Breaking Noah

by Missy Johnson

  Before I text her, I just watch her for a moment, trying to decide if this is a good idea or not. Am I going to be able to set aside my anger to have a conversation with her? Will I be able to keep my hands off her? Unsure of anything right now, I pick up my phone and text the number she messaged me from earlier.

  Me: Here. Dark blue BMW. NW corner of the lot.

  A few seconds later, she pulls the phone from her pocket and checks my incoming message. Peeking up, looking in my direction, her lips turn upward and her shoulders sag slightly, like she’s let out a breath of air she’d been holding, as if she thought I wouldn’t show. She starts walking to the car slowly.

  When she’s only a few feet away, I exit the car and meet her at the hood. Holding firm, I stick out my hand, palm up. Reading my mind, she places the phone in my hand and watches me patiently power it down. I move to the trunk and she’s on my heels. Lifting the hatch, I stare her down and toss the phone inside.

  “Purse and coat, too. And empty your pockets, please.” I should pat her down for any other kind of recording device, but I give her the benefit of the doubt when she follows my instructions implicitly. I shouldn’t give her anything, but at this point, I have nothing else to lose.

  Once she’s wearing only a pair of skintight jeans and a black fitted long-sleeve shirt, it would be impossible for her to hide anything, unless she’s wearing a wire. Stepping around the side of the car, she follows until I direct her to the passenger’s seat.

  Cautiously, she does as I request, climbing into the car, feet planted on the floorboard and eyes focused straight ahead. I briefly catch a glimpse of what this is doing to her and it makes me feel things I’m trying to suppress. I want to take her hand and tell her that we’ll get through this together. I want to wipe away the tear she’s trying to hide and make sure she knows that we’re a team and as long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.

  But I don’t.

  I can’t.

  I won’t.

  “Where are we going?” she asks softly, as I leave the parking lot and head toward the highway.

  “Somewhere we can talk and I don’t have to be worried about being recorded in one way or another. Somewhere safe.”

  “Noah, I wouldn’t…” she starts to say, and it does nothing more than piss me off. Slamming on the brakes, the car screeches to a halt on the shoulder, Zara bracing herself on the dash to keep from smacking her head on the window. Throwing the gearshift into park, I turn toward her, my face stern.

  “Don’t. You would. You did. There’s no trust here, Zara. You wanted to talk, so we’ll talk, but it’s going to be on my terms. I’m not sure I can be ruined any more than I already am, but just in case there’s a fighting chance for my career and reputation, I’m willing to take it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, readjusting in her seat and staring out her window as I put the car in drive and continue our journey. More than an hour later, we pull up to the cabin I used to come to as a child. Lucky for me, my parents had given me a key a few years ago when Shannon and I needed an escape from the city and never asked for it back. Even luckier, nobody is using the house tonight. On the way over, I’d wondered if my parents would come here to avoid the questions and prying eyes of the journalists, but seeing no cars in the long stretch of a driveway and no lights on inside, I’d say the coast is clear.

  “What is this place? You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” Zara asks, her face ghostly white as she looks around at the isolated land—no houses anywhere in sight, the woods pitch black, and a single cabin illuminated only by a porch light. I guess I understand why she’s scared. I might be, too.

  “I’d never hurt you, Zara. I figured if we needed to talk, we should do it somewhere the reporters won’t see us and make this even worse. My parents own this place. It’s safe. I’m safe.”

  Stepping inside, it’s obvious I need to turn on the heat; it’s freezing in here. Showing Zara to the living room, I head to the basement to fire up the furnace and get some warmth in this place. After I light the pilot and ensure that everything’s in working order, I’m back upstairs in time to see a shiver run through Zara’s body.

  “Let me go grab your coat.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you thinking I’m hiding any recording device. Do you have a blanket or something I can use?”

