I laugh, and the sound surprises me. “You broke in. I was saving your butt. Are you always going to rewrite history?”
“Maybe.” There’s a click, and both Noah and I freeze as he opens the door. Holy crap, it worked. Noah freaking Hutchins broke into a place that he absolutely hates, after he got out of jail and did something illegal...for me...again. Just like he did last spring.
Knots form in my throat, and I’m at a loss for words.
He pushes open the door and scans the empty hallway. “If anyone asks, you had your key.”
“Noah...” My mouth gapes. I close it and through the thunder of my heart, I ask, “How were you arrested for possession? Because I believe you, that you were innocent, so...how?”
He slams his hands into his pockets and half shrugs. “Mia was in her car and had a bag of pills in her hands. Part of me was pissed because she wouldn’t answer me, and another part didn’t want to see her behind the wheel stoned. Either way, I took the bag from her, and that’s when the cops showed.”
And Noah, being who he is, never would have ratted anyone out. Not even to save himself. Honorable. Loyal. Even to people who often don’t give him the same respect back. “I’m sorry I slapped you.”
“I’m not. Let me walk you in.” Noah stalks in before I can respond. He’s slow going up the circular staircase, sort of like he expects...
“I am allowed to be here,” I say, holding the canvas like a shield. “No one’s going to shoot.”
“All the same,” he answers.
Even though Hunter gave me the key, I creep up the circular staircase like I’m a burglar on the prowl. Reminiscent of how I had skulked against the lockers the night I went after Noah.
“Have you told your dad you don’t need the bail money?” mutters Noah. “Because we might need it.”
I shush him. Now that would be irony, me needing the money because I’m breaking in. I also like that Noah’s willing to go to jail with and for me.
We reach the top of the stairs, and the hundreds of Christmas lights illuminate the room. On the far side of the room, Hunter directs his attention to us. Noah splays his arms in front of me like he’s willing to take the bullet.
“Good morning, Echo,” Hunter says.
I touch Noah’s back to let him know that it’s okay, and he eases to the side. My footsteps against the subflooring sound loud as I walk to my spot and place the canvas on the easel. With it in front of me, with everything I need within hands reach, my fingers actually twitch.
This is it. Today I’m painting Aires.
The world around me begins to tunnel, and there’s a familiar voice dancing in the periphery.
“Take care of her,” says Noah. “Because I’ll know if you don’t.”
“Understood,” says a voice that sounds like Hunter.
But it could have belonged to a dream as everything else fades out except for the colors.
Noah
My mom raised us Catholic.
I never considered attending church after my parents died. God and I—we stopped talking. Not that we had many conversations before that, but anything I would have had to say to Him after my parents’ deaths wouldn’t have been fit for divine ears. To be honest, I don’t think God exists. He’s one more make-believe story in the realm of fairy tales.
Parked in the same lot as a few days before, I ignore the house that belongs to my mother’s biological parents. Instead, I lean against the hood of Echo’s car and stare at the church. Echo’s off painting black holes, and I’m trying not to get sucked into one. It’ll be a damned miracle if the two of us survive the next week.
I love her, and she loves me, but I finally understand some of those old-school movies that make Echo cry. Sometimes love isn’t enough. I don’t know if she can wait four years for me to prove I want to be the man she dreams of. Plus, she could be right about me. Maybe I am doing all of this for the wrong reasons.
The architect shit...
Dad loved what he did. Had a smile on his face when he went to work and when he came home. He found beauty in things that other people took for granted. Like this church. He’d appreciate how it was more than it appeared. Except for the bell tower reaching for the sky, the outside is plain brick. Most basilica-style exteriors are simple. The insides are supposed to kick ass because in truth, we all should be shinier on the inside.
At least that’s how Dad explained it.
It’s like Dad understood the mysteries of life because he understood a building. Maybe I’m searching for the same knowledge.
“You’re back.” The priest—fuck it, my uncle—carries reusable shopping bags in each hand. “In case you’re wondering, I’m hearing confession in a few minutes.”
“I wasn’t wondering.”
“Aw.” Looking more human in a white T-shirt and dark pants, he chuckles as he walks past. “But you are. If you come inside, I’ll tell you why your mother named you Noah.”