But he knows me too well. He can sense the agony consuming me.
“Merce.” He pulls his backward ball cap off his head and readjusts it, then cups my shoulder.
A sense of pity rolls off him as he takes me in. Fuck. That only makes me feel even smaller and more incompetent.
I walked in on her in my room, in my bed, kissing another man.
A better man would take a fucking hint and leave well enough alone.
I’m pathetic.
And I’m so damn tired of feeling powerless.
Noah grips my other shoulder, squeezing until I give him my full attention.
“I’m not pitying you.” He shakes his head. He knows the depth and shape of my deepest wounds. He has every right to pity me. “I’m just trying to call you back. I want to do whatever I can to support you right now.”
I close my eyes and take in a cleansing breath, trying to keep it together.
Being vulnerable with Noah hasn’t been an issue in a long, long time. He knows me better than anyone else on this planet. I’ve stood by his side through so much. Hell, I’ve held him as he sobbed more times than I can recall. Yet suddenly it’s terrifying to find myself on the receiving end of that kind of support. Why?
Because your weakness has been weaponized against you before. Because letting someone get close gives them the power to destroy you from the inside out.
I mentally rally against the intrusive thoughts encouraging me to stay cold and aloof. It’s foolish to shut Noah out. He cares deeply for me and for Sawyer. He sat with me in the dark many times over the last several weeks, standing guard as I mentally dangled near the precipice of self-harm.
He’s never let me down. He’s always there when I need him.
So I swallow my shame and speak my truth. “Sawyer asked if we could talk.”
His eyes widen for a heartbeat, but then his face softens. He grips my shoulders a little tighter and nods. “That has to be a good thing, right? What are you even doing out here?”
I shake my head on instinct. “I—I can’t. I don’t know what to say. I can’t even explain what I did, or why—”
Noah pulls me into a full-body hug, silencing me.
“Don’t overthink it. What happened in the barn was horrendous. Last night was…” He blows out a long breath but doesn’t release me. “Last night was fucking awful. But I think itmight have also been a turning point. Go to her. Talk. At the very least, hear her out. You’ve got to start somewhere, right?”
I swallow past the emotion clogging my throat and nod into his shoulder.
I don’t want to do this. It would be easier to never face any of it.
But I owe it to Sawyer—and I owe it to myself—to have this conversation.
Sniffling, I pull back and search my best friend’s face. “It would probably defeat the purpose of the two of us talking things out if I asked you to come with me, right?”
He cants his head to the side, his lips twitching at my pathetic attempt at securing a wingman. “You’ve got this, Merce.”
I don’t.
But Noah’s belief in me makes me feel like maybe there’s a chance this could all work out.
Chapter thirty
Sawyer
The sharp knock comes a good twenty minutes after Mercer’s quick escape.
Ty gives me a meaningful look, hovering above where I’m propped up against several pillows. He tucks my freshly showered hair behind my ear, then bends low to kiss me.
