Aria (Duet Series Book 1)

by Jennifer Hartmann

  When she pulled into Noah’s driveway, she sat in silence. She watched as the windshield wipers darted back and forth, unable to keep up with the falling rain. Swish, swish. Chelsie glanced into the living room window, squinting her eyes through the half-parted curtains. A welcoming, yellow light beckoned her inside as shadows scattered across the room. She didn’t know why she was stalling. It was just Noah.

  The front door opened, and Rosa stepped outside with a giant, red umbrella. Chelsie removed her keys from the ignition and hopped out of the car to greet the caretaker before she disappeared into the night.

  “Rosa!” Chelsie called, her voice trying to overpower the sound of the howling wind.

  “Señorita!” Rosa answered, quickening her pace. “You’re going to freeze out here in this storm. Hurry on inside and get warm.”

  Chelsie huddled in close, sharing Rosa’s umbrella. “I just wanted to say thank you for everything,” she said.

  “Que?”

  Chelsie didn’t know why she needed to say it, but she did. “Thank you, Rosa. I hope someday you’ll see your Paco again.”

  Rosa’s eyes widened and then glazed over with a thousand memories. “Muchacha…”

  “It’s never too late, Rosa. You can screw it up a million times, but love is love. It will always be there, waiting.”

  The rain and wind seemed to go silent as the two women faced each other. Chelsie was unsure of where her words had come from. She had no intention of offering sage wisdom to this woman in Noah’s driveway, freezing cold and soaking wet.

  Rosa reached out her free hand and cupped the side of Chelsie’s face. “The song in your heart… it only plays for one.”

  Chelsie smiled and closed her eyes.

  “Chelsie?”

  She turned her head and saw Noah standing in the doorway, his arm in a sling.

  “Adios, mi querido.”

  Rosa gave Chelsie’s cheek a strong pinch before hurrying to her car. Chelsie returned her attention to Noah and made her way up the pebbled path to his doorstep.

  “Hey.”

  Noah moved aside so she could enter. “Jesus, Combs. You’re drenched.”

  Chelsie pulled back her hood and shook her arms, watching as the raindrops dispersed across the room. She glanced up at the mirror across the way and chuckled at her appearance – she had put effort into not looking homeless, and she still ended up resembling a drowned rat. She scrubbed the mascara streaks from under her eyes and slipped out of her soggy coat.

  Noah was leaning against the wall with his good arm, holding himself steady. His wheelchair was abandoned next to the sofa.

  “Are you walking okay?” Chelsie inquired, hanging her jacket up on an adjacent hook.

  Noah gave a dismissive shrug. “Working on it,” he said. “I’m improving with my physical therapy. I’m moving on my own pretty well now.”

  He removed his hand from the wall and stood up straight, then approached her on unsteady feet.

  Chelsie closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt his right arm circle around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” she whispered against his shoulder.

  Noah gave her a gentle squeeze in response. “I can’t say I haven’t missed having you around.”

  “Miss Chelsie!”

  Sam was darting down the staircase, his feet eliciting a loud ‘thump’ from each step.

  Chelsie pulled away from Noah, careful so he remained balanced, just as Sam came barreling into her. “Oh, Sam,” she greeted. She lowered herself to his level. “Did you get taller?”

  He beamed, swaying back and forth, his arms swinging in time with his body. “Uh-huh! I’m growed up now.”

  “I see that,” she smiled. “Are you taking care of your dad?”

  “Yes! I’m helping him get better with my doctor tools and my thermometer. Daddy had a bad fever today.”

  Noah chuckled behind her. “Sammy has been very attentive. I feel better already.”

  “It sounds like you’re in excellent hands,” Chelsie agreed. “Sam, do you want me to help you pick out your pajamas and tuck you into bed?”

  He bounced up and down. “Yes, please! I want my dinosaur jammies.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” Chelsie glanced at Noah, who was leaning against the door frame. “I’ll be right back.”

  Noah nodded, a ghost of a smile lingering on his face. Sam snatched Chelsie’s hand and pulled her toward the staircase.

  “You were gone a long time, Miss Chelsie,” Sam said as they made their ascent up the stairs. “Were you sick like my dad?”

