by James, Clare
At the end of the meeting, Foster bumps me in the shoulder. “We’re going to get a drink at Sasha’s. Wanna come?”
The crazy thing is, I do. I open my mouth, ready to accept, before Noah walks over to us.
“We’ll need to start working tonight, Tabby,” Noah says, standing behind me.
“Oh come on, Adler,” Foster says. “Tia has it under control for tonight. Everyone else is starting their new positions tomorrow.”
Noah swings around me. “I need her tonight, Foster. So stop wasting your time here and go hit on one of the interns.”
What?
There is some definite animosity between these two, but I have no idea why. All I know is that I don’t want any part of the drama.
“Whatever, boss,” Foster huffs. “We’ll catch you later,” he says to me.
Jules shrugs and calls out. “See you in class!”
“Tabby,” Noah snaps, and then continues walking toward the back office.
What an ass!
Still, I have no choice but to follow.
Chapter 10
Noah leads me to the editor’s office. His office. It’s clean and simple, filled with shelves of books and photos. There are pictures of him with visiting politicians, as well as authors, and a few sports heroes. Prominent in the middle of the shelf is the Mark of Excellence Award from The Society of Professional Journalists.
He’s the real deal.
“Have a seat.” Noah pulls a chair out for me at his big oak desk.
I take it, a little intimidated by this new side of him.
He leans over my shoulder and points to the screen.
Goose bumps sprout all over my traitorous body.
“This is the login page,” he says. His voice is cold even though his body is intimate. “We’ve set up an account for you already, you just need to change your password.”
I turn my head and our eyes meet. I fight to keep control. Yet, I make a silent wish for him to kiss me again. My mind goes back to that first night. The way he had my body buzzing and aching for him. The way he’s looking back at me, I think he might be remembering the same thing.
He’s the first to break our connection, and he continues to explain my new role. He’s all business again. Until his arms snake around the sides of my body to use the keyboard. I can’t help but lean into him.
“And this is the page you’ll need to update each evening,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, quietly. “Looks easy enough.” I try to pay attention to the screen and keep calm, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. The effect he has on me is too much. He’s in complete control right now and I don’t like it one bit.
I slowly turn around in my chair, trapped between his arms. He smirks. Oh, yes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I think it’s about time he gets a dose of his own medicine.
Placing my palms on his stomach, I push him back. Then I stand, lightly brushing up against him. His eyes widen, surprised when I’m back at his level.
“I think I got this, Noah,” I keep my hands where they are, desperate to move them a little lower. “It’s not that complicated.” I tip my head in an effort to get a better look at his expression, so I can try to understand it. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is really about?”
“Tabby.” Noah sighs. “I’m giving you one of the most important jobs here; I just want to make sure you understand. It’s not a position to be taken lightly.”
“I understand. But there’s a whole instruction manual explaining how to upload each story, you really didn’t need to take the time to give me a special training session. Especially when you’re shooting flaming daggers at me during the meeting.”
“Shooting what?” He runs his hand through his hair again. “I didn’t mean to, honest.”
“And then there was all that drama with Foster,” I add. “What was that all about?”
“Why do you care about Foster?” Noah barks.
“Who said I do? I just met the guy tonight.”
“Well, you looked pretty cozy for somebody you just met.”
“What’s this all about, Noah? You’ve gone from trying to get me to reconsider finishing what we started on that first night, to being just a friend, to strutting around like a bossy-ass editor. And now you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”
He continues to stare at me, but I don’t back down.
“Foster is bad news, that’s all,” he says. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Tabby.”
“I think I can handle that on my own,” I tell him.
“Can you?” He leans in closer.
“What do you want from me, Noah?”
“I’m trying to figure that out,” he says, before cupping my face and running his lips against mine.
I will myself to stay still. To stay calm. My arms don’t listen. They tangle around Noah’s neck. And as he parts my lips, I open for him and let go.
His tongue runs along my bottom lip and then dips inside my mouth, exploring. I barely register what’s happening as he lifts me onto the desk and nestles his body between my legs. My thighs instantly tighten around him. I don’t have to think, my body simply reacts, doing what it’s supposed to. I’m not damaged with him. I’m not broken.
He opens his eyes and smiles. “Tabby, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that. Having you in class and not being able to touch you is torture. I want to be with you.”
“I know,” I say, wondering if I could go through with it this time. “But not here.”
“No,” he says with a smile in his voice. “I mean, yes. I want to be with you, with you too. But I’m talking about being together.” He pulls my hand up to his mouth and places a gentle kiss on my palm. “You know. Like dating.”
Oh no. That I can’t do.
“I thought I told you,” I say. “I don’t date. I’m not at that place in my life.” I slide off the desk, knowing I have to get out of here.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” I say, walking to the door. “I can’t.”
Chapter 11
Noah wasn’t happy with my answer. Or the way I left him in the office. In fact, he’s given me the silent treatment all week. It’s okay. It’s what I wanted.
