’s back to my bathroom for another dose of my meds. It hadn’t dawned on me before that I might need a loading phase for the first couple of days since I had weaned off of them. With a quick flick of my wrist, I snap the light on, and my eyes jolt open wide.
The bottle is not on the counter where I had left it.
Not again.
I shake my head vigorously. The source of my anxiety might very well be living with a kleptomaniac bulldog. I quickly check the medicine cabinet to be sure. When that turns up empty, I don’t waste time barreling back down the hall to wake up the culprit.
No wonder he was so tired that he never woke up. With the way he’s been wearing me out with all these games, he must be exhausted. I scramble past Bill’s closed bedroom door, pausing only in my mind to rule that out. I already searched in there once. I doubt Puck would reuse the same hiding spot.
I make it to the kitchen with my hand on my chest and grumble in a loud voice with every intention of waking up that dog, “Puck, where are my pills?”
His body shivers as he rolls to an upright position and snaps his gaze on me, fake sneezing in annoyance.
“That’s right,” I growl, advancing toward him, ready to show this fifty-pound mutt who is boss. “I know you have my bottle again, and it’s not funny.”
Another fake sneeze but this one is laced with anger.
“I’m not letting you sleep.” I drop to my hands and knees, getting down on his level, and push my face up to his. In desperation, begging is not out of the question. “You need to show me where you put my pills.” I blink, realizing if anyone saw me face off with a dog like this, I would be laughed at.
His large brown eyes lock on me, and I know he understands exactly what I’m saying. “Show me,” I urge, sitting back on my heels as I ready myself to follow him. His lips spread wide into that rascal smile he gets when he’s loving the attention. He darts down the hall, straight toward Bill’s closed office door, stopping in front of it to scratch at it with his paw.
“You think you’re so sneaky.” My voice is already calmer now that he’s cooperating with me. I pad down the hall as quietly as I can and slip my hand onto the doorknob. It’s unlocked and the door easily pushes open. I’ve only ever been here a handful of times, as this is another place that feels off-limits, but I’m desperate and Bill’s asleep anyway.
I don’t hesitate to do what I need to, and I stand back, allowing Puck to go inside. He waddles to the middle of the room and turns around, eyes hooking on me while his tail wags. I'm so over stalling, and I lower my voice to command, “Show me.”