  Chelsie guided the boy to his chest of dresser drawers, sorting through the assortment of bright colors and patterns. A green set of pajamas decorated in cartoon dinosaurs came into view and Chelsie pulled it out with a triumphant smile. “I was waiting for your dad to get better, Sam. I didn’t want to bother him while he was healing. Does that make sense?”

  Sam had jumped onto his bed and was sitting Indian-style, tracing the stiches in his comforter with a clumsy finger. “I think so. Maybe like how I stay in my bed under my blankets when I’m sick, so I don’t get my friends sick, too?”

  Chelsie sat down beside him and handed him the pajamas. “Just like that,” she grinned.

  “Miss Chelsie?”

  “Yes, Sam?”

  “My dad won’t die… will he?”

  Chelsie’s heartbeat sped up at his question. The last two weeks raced through her memory like an old movie reel. “Oh, no, Sam. Your dad is very lucky. He’s going to be okay.”

  Sam nodded, pleased with her answer. He changed into his special pajamas and Chelsie helped pull his feet through the small foot holes.

  “Will you read to me, Miss Chelsie?”

  She ran a hand through his brown mop of hair. “I would love to. Curious George?”

  “Yes!”

  Chelsie spent the next thirty minutes snuggling next to Sam, reading him outlandish adventures of a curious monkey. He would giggle every so often, pulling the blankets up to his chin and nuzzling his head against her shoulder. Chelsie savored every moment. She had almost finished the story, when she looked down to see that his eyes had closed. His breathing became rhythmic and his arms had fallen still against his sides.

  “Sweet dreams, Sammy,” she whispered, placing a delicate kiss on his head and carefully removing herself out from under him. Chelsie switched off his lamp and turned on his Buzz Lightyear nightlight. She closed his closet door so there would be no conjuring of monsters or boogie men. Chelsie turned to leave, then halted in the doorway. She was overcome with emotions she could not pinpoint. A solemn disquiet washed over her.

  “Chelsie?”

  She poked her head out into the hallway and spotted Noah at the bottom of the staircase. “I – I’m coming.” Chelsie spared Sam a final glance and closed his door. “Sorry… we got caught up in Curious George,” she explained as she made her way down the stairs.

  Noah was leaning against the railing, his right hand holding up a glass of sparkling wine. “It’s okay,” he said. “It took me that long just to get the damn wine bottle open.”

  Chelsie accepted his offer, eyeing the glass curiously. “Are you trying to get me tipsy, Mr. Hayes?” she teased.

  “You know I would have brought out the whiskey in that case.”

  Noah’s eyes sparkled with flirtation. Her mind wandered to the last time she’d had whiskey with Noah. Her cheeks burned as the memories swept through her.

  “Where’s your drink?” she wondered.

  His eyes darted towards the kitchen. “On the table.”

  Chelsie walked over to find two plates of spaghetti and a bottle of champagne set up at the table. It had been adorned with silverware, napkins, and a sea breeze candle burning in the center. She blinked her eyes, unsure if her mind was playing tricks on her. Her lips parted to speak, but no words escaped them.

  Was this… a date?
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  22 Chapter Twenty-Two

  Noah studied Chelsie’s reaction, waiting for her to speak. Or smile. Or breathe.

  She didn’t seem to be doing any of those things. Did he misinterpret everything?

  “I just figured we could relax and talk things out over wine and food,” Noah said. “I hope it’s not weird.”

  Chelsie looked up at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Noah… I don’t know what to say.”

  Fuck. That was not the reaction he’d been hoping for.

  “It’s honestly nothing. Rosa made some spaghetti before she left, so I thought maybe you’d want to have a late dinner with me.”

  “I do. Of course, I do,” she said. “I’m just… surprised. I was not expecting this.”

  Noah tried to read her. Her knuckles had gone white from her death grip hold on the champagne flute. There were mascara smudges under her eyes, and her hair was still damp from the rain, spilling golden waves over her shoulders. She looked nervous; frazzled. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he wondered.

  It was too soon. He had dropped the ball.

  Chelsie nodded. “It’s great, Noah.”

