“I know where it is.”
“Oh yeah?” I chuckle, his response quick and unexpected.
Noah nods. “Here. At the beach.”
My mouth gapes. “How did you… never mind.” I grow a little embarrassed and look away.
“Juliet…” he calls, my eyes return to him, slowly shaking his head. “You didn’t tell me. You asked me to take you to my favorite place once.” I did? “So I asked if you would do the same.”
“I brought you here?” I whisper, my stomach whirling beneath my palm.
“You agreed to show me, but I said I’d bet I already knew, and you said… you bet I did too.” His grin is small and then it’s gone. “I never confirmed what I thought, but you just did.”
“This was the first time you guessed?”
“It was, but it doesn’t feel like a guess.” He swallows. “Feels like I knew.”
A shiver runs over me, and I bite at my cheek. “Because you know me.”
“Yeah. I do. Just like you knew what I needed to make yesterday the least bit okay.”
Pressure falls on my chest and I brace for the dizzy, for the fog and suffocation, but the panic never comes.
Curiosity does.
So, I turn to Noah, asking, “Where was your favorite place?”
At that, his eyes go soft, his voice nothing but a whisper when he says, “I could show you…”
Eyeing the length of the football field, I pull my legs up to my chin. “I wonder if this would be Mason’s favorite place too, if I asked him.” I turn to Noah, my neck stretching to follow as he jumps to his feet.
He holds a hand out, so with a critical squint, I allow him to pull me to my feet.
Noah chuckles, and then without hesitation, he tugs me into him. One hand plants on my hip, the other keeping hold of my right. Slowly, Noah begins to rock us, and only when silence falls over him and I does the soft melody reach my ears.
Peeking behind me, I spot his phone on the turf, and look back to him.
“You owed me a dance,” he whispers, the heat of his breath sending an electric current down my spine.
My pulse plays leapfrog and I try for an easy grin. “Do I now?”
Noah only nods, and we continue to move.
It’s a strange kind of torture, the soft purity being in his arms offers, and the devastating story the words the song playing around us gently tells.
It’s bone-cracking torture, but Rascal Flatts will do that to you.
The song sings about love and good graces. Of wishing nothing but the best for someone. But most of all, it sings of selflessness, of acceptance that only comes with loss, or the possibility of goodbye, and Noah’s lips move to the words of the song as if silently singing them.
It’s as if Noah knows what music does to me and is speaking to me through the lyrics.
He wants me to be happy above all else, and I wish I understood exactly why.
You must know why, Ari. Remember.
I blink, swallow, and then the song changes, and it only gets worse.
Because this time, Noah’s grip isn’t simply him holding me, it’s him needing me.
I can feel it, deep in my soul. I feel him.
The defeat, the loss the song tells a tale of, it bleeds from him, and I ache to take it away.
It sings of missed chances and future dreams. This is a song about the agony that comes from the ‘what if’ life leaves us with. That so close moment, when everything seems possible, your happiness dangling within reach, all to be torn to bits and burned.
When there’s nothing you can do but sit back and watch the ashes disappear into the wind.
A sense of helplessness washes over me, and it’s as if a weight dropped along my shoulder when Noah’s forehead falls to mine.
My ribs ache, growing worse as I try for a deep breath, and I realize why when his shuddered one fans across me.
Noah is breaking before me. It’s obvious in the creases deepening along his brow. In the way his eyes squeeze tight, and his moments begin to slow. He’s barely keeping it together.
My intuition is proven true when his next breath is an apology as he excuses himself.
I stand there, all alone in the middle of the end zone, wondering why with each step away he takes, my body grows heavier.
Chapter 49
Arianna
* * *
My knee bounces restlessly as we pull into the parking lot in front of my dorm room.
It’s odd, to recognize everything so fully, but not know if it’s from the visit we took here last year or the semester I called this place my home.
Since all five of us needed to come and go through our things, we decided to ride up as together in Mason’s Tahoe. The boys carry my and Cam’s suitcases, chatting about the mess they left their rooms in as we make our way inside and onto the elevator.
Cameron presses the number three, and I log that into my memory. The boys speak, and I smile in response, but I have no idea what they said. My heart is pounding in my ears, leaving no room for anything else.
Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m nervous.
What if I hate it?
Does that mean I’m different? That I changed and I don’t even know it?
What if I walk in and all my memories come flooding back, overwhelming me?
What if I walk in and they don’t?
Before I realize it, I’m standing in front of a cheap wooden door, the number 311 hanging beside it. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I slide it in the lock and turn.
The door swings open and I hold my breath.
It’s with shaky steps that I ease inside, and the moment I cross the threshold, the weight on my shoulders lessens.
A smile breaks over my face as I look to the candles on the countertops, a translucent bowl half full of wine corks and bottle caps between them.
I glance at Cam.
She picks it up, shaking it a little. “This is everything we consumed as besties since move-in day. Group caps are unworthy.”
