by MC Lee
I heard a strangled sound and turned swiftly, but he’d already composed himself. “This is your fault,” he said coldly, just as I’d expected him to.
I no longer felt the pain of the words or asked him to explain them. The excuse was different every time, though always half crazy. I took the crumpled note out of his hands and shoved it back in the drawer, ready for the next time.
“Let me get you something to eat,” I said, pushing past him before he had the chance to reply.
By the time I got him settled, it was past nine. I sent a quick text to Noah telling him I was running late, and then I walked into the living room to tell Dad I was going out for an hour. He’d been completely silent since reading the note so I couldn’t tell where his mind was.
“You all right, Dad?” I asked warily, knowing it could go either way.
He glanced up, his expression deeply blank.
“She loves you, Emmett. You know that, don’t you?”
It was so completely unexpected that I didn’t know how to respond. In all the ways this had gone down, we’d never been here before.
“I know,” I said, my voice catching.
“She’ll come back. When she’s ready, she’ll come back to us.”
God, I wished I could believe that. But maybe it was enough that he believed it. “You want me to stay?” I asked. “I was going out to meet a friend—”
“Go,” he said. “Enjoy yourself. I’m sure you have better things to do than play nursemaid to a miserable old bastard.”
“You’re not so old.”
He laughed, a sound so uncommon that I couldn’t even remember when I’d heard it last.
“You fixed okay for money?” I nodded, not because it was true, but because I knew he had nothing in his wallet. He waved a hand. “Go on. Don’t keep the little lady waiting.”
I lingered for just a minute, watching as he turned back toward the TV and lost himself, and then I spun around and took off at a run. I barreled into Starbucks just as Noah was walking out. He stopped dead when he saw me, clearly surprised I’d made it. I stepped forward, only to find Foster and Owen Jones hovering behind him.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” Noah said.
“I’m sorry, I’m late. I sent a text—”
“Thirty minutes ago, Emmett,” Noah said. “I presumed you’d gotten caught up in something….”
He trailed off when Foster appeared over his shoulder.
“We’ve persuaded Noah to come to the movies with us,” he said. “It’s a double bill of The Ring. You coming with, Easy?”
“Can’t,” I said automatically.
Noah grimaced and shook his head. “Maybe I should….”
“Come on, man,” Foster wheedled. “You know you want to.”
Noah glanced over at me, but I doubt he read anything from my carefully schooled expression. He looked back at Foster, and my stomach clenched. I could see the longing in Noah’s eyes, feel the almost palpable yearning to do something normal for a change. Worse, I saw the moment he tried to hide it from me.
“Go,” I said tightly. “I have to get back home anyway.”
Guilt flared on his face and quickly died, replaced by cautious hope. “If you’re sure? Maybe I’ll walk as far as the movie theater. Decide on the way.”
“That’s the spirit,” Foster said. “Let’s go. Starts in twenty minutes, and I need popcorn.” He shoved my shoulder. “Listen, Callaghan. If it’s about the money—”
“Fuck you, Foster,” I growled.
“Suit yourself,” he said breezily. “Let’s bounce.”
It was easy to read the embarrassment on Noah’s face, but if he was going to say anything, he didn’t get the chance. Foster and Jones blew past us, and I followed Noah out onto the street.
“Look, Emmett, I’ll stay if you want—”
“I told you, I have to go home.”
Noah lowered his voice. “Is your dad okay?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Foster hooked an arm around Noah’s waist and began dragging him down the street.
“I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Noah shouted, stumbling as he tried to keep pace with the gang while walking backward. “We’ll do something together.”
I stood rooted to the spot and watched them go, unable to look away, even when Noah finally turned and allowed himself to be hustled off. Foster threw an arm around Noah’s neck and said something close up against his ear. When I heard Noah’s laugh, loud and wonderfully carefree, I had to fight against the bitterness of regret. I told myself I was happy for him. But resignation didn’t come easy.
Chapter Twenty
NEXT MORNING I got a text from Noah telling me he was running late and couldn’t pick me up. I figured he’d been out till all hours watching movies and sent a reply telling him everything was cool, and then I dragged my bike out of the hallway and set off.
I was hot and tired when I reached school and not really in the mood for Hannah Davis, but I managed to dredge up a smile when she sauntered over while I was wrestling my bike into the rack.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“You don’t look as hungover as Noah,” she said, studying me carefully. “You’re probably more used to alcohol.”
I ignored the judgment about my trashy heritage and instead asked, “Why would I be hungover?”
She looked at me as though I were a child. “You and Noah were out drinking last night. It’s illegal, you know. You’re both underage.”
“You’ve got the wrong person,” I said. “I wasn’t with your brother last night. He took off to the movies after work with some of the football team.”
She frowned at me. “Now I know you’re bullshitting. Noah lost his job a couple of weeks ago.”
I must have done a double take because she backed up a step. “What do you mean?” I had to make a conscious effort not to bark out the words.
She shrugged. “He got into some kind of fight over a customer who spilled some stuff. His boss was being a bitch. When Noah tried to defend the guy, that asshole fired him.”
