Noah gave her a withering look. “I do,” he said. “I’ve always known. And I think you do too, so let’s not insult each other by pretending this would ever be casual.”
AJ’s mouth went dry. “Okay,” she said. “Then wouldn’t the greater insult be not to give it a shot?”
Noah shook his head. “The greater insult would be me getting in the way of you finding someone who can offer you a full life,” he said. “I won’t deprive you of that. You still have time.”
AJ felt queasy. “And what about you?”
“I accepted how things are a long time ago,” said Noah placidly.
“Wow, okay,” said AJ. “So you’re happy with your steady diet of meaningless sex, is what you’re saying.”
Noah threw his head back. “No,” he erupted. “I’m saying that I’ve had years to adjust to the fact that I’m not capable of loving another person the way that I love you.”
AJ’s eyes flew to his face. He was looking at her half in irritation, half in awe, and that was when AJ saw that Noah had also locked away a part of himself. It was as if she’d found a giant glass dome at the heartof that black sadness, and there he was looking out. Behind him stood a village of all the memories he’d made before he knew; at his feet lay two monstrous hounds. One was old and worn—what was left of his hope. The other was healthy and strong—his love for her. When that great darkness smoldered and shook, it was because those dogs were trying to get out.
But he had no intention of freeing them.
“Noah—”
He lifted the fingers of his right hand, and AJ fell silent. “If there’s one thing this disease has taught me, it’s that sometimes it’s better to quit while you’re ahead.”
Stunned, AJ folded her hands. Noah looked at her unguarded, tears welling in his eyes. “I think about you all the time.”
AJ couldn’t speak. Instead, carefully, she reached up and touched his cheek. His eyes drifted closed, and he let his head sink into her palm. Such ferocious beauty. Everything about him screamed vitality and strength.
“You seem so…okay,” she said at last.
“I am,” said Noah, his eyes reopening. Tenderly, he took her hand and held it between his own.
“HD is a ticking time bomb—you’re fine until you’re not,” he said evenly. “I haven’t presented physically yet, and I’m taking every preventative step I can. I exercise around the clock—that’s supposed to help. And having Bud on set is good for my mental health. I don’t normally demand she be made part of the cast, but I’m also not normally locked in a cell for days on end, and it wasn’t worth risking a depressive episode. And there are other precautions I’ve taken to limit…risk.”
AJ listened to this upbeat if detached explanation and understood afresh that Noah allowed nothing beyond this quiet, manicured plan to exist inside himself; everything else, he’d already relinquished to the illness. Control by surrender. All that remained of spontaneity, of play, was the golden cord of their connection, and even that was bound to the confines of a scene.
“With luck, I should have until I’m forty-five or -six,” he was saying.
AJ’s face clouded. “And then what happens?”
Noah looked at her softly. “Then, I gradually lose control of my faculties, and then my limbs, and eventually my ability to swallow. Most Huntington patients choke to death.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she remembered what it had been like to sit with his mother as her body betrayed her. AJ had only glimpsed the start of her symptoms.
“I’m not going to let it get that far,” said Noah reassuringly. “The second I can’t drive myself anymore, I’m getting on the next flight to Oregon. It’s all part of the plan.”
This reference AJ understood. Oregon was the only state where physician-assisted suicide was legal.
Sometimes it’s better to quit while you’re ahead.
“Noah,” she gasped. “You can’t. When I said that, I didn’t—”
“I know. But that’s the shape of this.” He reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, still calm. “It’s okay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but apart from this, I lead a very charmed life. I love my work. I do.” His brow furrowed. “I really,reallydon’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t,” said AJ, but was that even true? She would be lying if she said she had a grip on any of what he’d just told her. Part of her was still stuck on his admission that he loved her. Surely that meant there was some way for them to be together…
“So you don’t want a partner? Or a family?”
“I can never have a family,” he said flatly. “I literally can’t. I had a vasectomy when I was twenty-two. When I die, I’m taking this particular strain of the disease with me.”
For some reason, this was the thing that finally made it real for AJ. The prospect of his decline was horrifying, but to a twenty-four-year-old, forty-six was a lifetime away, part of a wide-open future. But this, thisprecaution,as he’d called it—this was a hard certainty.
