She turned, and wordlessly Evan used his good hand to lather the entirety of her back. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he rubbed the soap in circles on her skin. “I’m so damn sorry.”
She hung her head and closed her eyes. She knew what he was apologizing for, and she supposed she felt the same, or she should. Their sex had been necessary, but in some way, they’d used each other. They’d used each other’s bodies to relieve their pain. She wouldn’t take it back, and she didn’t think he would, either, but still. Surely the regret would come later, and she’d be glad she’d said the words. “No, I’m sorry,” she told him.
He put his forehead on her shoulder, and she felt his breath on her skin. “I’m sorrier,” he said. “Seriously, Noelle—”
“I’m the sorriest,” she said. She turned, taking him in her arms.
He released a breath, mixed with the smallest of laughs. “Stop. I’m—” He lifted his head, his eyes widening, and that’s when she heard it too. The approach of vehicles.
Evan turned off the water, jumping from the shower and grabbing a towel as he raced for the window. “It’s my dad,” he called, panic and elation and a hundred other emotions in his voice.
Noelle grabbed a towel and dried herself hastily and then reached for the only clothes she had—items that were now all but oily, bloody, disintegrating rags—and began to put them on as what sounded like a fleet of vehicles arrived outside their room.
Evan had pulled on his clothing and was now moving the items of furniture he’d piled in front of the door. How he’d done that with one hand and half dead from exhaustion, she wasn’t sure, but he had. She ran to him, beginning to help, when a loud knock came at the door.
“Evan!”
“Dad, hold on, I’m moving things. Hold on!”
“Jesus Christ, hurry, Evan!” There was the sound of heavy commotion outside, as though Evan’s father had brought a hundred men.
She and Evan huffed and puffed and pulled until there was room for the door to be wedged open, and then Evan turned the two locks and a man—his father—came pushing through the door. He let out a sob as he took his son in his arms, shaking as he held him. Then he stood back and took Evan’s face in his hands and searched it as though looking for the injuries he might have imagined. Where his cheek had been ripped open just above his patchy beard, there was the start of a nasty scar. Apart from that, and his terribly broken hand, Evan looked like Evan, though.
Skinnier, bearded, but still himself.
And so utterly, completely different. There were far too many scars beneath the surface that no one would ever see. Only she would fully know.
Her thoughts tripped clumsily over themselves. She felt out of it, unable to believe this was real. That they’d been rescued. They were going home.
“Thank God,” Evan’s father said. “Thank God.” Mr. Sinclair dropped his hands and stepped back, his eyes moving over Evan. “We’ll get your hand fixed,” he said. “I’ll find the best surgeons. For your face and for your hand.”
“It’s fine,” Evan said.
His father blew out a breath and nodded, his relief obvious. That’s when he noticed Noelle standing off to the side. For the briefest of moments, she swore she saw raw hatred on his face, but then it was gone, and he nodded at her. “You’ve both been through a lot. But you’re whole. You’re here. We’ll get you back to the US, and then you’ll receive the medical care you need. Let’s go.”
They exited the motel, and Noelle saw that, rather than one hundred men, there were only three other black SUVs. Mr. Sinclair said something to one of the men he passed, and that man stepped toward Noelle, touching her arm. “You can come with me, ma’am.”
Evan had stopped and now began walking back toward Noelle. “No, she’ll ride with us.”
“Son,” his father said, gripping his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Noelle said before his father had to say anything more. She could imagine that he wanted time with his son. She had no love for the man, even now, when in essence he was rescuing them, but she could only imagine the fear and grief he’d been experiencing while his only child had been missing. “I need to call my father. Can I use your phone?” she asked the man standing next to the vehicle.
“Yes, ma’am. Let’s get on the road and you can make your call. That way we’ll have an ETA.”
She nodded and turned back to Evan. “I’ll be okay,” she said.
Evan hesitated, not looking happy but accepting with a nod. The man opened the back door of the SUV for her, and she looked back at Evan, every muscle in her body telling her to run to him, to latch on, to never let go.
They’d depended on each other for so long. We leave here whole. We leave here together. They’d done that. So why, now, did it feel like they were breaking a promise? It felt like she was losing a piece of herself. It wasn’t rational, she knew, but it was still true.
She turned and ducked into the vehicle, sliding over the supple leather seats and then lying down as the tears began to flow. It felt like she had a never-ending supply. It felt like she might cry forever.
The driver pointed to a bag on the floor behind his seat. “There’s food for you, Ms. Meyer. Water too.” She mumbled a thank-you. Food. Water. As much as she wanted. She should have been only relieved, but the thought brought mostly pain, and she wasn’t even sure why.
She felt so intensely bereft. Bereft of the boy who’d held her fingers throughout her nightmare, who may never hold her fingers again.
The car she was in began backing up and then turning, driving away, leaving the small nowhere town where they’d found refuge for a few brief hours. Noelle didn’t watch it out the window as they left. Instead, she continued to cry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Night came, the sun dipping below the desert horizon. Evan watched blankly as the clapboard houses along the highway whizzed by. He ate a sandwich and drank a bottle of water. Strangely, he wondered when he’d feel a sense of freedom even in eating. “Does Noelle have food?” he asked. His father gave him a thin-lipped look but nodded. Evan glanced back every few minutes to ensure that the car Noelle was in trailed close behind his own. His father only asked that he describe the building where they’d been kept and its location as best he could in reference to where they’d traveled. He did, speaking in a monotone. His emotions felt muted, and he was somewhat grateful and a little concerned. He sensed they were gathering, the way storm clouds did, and at some future time, the sky overhead would split.
He heard his father on the phone, talking to some form of law enforcement, relaying to them what Evan had described regarding the general direction of the building they’d been kept in and the fact that it was on fire. Whoever it was on the phone sounded displeased. “I wasn’t going to trust anyone with my son’s safety. You failed to find him,” his father spit out.
Evan drifted off and then woke. His father was sitting stonily, his jaw set as he stared out the window. He turned his head and met Evan’s eyes. “Do you have any ideas about who they were?” his father asked.
Evan shook his head. “None.”
His father studied him for a moment but didn’t ask any more questions, and for that, Evan was grateful. Perhaps his father didn’t want to know the details of what had happened to him. Maybe he was scared to find out. That was fine. Evan didn’t want to tell him anyway. He didn’t want to tell anyone. He and Noelle knew. It was all that mattered.
Finally, too exhausted to keep his eyes open, he slept again, the car rocking him into a chaotic dream in which he relived their escape, only this time making different choices that resulted in terrible outcomes where he watched Noelle die in horrific ways over and over.