She ignored my sharp intake of breath and crossed her arms. “Why won’t you go to the cart races with Noah? Everybody’s going except him.”
“Why isn’t he going?”
“Duh!” she said. “Because you said you can’t.”
I turned and walked off without saying another word. Hannah’s voice echoed down the corridor after me. “It’s not all about you, you know?”
“YOU MISSED some amazing movies, man.”
I pretended to ignore Foster, but he was not easily put off. He fell into step beside me as we walked to history class, and I couldn’t shake him.
“How come you didn’t want to come out with us?” he persisted. “I thought you and Noah were like, a thing.”
There was a certain perverse satisfaction in hearing John Foster, borderline homophobe, actually acknowledging the possibility of a “thing” between two guys. If nothing else, Noah’s presence at Whitmore High was having a positive effect on Foster’s personality.
“That’s none of your business,” I said curtly. Anybody else might have taken the hint and shoved off. Not Foster.
“You won’t rejoin the team. You don’t come to watch us play. You won’t even come out with us. What kind of friend are you?”
I stopped and turned to glare at him. “What part of ‘mind your own fucking business’ are you having trouble with, John?”
Foster shrugged. “Look I know your brother got killed and all. And that sucks. And I know your dad isn’t working and you have no money and that’s probably no picnic either. But Noah’s a great guy. I’m sure he’d be happy to pay your way…. What the fuck, man?”
I had to walk away when I realized my hands had balled into fists, and I was about two more stupid sentences away from smashing Foster’s smug face. Unbelievably, I heard him trotting after me.
“You’re being a dick,” he said. “We all know you’ve turned into a pussy since
Jamie bought it, but no need to make Noah into a bitch too.”
I wheeled around and shoved Foster hard, and he stumbled backward and slammed into a row of lockers. “Don’t ever say my brother’s name again, you stupid motherfucker.”
Foster straightened and lunged forward, but before he could reach me, we found ourselves surrounded by a wall of players fighting to keep us apart. Owen and Oliver were holding Foster back, Cal was standing between us with a hand splayed across each of our chests, and I suddenly found myself enveloped by two strong arms.
“Back down, Emmett!” Noah’s urgent words sounded close beside my ear, and I relaxed marginally against him. Foster was shaking his friends off and muttering “I’m fine” and the whole seething group instantly transformed when we heard Mr. Lewis’s voice booming down the hallway, “What’s going on here?”
“It’s nothing, sir,” Noah said, stepping in front of me. “We were just showing Emmett one of the plays from the game on Friday.”
Lewis looked around, disbelief clear on his face.
“Foster?” he barked.
“That’s the truth, sir,” Foster said, lying smoothly. “Just showing Callaghan what he missed.”
The rest of the team nodded agreement, and Lewis scowled at each of us in turn.
“This isn’t the football field,” he said sourly. “Don’t let me catch any of you messing around like that again. Get to your classrooms.”
I threw a final glare at Foster, which he returned full force, and then I turned and stalked away. I heard hurried footsteps behind me and knew Noah and Cal were following me.
“Easy, wait up,” Cal called.
I ignored him and kept walking, barging into the classroom steps ahead of them. I marched to the front of the class and slid in beside Cynthia Howard, who looked startled and then instantly wary, knowing there was no honest reason for me to choose to sit beside her.
Cal and Noah appeared over my right shoulder, looking down at me with matching confused looks on their handsome faces.
“What the hell was that about?” Cal said.
“Nothing that concerns you,” I snarled.
“Emmett?”
Noah’s soft voice sounded pained, and I couldn’t bear the thought of looking up into his warm hazel eyes and seeing confusion and disappointment, so I flipped open my world history textbook and pretended to be engrossed in it. When Mrs. Farley walked in and told everybody to take their seats, Cal and Noah walked away, leaving me alone with my shame and Cynthia Howard’s nervous glances.
THE SCHOOL wasn’t big enough to avoid Noah, and we had most of our classes together, so I couldn’t escape seeing him through the morning. I was aware of the glances he sent my way, just as he seemed to catch me every time I looked at him.
I decided to skip the lunchroom at noon, not wanting to make the tension between us too obvious. So I slipped into the art room and set up an easel and lost myself in the smooth lines of the still life set up for the afternoon lesson. I didn’t hear the door open, so I jumped when Noah’s voice broke the quiet.
“That looks good.”
I turned to see him looking even more hungover than this morning.
“Dude, sit down before you fall down. What the hell did you drink last night?”
Noah slumped gratefully into one of the wooden chairs and held his head between his hands. “I think it was vodka.”
“You don’t know?”
He started to shake his head but groaned, clearly thinking better of it. “Foster was pouring.”
“That was your first mistake,” I said.
He looked up and caught my eye. “No. My first mistake was going anywhere with John Foster.”
“He’s your… teammate.”
I’d been about to say something else, something about money or class or kind. The fact that I had stopped myself saying the actual words didn’t change anything. The look on Noah’s face told me that. He huffed out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand through his short hair, the same thing he’d done the first time I’d seen him.
