I watched him slip into it—the way his shoulders squared, his grin widened, his tone lightened. He wasn’t faking it; this was still Noah. But it was the Noah the world got to keep. The onewho knew how to charm strangers and pose for photos without letting them close enough to see anything real.
I stepped back, giving them space. Someone handed him a marker for autographs. Someone else took a selfie. He laughed, patient and practiced, while I stood off to the side, the gap widening between us.
Reality hit me then—this was his life. Crowds. Cameras. A dozen people knowing his name before he ever said theirs. And me? I was a girl who still worked two part-time jobs and sketched ideas at her kitchen table.
When the last photo was taken, he turned to find me, scanning the crowd. I raised a hand, forced a smile. “I’m going to head out. Long day.”
His brow furrowed. “Em, wait?—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
He hesitated, torn between the fans still calling his name and me already walking away. I didn’t blame him for staying; this was what he’d worked for. Still, something in my chest pinched as I crossed the pier and blended back into the crowd.
By the time I made it to the L platform, my phone buzzed.
Noah:Sorry about that. Didn’t mean for tonight to end like that. I’ll call you later, okay?
I stared at the message for a long moment, hating the twisted in my gut. I loved seeing him, but we were just so different.
Me:All good. Get home safe.
Then I tucked my phone in my bag, leaned against the cold metal railing, and watched the lights smear across the lake. When the train finally pulled in, I got on and told myself not to wait for his call.
But I did.
And it never came.
4
NOAH
Two months later—August
The air at the field smelled like fresh-cut grass, sweat, and something fried from the concession stands. The preseason crowd was still thin, but you could feel the hum building—like the stadium itself was waking up after a long nap. I shifted the strap of the backpack over my shoulder and adjusted the little hand gripping mine.
A little hand belonging to a boy who would never see his mom again.God.My stomach plummeted as the thought intruded—that happened a lot, as I thought about my sister and how she’d never get to see her son again.
Fuck, I missed Nat. I missed her smart-ass comments and the way she laughed without a care in the world. I loved how she’d FaceTime me every single week with Miles gabbing in the background. The way we’d gang up on my parents when they get all judgmental and say how disappointed they were in us.We always imagined you doing more with life.Or my favorite.Mrs. Dickerson’s son is a doctor, Noah. A doctor. Do you know how uncomfortable it makes me to say what you do?
Nat would always tell them to fuck off, but then they’d poutfor months and withhold love to us. That was the part that pissed me off. The withholding love messed with Miles, andGod,I wished Nat was still here.
Despite having Miles for months, I still woke up and expected her to walk in the door with a chip on her shoulder and her signature smirk.
“Uncle Noah, are we late?”
“Not even close, buddy.” I squeezed his hand and crouched to his level. “We’ve got time to see the field before warmups. Want to see where I work?”
Miles grinned so wide his cheeks pushed into his lashes. “You mean where the big guys run into each other?”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
His curls were sticking to his forehead under a too-big Rampage cap. He’d insisted on wearing my jersey—his mom’s old one—so it hung down to his knees. I tugged it straight and told myself to breathe. This was fine. I could handle this.
I’d been repeating that to myself for two months, and it still didn’t sound true.
I got the call about her accident while on a trip with my friends. And while that gutted me, my life shifted a week later.
The day the lawyer handed me Nat’s will, the words blurred before I finished the first paragraph. There were two letters in the folder—one for my parents, one for me. Hers to me was short.You’re the only one who gets it. Don’t let them convince you otherwise. Miles needs you. Help him laugh, Noah. That’s all I want. Make him have a fun, joyful life.