So I continue to make myself invisible, maintain a low profile, float through my days on campus—with the exception of Professor Sands’ class—and try to keep my panic attacks at bay.
By Friday, I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. After class, I rush home, climb into my bed with iPod buds in my ears and a chocolate bar in my mouth, and shut myself off from the world. I doze in and out for the next hour.
I’m still in my warm little nest when five rhythmic knocks on my apartment door give my dad away.
Great. A surprise visit.
“Hey, Dad.” I open the door, feeling him taking inventory. Is she eating? Sleeping? Exercising? How’s her mood?
He stands in my doorway with his button-down shirt hanging open, revealing some obscure ’80s concert tee. He’s humming an old Ramones song. He’s been doing that ever since I moved here. It must calm him before he has to deal with his emotionally disturbed offspring, but he’d never admit it.
We plop on my couch and Dad leans in to put his lips to my forehead. “Congrats, Tab! You made it through the first month. How’s it going so far?”
“It’s fine, Dad.” I try to be as pleasant as possible. Dad’s been through a lot with me over the past year. Not only was I completely silent my entire stay at New Beginnings, I didn’t break out of my protective, taciturn shell until I was here in Minneapolis for a month. Now I’m trying, and I’ll continue to try. For him.
And, maybe, even for me.
“You know, Dad.” I bump his shoulder. “You don’t need to have these motivational house calls at the end of each week.”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay, honey. You’ve been through a lot, but I want you to know you’re going to get through this, Tabitha. You will.”
; It’s Dad’s mantra. I think he hopes if he says it enough, it will be true. I nod and Dad takes hold of me. I rest my head on his chest—there’s no denying he makes me feel safe. After all, it was Dad who picked up the pieces and brought me back to the land of the living.
“School is going surprisingly well, actually,” I tell him.
“I’m so happy to hear it,” he says. “And Noah says your work at the paper is impeccable.”
“I don’t know about that.” I roll my eyes. “I’m just posting articles for the electronic edition. It’s not rocket science. So what are you and Amy up to this fine evening?”
He looks at me with a funny grin. “Well, we were hoping to have you join us for dinner.”
“Not tonight, Dad,” I say, feeling guilty for declining after he came all the way over here.
“Please, honey.” The grin doesn’t leave his face.
What is he up to?
“I’d hate to break the news to Michael.” He pulls back his sleeve to look at his watch. “And he should be arriving at the house any time now.”
“What?” I grab Dad’s shirt. My stepbrother isn’t supposed to visit until next week.
“Yep.” Dad laughs. “He wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Mission accomplished,” I say, as the weight of the week lifts, just a bit.
***
“You look good,” Michael says when he arrives. He missed our last two visits over the summer because he was touring colleges. My very public downfall in Illinois had been hard on Michael too. He was the one who had to live it with me every day, whether or not he wanted to. He was able to finish the school year, but he hasn’t been back since. And he hasn’t picked a new school yet. So, he’s behind. Just like me.
“You look so much better,” Michael says. Then he gives me a shove and laughs.
I try not to wince thinking about all the pain I caused him. Those memories find their way into this nice family scene and threaten to ruin my night. I vow not to worry about that in this moment, I’ll just enjoy my brother.
Brother.
It feels good to finally see him that way. Our relationship had always been on the rocky side, until we both started college…too soon after, I ruined everything.
We celebrate Michael’s visit to Minneapolis with Amy’s homemade lasagna. Michael wolfs it down, I don’t think he’s ever gotten used to my mom’s cooking—all organic, low fat, and fufu. He’s still living at home with Mom and Stephen until he decides on a school, so he takes full advantage of this treat. In between mouthfuls, he asks me about my classes and I can tell he scrutinizes each answer I give him, looking for any hidden meaning. He’s all covert, it’s pretty funny.
After dinner, I offer up my services to do the dishes with Amy. That way Michael will have the time to grill Dad like I know he wants to.
The guys casually walk back into the kitchen once the dishes are done and Michael seems satisfied with the information Dad gave him. It’s almost like he can sense my newly found peace. I feel his kid-gloves coming off when he grabs my sleeve and hauls me toward the door.
“Come out with me,” he says.
“Where?”
“Out.”
Not waiting for an answer, Michael pulls me into the night.
Chapter 12
We walk into Sasha’s on campus and it’s packed, filled with college kids who came to play darts, do shots, and let’s face it, hook up.
I can’t help but miss the crazy locals at Rye’s. And bingo. And playing bingo with Holden, before I knew he was Noah. I go all soft at the thought.
Michael orders two beers and we belly up to the bar. Nerves flutter in my stomach because I know he brought me here for a reason. Last year, on campus, my stepbrother became my one and only protector. He took so much shit for me. And then, during my stay at New Beginnings, he visited me all the time. And I was hardly good company—I was so drugged and depressed that my conversational skills were at a six-year-old level at best. It must be strange for him to finally have a real conversation with me. I feel like I owe it to him to answer any questions he may have.