  I look around and see an old afghan that my grandmother made lying across the rocking chair closest to the fireplace. I debate throwing a few logs in just to get it warmer faster, but quickly shut that idea down. Something about a fireplace in an old cabin screams romantic, and this situation is anything but. Tossing her the blanket, I sit on the couch opposite Zara and wait for her to open the lines of communication.

  It takes a few minutes for her to speak up, but when she finally does, she breaks. “I’m so sorry, Noah. So fucking sorry,” she sobs, her shoulders violently shaking and her chest heaving, trying to take in as many breaths as she can.

  “I just don’t understand why. I don’t know why you would do that to me. I could have fallen in love with you, Zara. I was well on my way.”

  “I’m not the one who sent the email. I swear. I recorded it, but never sent it.”

  “Who else could have done it? I’m far from the smartest man in the world, but it came from your student account. I don’t know you that well, but I think I know enough about you to know how guarded you are. I’m sure that password was saved only on your personal laptop. So if you didn’t send it, who did?” I don’t know why I’m bothering with this excuse. Her email. Her video. I’m such a stupid man for listening to her, but for my own sanity, I have to know.

  “Dillon,” she whispers, looking down into her lap, twisting a frayed string of the blanket around her index finger.

  The two live together, so it’s plausible to think that he would have access to her computer, but it still doesn’t answer the question why. I’m about to ask that very question when she continues.

  “Karly’s my cousin.” The weight of a hundred bricks comes crashing down on my chest, restricting my breathing.

  “Why didn’t you say anything when we talked the other night? I had no idea,” I say between breaths. I knew there was something familiar about Zara, and had thought at first maybe there was some connection, but she’s Karly’s exact opposite.

  “That’s not all,” she says, glancing up at me through tear-stricken lashes. “I thought you were the one who got her pregnant and scared her. I recorded us together with the intention of releasing the video after I carefully disguised myself, but Dillon got to the video before I got the chance.”

  “Zara, I would have never been involved with Karly. She was an excellent student and a very nice girl, but I never saw her any other way. I knew of her pregnancy, but I assure you, I’m not the one who caused it.”

  “I know. Please let me finish. If I don’t get it all out, I never will.” Swallowing as much air as she can, Zara squares her shoulders, wipes away the tears, and continues. “Karly was sleeping with Dillon behind my back. He got her pregnant, and he was the one who threatened her. He’s the reason she killed herself, but for the last year I thought it was you. I hid the USB drive with the video, but he found it. I don’t know if it was jealousy or what, but he sent the email to everyone from my computer. Noah, I’m so sorry I dragged you into my mess. I was so upset after Karly died, I needed someone to blame, and instead of her telling me she’d been screwing my boyfriend, she said she had an affair with a teacher.”

  The mixed emotions swirling around my head are overwhelming. Knowing there was nothing I could have done to save Karly takes away a heaviness I’ve felt since they found her body. Realizing that the only reason Zara sought me out was to avenge her cousin’s death is disturbing. Nothing was real. She was an act. A façade. Our entire relationship—every conversation, detail, glance—it was a show.

  “I’m very sorry you had to deal with all of that. You’re a wonderful girl and to know that you’ve bee
n dealing with this all alone makes me so regretful that instead of trying to talk to you, I jumped into bed with you. For that, I’ll be sorry forever. But on the other hand, I’m not sure how this information changes anything.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I wanted you to pay. I wanted justice for Karly. For her baby. I fucked everything up so bad. I don’t know how to fix it. Please tell me how to fix this,” she begs, more tears streaming down her face.

  Staring into her bloodshot emerald eyes, I tell her the only thing that makes any sense right now. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I’ll have to deal with the fallout from the university and decide what kind of career I’ll want in the future. You’re going to have to live with what you’ve done. It’s a sad and harsh reality, but it’s just that, Zara. Reality.”