“That sounds solid.” I run my fingertips over the counter, slipping into the living room.
The pillows are purple and white, fluffy, and there’s two matching blankets folded neatly—definitely not by me—and hidden under the glass of the coffee table.
The remotes are in a giant cup that reads ‘size does matter’ and the rug beneath my feet is a fuzzy black. “I see I won on the rug.”
“Yes, you did, and thank god, cause Brady totally spilled root beer float all over it.”
“Guilty as charged,” he shouts from the entryway.
I turn to them, all three pretending they’re not waiting for me to have a mental breakdown, understandably so.
I haven’t talked much since everything with Noah. Granted it was only two days ago, but still. It’s noticeable, maybe even more so when I learned he left for campus, without a word, only hours after we got back from his favorite place.
“I’m going to go check out my room,” I tell them. “You guys can go to your place. Just come back when you’re done.”
No one moves, so I do, and only then does Cameron turn to them and begin to whisper.
She promises we’re fine, and that she’ll call if there’s a need, but I don’t stick around to hear the rest.
I step into the room that has my name stenciled across the door, quietly closing it behind me and quickly spinning to face the plywood a long moment before I convince myself to turn around.
My stomach churns, but as I allow myself to glance along the small space, my mind eases.
I smile at the wall of string lights and walk over to find the power button located on the outlet cube. Turning them on, the bright white lights begin to twinkle, earning a low laugh from me, and I plop onto the fluffy white comforter my parents bought me before move-in.
There’re Post-it Notes scattered along my mirror and pink pens in an Avix mug, sitting on my dresser, a few other knickknacks sprinkled around. Above my headboard hangs a giant splatt
er paint picture with a pair of puckered, pink bleeding lips in the center. Textbooks are in a pile by the closet, so I move that way, and lower to the ground to check them out.
I open to the first sticky note hanging out the side and read over a passage about the pains in American History. Beside it are some scribbly thoughts in my handwriting, a proposal on how we as the next generation can do better.
I don’t remember writing it.
I don’t remember this room.
But I don’t hate it either.
I love it.
Does that mean I’m still me?
Pulling myself to my feet, I peek out the window, and when I do, I gasp.
Noah is here, sitting in the parking lot with his truck idling.
I can’t see his face from here, but he’s looking forward, in the same direction Mason’s truck is still parked.
I pull my phone from my pocket, preparing to text him, but then his truck begins to roll, so I lower my phone onto the nightstand beside me.
There’s a soft rap on the door, and when I glance that way, Chase pokes his head inside.
His eyes flick around, a small smile pulling at his lips, and I realize then, this is the first time he’s seen it.
He’s never been in my room.
My skin prickles with unease, and he walks closer.
“We’re going to head to the house, but I wanted to check on you first.” He pushes my hair behind my ear, and a small frown flickers across my face from the action. “How you feeling?”
“I’m good.” I nod. “Honest, I just want to look around and get reacquainted with the place.”
“K,” he breathes, and when he leans closer, a knot forms in my chest.
I try to smother it, to press it down, but it doesn’t work.
His lips fall to my forehead and that knot tightens, my breastbone caving in, but when my eyes open, meeting his soft green ones, it becomes a little more bearable.
He grins and walks out, closing the door behind him.
Blowing out a deep breath, I lower to my bed, burying myself in the mountain of pillows and close my eyes.
I inhale deeply and my muscles clench.
I inhale again.
And again, and then I’m sightless in a thick, cloudy haze.
My senses go haywire, searching.
I’m hit with mornings in the mountains and evenings on the ocean.
With spice and pine and mint.
My eyes open as a flash from the hospital comes to mind.
The scent was there, it lingered, and under the heated steam of the shower, the aroma was brought back to life, invading and overtaking my senses.
It calls to me, soothes me, and then it pulls me under.
I’m not sure how much time passes before Cameron’s soft voice wakes me.
“Hey sleepyhead,” she whispers, curling up in front of me. “Nice to see you actually knocked out for once.”
“I feel like I slept for a day.”
“It’s only been an hour.”
“Well, the comfort of home for the win.”
We chuckle, and Cameron begins biting at her nails.
“What’s wrong?”
She frowns. “I’m nervous for you.”
“Don’t be. I feel fine.”
“You’re still having panic attacks, Ari. How are we supposed to go to class, not knowing if you’re okay on the way to your own?”
“You can’t babysit me all the time, Cameron.”
“I know, but… what are we going to say to people in our building? Should we make like a photo diagram like they did in The Parent Trap, so you can pretend you know them? I mean, is that even allowed? Would the school be okay with you as a second semester student when you don’t remember the first? What if you fail? Get kicked out?”
“Whoa.” I laugh lightly, sitting up, and she follows. “Chill, okay. Seriously. It’s going to be fine. I’m—” Over her shoulder, I spot a calendar tacked to the wall.
