“Hey, Tor.” I don’t notice the bags he’s holding; I launch myself at him and cling to him like he’s my saving grace.
He chuckles. “It’s nice to see you too, but can I take these into your kitchen? I’m scared I’m going to drop them, and I got tacos, chips, and caso.”
My stomach grumbles at the idea of food, and I reluctantly release him.
“Sorry, sure. Come in. Sorry about the mess.”
I race ahead of him and quickly scoop up the dirty glasses and place them in the sink before I grab the takeout boxes that are days old with uneaten food in them that my mom had delivered into the trash.
Noah scans the space and eyes me suspiciously. “Have you been taking care of yourself this week?” he asks, concern in his tone as he unpacks the bag, the smell of beef tacos invades my senses and my mouth waters.
“Uh, I haven’t really felt that hungry.” I shrug, wrapping my arms around my thin frame. I know I’ve lost weight, a concerning amount, but I can’t bring myself to eat most days.
“Well, I’m going to make sure you eat tonight. Sit,” he says, gesturing to the stool at my tiny breakfast bar. I take a seat and watch as he lays everything out in front of me. He’s dressed in his uniform. A dark olive-green t-shirt, camo pants, and boots.
“When did you get back?” I ask, taking a sip of the soda he’s placed in front of me.
“About an hour ago. I got off the bus and headed straight here to see you first.” He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal, but his words send my heart racing.
He came to see me first.
“You didn’t need to do that. I’m sure you have better things to be doing,” I say shyly.
“I wanted to see you,” he says firmly. The heat of his stare and the sincerity in his voice have my words lodged in my throat. I want to tell him I have missed his visits, that I have missed him, but before I can, he speaks.
“Eat, please.” He slides the wrapped taco over to me.
“Yes sir,” I tease, realizing that a little piece of me has come back to life and only Noah Jones seems to be able to revive.
Chapter Seventeen
Noah
I watched as Tori inhaled her food. It’s obvious she hasn’t been eating or taking care of herself. I haven’t been able to stop worrying about her while I was away. The thought of her back home, suffering, churned me up inside, and when the bus pulled into camp, I didn’t waste a second. I was in my truck, on my way to her.
I cleared the kitchen as she took a shower, and when she emerged, dressed in a sweatshirt that drowned her, one I’d recognize anywhere, my stomach dropped.
Scotty’s sweatshirt.
With damp hair and pink cheeks thanks to her hot shower, I truly see the impact of what his death and the loss of her baby have done to her. She looks so small and fragile, and my instinct is to swoop her up and fix her. She looks a far cry from theconfident and loud girl who worked behind the bar on base, who always had a smile and eyes that held my attention in a way no other woman was ever able to do.
But when she smiles at me, I know that girl is still in there. Somewhere under the pain, she is in there, and I made a promise to Scotty I’d look after her, so that’s what I shall do.
“Do you need to go, or can you stay for a bit?” she asks, chewing the inside of her cheek in the way she does when she’s nervous.
“I can stay,” I confirm, walking towards the couch. She takes a seat beside me, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them.
I swallow thickly and clear my throat. “Tor, when was the last time you left this apartment?”
She stays silent and shrugs.
“I’m worried about you,” I say quietly as I fiddle anxiously with a loose thread on her comforter.
She stares blankly into the distance as if she is dissociating.
“Hey, look at me,” I say, placing my hand over hers, and my palm tingles at the feel of her silky skin.
“I know it’s hard. Believe me. But he would want you to keep living.”