  “But…” she starts, then clamps her mouth shut. Tossing the afghan from her lap, she stands and marches toward me. Stopping just before our legs touch, she looks down at me and her expression softens. “I love you, Noah. I want you. To be with you. I need you. Even when I thought you were still the one who hurt Karly, I wasn’t going to release the video because I had fallen in love with you.”

  Unsure of what to say, I look down. As angry as I am, I’m not sure I’ll be able to withstand the pull I’ll feel if I stare into her eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you, Zara. I very well could have fallen in love with you, but I don’t know a single thing about you. I let you in and you played me.”

  “No. Noah. No,” she cries, falling to her knees, angling her head awkwardly so our eyes meet. “You know me. The real me.” Zara jabs her index finger into her chest, her tears falling onto my jeans. “You were falling in love with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, placing my hands on her shoulders and softly pushing her back so I can get off the couch. As I walk into the kitchen, she’s on my heels, not letting the conversation go.

  “Dammit, Noah. Listen to me. Yes, my actions were wrong, but I’ve been crazy after losing Karly. We were like sisters, twins—I couldn’t get over what happened, and all of the evidence pointed to you. Yes, I was wrong. God, I feel horrible about everything. I couldn’t have been more wrong. But from the start I’d been fighting our attraction, trying to make you this monster in my head, but my heart didn’t believe it. Please, don’t walk away from me—I can’t lose you, too. We can figure this out. I’ll figure it out. Please.”

  “There’s nothing for you to figure out. The damage is done and it’s on me to figure out where to go from here.”

  “Go there with me. Be with me. Let me back in.” My heart races. Had none of this happened and she’d said these words to me…I don’t even know. I would have married her on the spot, probably. I had been thinking she was it for me, too. The woman I was supposed to be with, the one who would save me from a lifetime of loneliness or misery. Breaking it off with Shannon was the best decision I’ve ever made, and if it wasn’t for my feelings for Zara, I probably wouldn’t have pushed it, but I did.

  “Zara,” I whisper, as she curls herself around my waist, squeezing tightly, sobbing into my chest. I want to reciprocate. I want to comfort her. I want to tell her it’s all going to be okay.

  But again, I can’t.

  I won’t.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, pushing her away and walking into the master suite and locking the door. I just need a few minutes and then we can get back on the road. Get her back to town and try to forget Zara Hamilton ever waltzed through my door, into my classroom, and into my heart.

  Just a few more minutes.

  Chapter 27

  Zara

  I have to do something.

  This is my only chance to get through to him. Any second, he is going to walk out of that bedroom and drive me back to the city and whatever we had will be gone. I have one chance to try to salvage this and I’m not about to let that opportunity slip by.

  With a quick glance at the bedroom, I move for the front door, grabbing his keys from the table in the foyer. I have no idea what I’m doing. I just know that we need more time together to figure this out. I fucked up…big-time, but he said he was falling in love with me. Doesn’t that mean we’re supposed to fight through hell to get to heaven? We have to.

  Popping open the trunk, I reach in for my purse. I’ll call Mel, and she’ll explain to him that sure I was acting a little crazy, but I had good intentions. He has no reason to think she’s a liar, like he does me. I also have Karly’s letter inside my wallet. He’d said before he was living with the what-ifs. Maybe I can change that and give him a little comfort that there was nothing he could have done.

  Setting the keys down inside my bag, I pull out the letter, reading over the first few lines. I’m so angry she lied to me and caused all of this, but had she not lied, I would have never met Noah or found out about Dillon. Tears prick my eyes as Noah’s shoes crunch on the gravel in the driveway.

  Startled, I step back and slam down the hatch, not wanting him to think I’m doing anything devious.

  “Where are the keys, Zara?” he asks, taking a few steps toward me.

  “In my purse,” I respond, reaching down to grab my purse. “Shit,” I mutter. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “My purse is in the trunk. I’m so sorry. Do you have an extra set?”

  Noah rushes to the car, trying all the door handles. When he can’t gain entry, he slams his hands on the roof, spewing a slew of curses. So much for wanting to make the situation better—apparently, I’m only capable of screwing shit up.