  Noah began to relax until he noticed her face crumble into a mask of tears.

  Double fuck.

  “Shit, Chelsie.” The bubbly liquid swished back and forth in her glass as her body shook with sobs. She buried her face into her opposite hand. Noah stood frozen to the floor, unprepared with how to handle the situation. Should he hold her? Run away? Jump off the roof? “Damnit, Combs, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just spaghetti.”

  “It’s not the spaghetti. I love spaghetti,” she cried, sniffling into the palm of her hand. “It’s everything else.”

  The roof was sounding appealing.

  “What did I do?” His ego was bruised. His heart was hurting. This was not how he had pictured the night unfolding.

  Chelsie shook her head and looked up at him with swollen eyes. "I almost killed you and you make me spaghetti.” She spoke as if there could be no other answer.

  That's what this was all about? Guilt for a crime she didn’t commit?

  "First off, Rosa made the spaghetti. You give me too much credit," Noah said, adding a hint of jest to his inflection. "Second, you need to stop. We've been over this, Chelsie."

  She set her glass down beside her. "It doesn't make it not true."

  Noah's shoulders sagged in defeat. He needed to get through to her – it was imperative.

  Otherwise, there would be no hope for them.

  "Chelsie... listen to me." Noah used his good arm to reach out and take her hand. She startled, then relaxed beneath his touch. "I'm okay. I survived. I'm here, right now, with you. You need to stop dwelling on what might have been and start celebrating the fact that we got through it."

  "What about your arm?" she wondered. "What about your music?"

  "Whatever happens, happens. I'm just happy to be alive."

  Noah watched as her features softened. She squeezed his fingers, as if to make sure he was real. Chelsie ran her hand up his other arm, pausing when it reached the point between his neck and his shoulder. Thick bandages were hidden beneath the confines of his t-shirt, but they both knew their existence was very real. Chelsie's eyes were fixed on his wound. Her fingertips danced along the surface of his cotton shirt.

  She took a step closer to him, and Noah tensed with anticipation at her nearness. "I keep replaying that night," she started, gnawing on her bottom lip. "The sounds. The smells. I feel like I can taste the gun powder in my mouth."

  Noah tried not to put himself back in that alleyway. "It's over," he told her.

  "I still see that look in Ian's eyes. That lifeless, horrible look," Chelsie continued. "I can feel myself running across the pavement, rocks cutting into my heels. I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. Then I see... you."

  Noah reached over and grasped her hand, moving it downwards and placing it over his heart. "I'm here." The steady beats were a solace to them both. "I didn't die in that alley, Combs. If you keep living in a reality where I did, I'm going to lose you."

  He couldn't lose her. They finally had a real chance. He knew Chelsie wanted this as much as he did. Noah was also aware of her breakup with Devon. Miles had stopped by with coffee and donuts one morning and had filled him in on everything. The band was still practicing. They were trying out a guitar player named Lance, who Devon knew through one of his social circles. According to Miles, Lance came from the social circle that involved all-night benders and cocaine. Miles hadn't felt hopeful for the future of Freeze Frame, and Noah couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for the band's downward spiral. The media was under the impression he had taken a break to heal from his gunshot wounds – they were unaware Noah had made his departure before the attack had even occurred.

  Miles had said Devon showed no remorse over his breakup with Chelsie. He’d barely said a word about it. While part of Noah was grateful for Devon's nonchalant reaction to losing Chelsie, he couldn't help but feel enraged by it as well. How could anyone be so apathetic about losing a woman like Chelsie Combs? The thought alone burned him. Chelsie was the kind of woman you fought hard for. There was no white flag or cordial surrender – there was bloodshed. There was impenetrable armor and shiny swords. There was the thought you may not make it out alive, but nothing would ever be more worth it.

  Noah made a valiant effort to not think about the attack, but when he would wake up at night in a cold sweat, he always saw her. He saw the look in her eyes when she’d realized he'd been shot. She looked like she'd lost everything.

  That’s how he knew she felt it, too.

  Chelsie was biting her lip, her face a canvas of emotions. "I wish I could be what you need," she whispered. Her words cut him down like a gallant soldier.

  Noah wanted to shake her.

