“I don’t want you to go. I want to help you. We’re good together, Tori. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, the pain in his voice making me sick to my stomach. He deserves so much more than what I can give him right now.
“I don’t know what I feel, Noah. I am so confused right now. I need to figure out who I am. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being Trent’s girlfriend, a widow, whatever people want to call me.”
I press a kiss to his hand, the same way he did with mine.
“And I need to learn to live again on my own, and I can’t do that if I keep letting you save me.”
The pained expression on his face is almost enough to make me take back everything I just said, because walking away from him is more painful than I thought it would be.
He cups the back of my head and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Then you need to go,” he murmurs. “Go live your life, Tor, and when you are done living, or if you ever change your mind, and you are ready to fall in love again and trust that not every love story ends in heartbreak, come back and maybe, fall in love with me.”
I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight, like it might be the last time I ever do. “Thank you. F, for everything.” I whisper into his neck. “Look after yourself, okay?” I say through tears.
He clings to me tightly and speaks words so softly into my ear that I know they will be impossible to forget.
“Amor Fati, Look it up and never forget it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Noah
The days have been a dark blur of poor decisions and masking my pain since Tori left six months ago. I’ve lied to everyone. My sister thinks I’m deployed overseas, my friends think I am busy on training courses, and my mother, well, she only calls when she needs money, so I haven’t answered.
I fight the urge every day to call Tori, write to her, or look her up online. I wonder what she’s doing, if she’s okay, and if she’s struggling as much as me. I miss her. I miss everything about her. But mixed in with the yearning is my grief and guilt. What kind of person falls for their best friend’s girl, but not just your best friend, your dead best friend? What kind of monster am I?
I thought I was doing okay since we lost Scotty, but the truth of it is, I was so wrapped up in helping Tori, I don’t think I gave myself the space to process what happened, or to accept the partI played in his death. I replay that day like an annoying TV ad on repeat. What if I looked right instead of left? What if Scotty was at the back instead of up front. What if our team wasn’t the lead? What if we had taken another route? So many what ifs. I figured if I could help Tori, save her in some way, that maybe I could forgive myself. But then I went and ruined it all and gave in to my feelings. I took what I wanted. I saw my opportunity, and with only a very fleeting thought of the repercussions, I went for it. I gave her what she needed. I allowed myself what I had craved, wanted, yearned for, for so long. For a brief moment in time, Victoria May Walker was all mine.
I thought I had experienced hell without dying, but this feeling is something I am not trained or equipped to handle. So that’s why I find myself here, leaning against the cold brick wall of the local jail, staring at the telephone because I landed myself in another bar fight, but this time I put a guy in the hospital, and I need someone to bail me out.
It’s in times like these you realize who you can call on, and thanks to my shitty childhood and my unresolved issues, my call list is limited. I can count on one hand how many people I can rely on in life, but in this moment, I know there is only one I can really call on. The man who’s had my back for as long as I can remember. He’s been more of a brother than a friend since the day I met him, and who, thankfully, hasn’t changed his phone number since we were kids.
With a shaky hand, covered in cuts and torn knuckles, I punch in the number and take a steadying breath. It only takes two rings for him to answer.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m in trouble, and I need your help.”
The drive back to the temporary apartment I have been renting is silent. He has the good sense not to start firing questions at me. Like I knew he would, Jack got on the first flight out of Miami and came to my rescue. Paying my bail without a word.
We pull up outside the apartment, and I step out of the truck, my head feeling light when my boots hit the gravel. When was the last time I ate a decent meal and drank something that wasn’t alcohol?
Jack follows me in. I head straight to the refrigerator, and am relieved to find a single bottle of water in the salad tray. I drink it down like a man suffering from severe dehydration, which if I am being honest, I probably am.
Jack scans my apartment taking in the empty bottles of whiskey beer that litter the countertops. Trash bags of clothes are stacked by the worn leather couch, the only piece of furniture other than a side table in the living area.
“Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to clear up before you flew out,” I say with a bite to my tone.
“Yeah, I can see that. Noah, what the fuck is going on?”
I run a frustrated hand down my face, feeling the stubble beneath the broken skin of my fingertips. When did I last shave?
“I’m kind of tired. I appreciate you bailing me out. I’ll pay you back, but I just need to go get some sleep.” I attempt to walk past him, but he steps in front of me. “Jack, move.”
“No. I didn’t fly across the country to bail your ass out of fucking jail for you to act like nothing’s going on.”
“Jack, seriously. I am not in the mood right now, so get out of my ass, will you?”
He grips my shirt and shoves me against the refrigerator. “No, we’re gonna talk about this right fucking now, Noah. What’s going on?”