“Ari?” She shifts on the bed, looking where I am. “Oh my god,” she gasps, jumping up and tears it from the wall. She tugs it into her chest and then I’m standing on the bed.
“Cameron.”
“Ari…” She shakes her head.
I jump off, my blood pressure rising. “Give it to me.”
Tears pool in her eyes and she closes them before handing it over.
Spinning away, I hold it out in front of me, and my limbs begin to shake.
My eyes are pulled to the bold blue letters, cased in with pink, purple, and yellow hearts over the date of January 19th, but it’s the words written in the small square box that sends a pulsing pain through my entire body.
Gala with Noah.
My breaths come in short, deep pants. Every ounce of air expelling with each puff and not nearly enough circulating back.
I grow lightheaded, fall to the floor and pull the cheetah print calendar closer.
My stomach lurches, and I groan. I look to Cameron.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Ari,” she cries.
“Cameron,” I snap, shaking the thing. “What the hell is this?”
Her shoulders fall, and with hesitant steps, she walks toward my closet.
She peeks at me, and then pushes the doors open, her chin falling to her chest.
Hanging there in the middle, and facing forward, as if I wanted to see it clear as day every time I stepped into this room, is a gown.
A sleek, side-shoulder mermaid-style gown.
It’s shiny and silky and a brilliantly beautiful… blue.
My hand comes up to cover my mouth, and I cry, burying my face.
Cameron falls before me, wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry, but you asked us to promise not to say a word. We were just trying to follow your lead.”
“How could he… why didn’t… ” I growl, rip the sheet from the rest of the calendar, and jump to my feet. I’m out the door as fast as my feet will carry me.
“Ari, wait!” Cameron quickly follows.
I break out in a run, opting for the stairs, and soon, her shouts echo above me.
“Ari!”
But I’m already flying out of the exit.
The January air has a chill, but the sun is out and bright and warming by the minute.
I keep running.
Through the parking lot, around the coffee shop and across campus. I run until I’m standing three feet from Noah’s truck, Mason’s not far from it.
I charge forward just as Mason’s flying from the front door, his phone locked to his ear.
He spots me instantly and lowers his cell, tension written all over him. “Ari…”
I push him in the chest, and his hands lift.
“How could you let me become this girl?!”
“That’s not fair.”
“I told him I was going with Chase to that stupid dance, and he stared at me with this…” My ribs tighten. “Oh, god, this just brokenness and I didn’t get it and I thought he was just… sad and now I know it’s because of me. It was him, wasn’t it? He’s… he was…”
“Ari, you have to calm down.”
“I don’t want to calm down! I want to remember!” I cry. “I want my life back!”
My brother’s eyes water and he tugs me to him, holding me against his chest as our dad would do if he were here.
“I know you do, sister. I know.” He hesitates a moment, and then he looks down at me.
“I’m going in there, Mason. I need to talk to him.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’m not sure of anything, so what could it hurt?”
“Him.”
I turn to find Cameron, her hands on her hips, breathing shallow.
She walks to us, a somberness on her face. “It could hurt him, and he’s been nothing but hurt since the day you were hit by that truck, which was on this street by the way. Right here, in front of this house.”
“Cameron,” Mason snaps, but she pushes
on.
“It was right after their last game of the season, a loss in the playoffs. You came here to find him, but Chase found you first.”
I frown, shaking my head.
“You had something to say that night, to Chase and to Noah. But you only got the chance to talk to one. Face to face anyway.”
“Cameron!” my brother screams.
“You texted the other.”
My skin prickles, and I draw into myself.
She tosses me my phone, and I catch it.
“If you’re really ready for all this, re-sync your cloud, Ari.”
Mason jerks from me, getting in her face. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What you should have done a long time ago.” She glares. “You were the one who got her a new phone, flashed her account over.”
My eyes fly to Mason, his glare still pointed at Cameron.
She shrugs. “I’m her best friend. I know her passwords too, and after she decided, she didn’t want to know, I went to her phone planning to do the same, but it was already gone. The entire thread. You deleted it, didn’t you?”
“I did what was asked of me.” After a moment, his eyes meet mine, shame weighing them down. “He didn’t want to make things harder on you.”
He…
Noah.
My chest rises and falls with several breaths, and then I whip around, rushing into the house. I lock the door once I’m through, and Mason’s hard bang beats down instantly.
Someone comes around the corner, frowning at me as he heads to unlock it, but I’m already tearing open the door that leads to Noah’s room.
As I reach the last step, Noah pokes his head around the corner, and we both freeze.
“I… um.” I blink, glancing behind me and back. “No one told me where your room was…”
Noah’s brows pull and then slowly, he nods.
“Yeah,” he answers the question I didn’t have to ask. “You’ve been here.”
“A lot?”
“That’s up to interpretation.”
“Noah.”
“Yes, a lot.”
I nod, looking down, and that’s when I remember why I came in the first place.
I step around him, into the space, and I’m nearly knocked off my feet.
Say You Swear Page 44