  Instead, he kissed her.

  Chelsie fell limp against him as he wrapped his arm around her waist, crushing her to him. He ignored the pain in his side and walked her towards the wall, leaning them both against it to steady his balance. She seemed startled at first, but then she raised her hands to his face and deepened the kiss with a frenzied passion. She tasted like spearmint gum and sunbeams. Chelsie was pulling him as close as possible, one of her hands reaching around and clutching the nape of his neck. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, eager and impatient. Noah pulled back for air and pressed his forehead against hers. "You're exactly what I need.”

  She raised her head to close the gap between them, her lips seeking sanction with his. Before he could deepen the kiss, she withdrew from him and shook her head, breathless and distraught. “I can’t, Noah. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

  Noah stood up straight and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated and confused. “Why can’t you just admit this is what you want? What are you so afraid of?”

  Chelsie was heading towards the front door and reaching for her coat.

  “Abandonment? I would never abandon you,” Noah assured her.

  She paused, jacket in hand. Chelsie gazed at him with a poignant clarity in her eyes. “I’m not afraid for me,” she confessed. “I’m afraid for you. I care about you too much to let you get hurt. I’m poison, Noah.”

  Noah was flustered; angry, even. “I’m a grown ass man, Combs. I’m willing to take that risk.” Except, she wasn’t a risk at all. Noah had never been more certain of anything in his life. “Is it Devon? Do you still have feelings for him?”

  Chelsie was pulling her arms through her coat sleeves, flipping her hair out over her shoulders. “No. It’s over with Devon.”

  “Do you have feelings for me?”

  She hesitated again, this time lowering her gaze. “Yes.”

  Noah walked towards her with caution, as if any sudden movement might scare her away. “Then stop punishing yourself.”

  Chelsie looked reflective for a moment, her eyes dancing with possibilities. For a split second, there was hope – there was a future. There
was spaghetti to be eaten.

  “Give us a chance,” Noah pleaded.

  The hope dissipated. Chelsie zipped up her coat and spared him an apologetic glance. “I’m so sorry, Noah. It’s for your own good.”

  Everything in Noah was telling him to stop her. Don’t walk out that door, he silently begged. The sound of the door rattling shut echoed through the house, a metaphorical closed door on everything Noah thought might be.

  “Fuck!” he shouted, storming through the living room towards the kitchen, kicking his wheelchair as he passed. Noah grabbed the dinner plates from off the kitchen table and tossed them both into the garbage can, dishware and all. He poured the rest of the champagne into the sink and threw it into the trash, wincing as the glass bottle clashed against the plates. He could still feel her presence. He could still taste her fruity lip balm.

  Noah took a calming breath and walked back into the living room. He felt hopeless and defeated. He was about to make his way up the stairs when the front door burst open. Chelsie stepped inside soaking wet, her hair matted against her cheeks and forehead. Noah made a move towards her, but she was faster. She pulled her coat off as she advanced on him, her eyes reckless and wild.

  “Chelsie, what are you –” Noah’s question was cut short by her mouth. She was a fury of passion. There was desperation in every move. He parted his lips to let her in, groaning as their tongues collided. Chelsie’s hands were everywhere – pulling at his hair, cupping his face, and sneaking their way up his fitted t-shirt. Noah felt his body heating up as her fingertips grazed his taut skin.

  She pushed him backwards, their feet awkwardly stepping on each other as they moved together. When the back of Noah’s legs found the edge of the couch, Chelsie gave him a gentle shove and he collapsed onto the cushions. She climbed into his lap, straddling him and reaching for his t-shirt.

  Noah grabbed one of her hands and they locked eyes. He was transported back in time to that night in Manhattan – a night in which he had fully intended on sabotaging Chelsie and Devon’s budding relationship. His goal was to cast her out of their lives forever. Instead, she had wormed her way into his heart after baring her soul to him in a hotel room. Noah would never forget the tortured look in her eyes as she confessed her darkest secrets. He would never forget the way her body felt when she’d crawled into his lap and forced him to look at her – to truly see her. And he had. He had seen all her broken bits and unparalleled beauty. In that moment, she had made her mark.