Without thinking, I began to sketch him—a series of quick, fluid lines to try to capture his graceful form. The sun was streaming through the window and slanting across his body. The quiet in the room was profound and soothing. And though I regretted it deeply, I knew it wouldn’t last. I let it stretch as long as I could, and then I shattered the illusion of peace.
“Tell me why you lied about losing your job.”
He looked startled for a fraction of a second, and then he sighed. He didn’t try to avoid the question or soften the answer.
“I didn’t want you to think it had anything to do with you—”
“Didn’t it?” I cut in.
“No. Yes and no. I made the decision alone. Tenelli was being unreasonable, so I quit.”
I dragged my pencil across the paper, capturing his look of confusion. “Just like that,” I murmured. “Somebody gives you shit, so you just walk out. It must be nice to have the option.”
Noah swore under his breath. “I knew you’d turn this into something it’s not.”
My hand shook, and the line I was drawing lost its smoothness. Noah’s penciled face sagged, matching the look he was now wearing.
“Tell me, Noah, where did you end up last night?”
He looked taken aback at the seeming change in subject. “After the movies I went back to Owen’s house. He put out a call. Pretty much the whole of the football team turned up—”
“Except Cal,” I interrupted. “And maybe not Stewart Pearson or Mark Foley. And probably not Cassidy or Thompson.”
The confusion written all over his face deepened. I could see the wheels turning slowly but I wasn’t sure that in his present hungover state he would get there by himself, so I helped him out.
“The poor kids. The kids who don’t live north of the tracks. I’m betting none of them were there.”
I recognized the moment he made the connection. He frowned. “If you’d been at the movies with me, you’d have been there too.”
My hand moved of its own accord, sweeping across the paper, capturing what I could of him. “Only because you’re fucking me,” I said softly.
“Emmett—”
“Tell me if I’m wrong,” I challenged. I held his gaze, my hand hovering over the drawing as I watched a host of emotions chase each other across his face. In the end his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he dropped his head back into his hands.
I began to work on shading my portrait, bringing it to life in subtle, delicate ways. When he raised his head to look at me again, I concentrated on getting the expression in his eyes just right.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “But can you tell me I’m wrong? You blame yourself because I quit—”
“You were forced to quit because of me. Because of my dad.”
“If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else. Tenelli wasn’t a good man.”
“Noah,” I chided, my strangled laugh reflecting my incredulity. “How can you be this naive?”
Noah shook his head and then groaned and closed his eyes. “I choose to believe in trying to make things better. That doesn’t make me naive.”
He opened his eyes again and sent me a tentative smile, and my heart stuttered. I didn’t ask if he’d had a good time last night. Despite the obvious hangover, I’d seen it in every line of his body as I’d sketched him, read it in his eyes every time he looked at me, and then hurriedly glanced away.
Hannah’s words echoed in my head. It wasn’t all about me. It never had been. It never would be.
“I want you to do something for me,” I said.
“Anything.”
“I want you to go to the Speedway with Foster—”
“Absolutely not,” he cut in, and the mouth that looked so soft and yielding in my drawing set into a thin, tight line.
“I can’t go.” I threw up a hand when he started to speak. “And I can’t stand the thought of you missing it because of me.
It isn’t fair. I won’t put you in that position—”
“That’s my choice—”
“Please, Noah. Don’t make me into the bad guy here.”
My quiet plea stopped him cold. He looked away, pulled in a shuddering breath, and then turned again to face me. “You’re sure you can’t make it?”
I shook my head, unable to say the words.
He gave a short, sharp nod. “Okay, then. If you promise you’ll let me come by your place tomorrow.”
My hand jerked sideways as I stiffened, and when I glanced down, a jagged line marred the drawing. Somehow the imperfection made the picture look more real.
“Just for a cup of coffee, Emmett. I’ll bring some bagels, tell you about the races….” He trailed off, the hopeful look on his face reaching down inside me.
“You know my dad might—”
“I don’t care about that,” he said quickly.
“Okay. It’s a deal.” I had to clear my throat and repeat the words when my first attempt got stuck in my throat.
“It’s a date,” Noah said.
He stood up shakily and walked around to look at my picture. “Shit, Emmett. That’s amazing. Is that really how you see me?”
Gentle, kind, deeply decent—I’d captured it all in the soft shading and fluid lines, in the tilt of his head and the smile touching his lips, in the warmth of his eyes and the fluttering of his expressive hands.
“Artistic license,” I said, laughing when he shoved my shoulder. I turned, and he leaned forward until our lips were gently pressed together in a sweet kiss. When I pulled back, I read so much on his face.
“Have a good time tonight.”
His nose wrinkled. “It won’t be half as much fun without you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Make mine extra large. Lots of sugar.”
Noah suddenly looked sheepish. “I can’t give you a ride home. My car is still at Owen’s place. I was too out of it to drive home last night.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “That’s cool. I’ve got my bike. Go!”
He grinned and brushed another kiss against my cheek, and then he turned and hurried out. I was left alone in the quiet, with the sun sinking slowly and edging the room toward darkness. I stared at the page for a long moment, lost in silence as I watched my portrait of Noah fall into shadow inch by inch.