“So, T-bear,” he says. “I want you to tell me how things are really going up here.”
“They are really going okay,” I tell him. I almost mean it. “You know, it couldn’t get any worse from what I was dealing with back home.”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “I know.”
“My classes are good and nobody hassles me. Nobody knows who I am. It’s good.”
The creases between Michael’s eyebrows deepen. “But that’s not good. People should know you. They should know who you are. Not the scandal or the photos, but you, Tab. You are worth knowing.”
“I think you’re in the minority there, big brother. It’s better this way, trust me.”
“You know I’d do anything to take it all away.”
“I know.” I nod. “You did everything you could.” I bite the side of my cheek so the emotions don’t come spilling out. “I know I never said thank you. But I’ve said it in my head. Every. Day.”
“I wish I could’ve done more back then.”
“You did more than anyone else would.”
“Well, what if I could do more now? What if I was to tell you there is a way to get part of your life back?” He raises in eyebrows in a challenge. “The good part of your life.”
“What are you up to, Michael?”
“Okay, I want you to sit here and close your eyes.” There is excitement in his voice. Odd for my brother. He’s the most laid-back guy you’d ever meet.
I do as he says.
“Hold out your hands,” he orders.
When I do, he pulls me off the stool and lifts my arm. On instinct I open my eyes, and spin under it.
I used to make Michael play the male lead in my big productions so I could practice the more difficult moves. He always pretended to be bothered. But he loved betting on the number of turns I could do. Sober and drunk. And he’d really raise the stakes when he bet on my ability to do thirty-two turning fouettés—a ballet dancer’s gauge of excellence. I made the thirty-two every time. At least on the right side.
“I knew it,” he grins, watching me turn now. “You’ve still got it.”
I shake my head at him. “Hardly. I’m so out of shape I don’t even think I could do three fouettés.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to get back to practicing,” he says. “I brought your ballet slippers. All ten pairs. They’re in my car.”
“Michael.” I rub my temple, trying to fight off the headache I feel coming on. “I appreciate it. I do. But I’m starting over. A new me. And to do that, I can’t go back to the past.”
“Doing something you love,” Michael says. “Something you were born to do. That’s not going back to the past. You can’t give it up. Dancing is part of you.”
He releases my hand and kisses the top of my head. “Wipe the slate clean, Tab. It’s time.”
Though he may be right, I can’t do it. So instead of indulging him any longer, I decide it’s time to get this party started and order two shots of Patrón. Michael and I take the shots, add a few more, and get rather inebriated as we play darts. I’m awful. Forget about the bullseye, I’m not even hitting the board half the time. When it’s my turn again, Michael stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, hoping to help me get at least a point or two.
I launch my arm back and release.
The dart smacks the wall a foot away from the dartboard. This time it’s not because of my drunken state. It’s because I just noticed Noah up at the bar.
Watching me.
Michael comes over and shakes me. “You’re hopeless.” He jokes.
Noah sits back in his stool with the world’s iciest glare.
He’s starting to piss me off.
“I need another drink,” I tell Michael. “Be right back.”
Trying to stiffen up my loose limbs, I pretend to be sober as I squeeze in next to Noah. I wave a twenty at the bartender
and he’s over in a flash, filling two tap beers.
I keep my eyes on the bartender until Noah places his hand on mine and gives it a squeeze.
“Tabby,” he says. “All your work’s done for the paper I assume?”
“What?” I’m not quite sure, but I think the bossy-ass editor is back.
“I’m just wondering since you clearly won’t be in any condition to work later tonight.”
“I finished up everything as soon as the stories were filed,” I tell him casually. “Just like I have every day this week.”
“Good.” He sulks, lifting his hand away from mine. He seems upset and that has me worried. I really need this independent study.
“Why? Is something wrong with my work?” I ask.
“No.” His expression softens now. “No, your work is great.”
I sigh, relieved.
“I guess I’m just confused, that’s all.” He rests his head on his hand.
“About what?”
“Your social life,” he says, nodding toward Michael.
“Meaning?” I ask, not liking where this is heading.
“You say you don’t date and you’re not interested in a relationship, but you pick me up at a bar—when I was a total stranger, I might add. Then you’re all cozy with Foster the other night. And now you’re here with this guy.”
“How is he your business?” My temper climbs as Noah continues to talk. I should’ve known nothing can change. Guys all think the same way. Of course he’d get the wrong idea about me. Even when I’ve done nothing to warrant it.
“He’s not.” Noah shakes his head. “You just don’t seem like the type, that’s all.”
Of course, I know what he’s saying. I don’t seem like a slut, so why am I acting like one? My ears go hot. I look around and it seems like everyone’s staring at me. Whispering. Judging.
I have to get out of here.
No wait, fuck that.
It’s fight or flight. And though my instincts tell me to fly, my intoxicated mind wants me to go the other way. He will not chase me off. Let him think what he wants; I don’t care anymore.