  “You need help, Zara. Is this because I told you we were over?”

  “No.” I shake my head, still clutching the letter in my hand. “I’m sorry…I wanted to get this for you. It was an accident, locking the keys in the trunk, I swear, Noah. I just wanted to show you.” I thrust the letter toward him, and he accepts it, scans over it, emotion filling his eyes as he reads her words.

  “You didn’t have to share this with me, but thank you.”

  “How far away are the nearest neighbors?” I ask in a small voice. Maybe I can still fix this. I don’t have a phone, but a neighbor will, then I can call the auto club or a tow truck.

  “A good twenty miles.” He nods up at the sky. “Come on, we better get inside. There’s a storm forecast for tonight. I’m sure Derrick will figure out something is up when I don’t return his car in time for work tomorrow morning,” he adds, his voice dry.

  He’s taking this better than I thought he would. I follow him back inside the cabin and watch as he starts lighting the fire. A shiver races down my spine as I perch myself on the sofa with my legs curled up under me, the warm blanket draped over my lap.

  “So we just wait?” I ask nervously. I glance around the cabin just as my stomach rumbles. I blush as he chuckles, though the sound of him laughing makes my heart surge. I’m clinging to the slightest bit of hope that I can still fix this. I have no idea how, but all I can do is hope that I’ll figure something out in the next twelve hours.

  “Check the cupboards if you’re hungry. My parents are up here pretty often, so I’d be surprised if there was nothing around.”

  I stand up and walk over to the kitchen. I check the fridge first, and find a few cans of fruit, but not much else. I go through each cupboard until I find a packet of potato chips. Opening the bag, I shove a handful into my mouth, wishing I’d had something more nutritious than a cup of coffee for breakfast—or lunch, considering it was well after noon when I woke up.

  Noah wipes his hands on his legs, then stands back to survey his handiwork. The fire is crackling away nicely. If we were here under better circumstances it would be romantic.

  I hold the bag out for him and he takes a handful, his fingers briefly touching mine. The funny thing is, now that I have him alone and for the night, I have no idea what to say to make this go away. Everything that he needed to know has already been said.

  “I’m done,” I say, handing him the bag. I retreat back to my spot on the sofa under my
rug and sigh. “There’s no television,” I say. I had known something was missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “No, there isn’t,” he replies, sitting down next to me. “My mother refused to allow one here because the idea of this place was to have a break from everything. Which is kind of funny, considering how high-maintenance my mother is. There are a few board games in the cupboard over there, but apart from that…” He shrugs.

  “Board games?” I repeat, crinkling my nose.

  “Yeah, pretty old ones, too. From when I was a kid, mostly.” He stands up and walks back over to the kitchen and begins rummaging through the drawers and cupboards. “Ha. I knew he’d have some scotch here, and there’s a bottle of wine.” He holds up the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. “If you’d met my mother, you’d understand why my dad drinks,” he says and chuckles.

  “Did Shannon meet your parents?” I have no idea where that question came from. He looks up at me in surprise, but then nods.

  “Yes. I wouldn’t say she left much of an impression, though, considering Mom could never get her name right.”

  “I am sorry, Noah,” I say quietly. “For everything. I’m sure you wish we’d never met. You must hate me.”

  He hands me a glass. I lift it to my nose, the malty scent hitting my senses.

  “I don’t hate you, Zara.” He sighs and rubs his forehead before sitting down, this time in the armchair opposite me. “Honestly, what you did, it scares me. I can live without my career, that’s not even the issue. I really thought we had something, and to find out it was all an act—a calculated, malicious act…I don’t even know what to say. How can I ever trust you again?”

  “I wish there was some way I could prove to you I didn’t upload that video—”

  “But it doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, his voice rising. “You made the video, Zara. You recorded us. Whether you uploaded it or not is not the issue, is it?”