Ever.
He’s stopped, turned, facing Noelle who is standing a few steps below where she’d been perched, face etched with worry. Harley is looking at her and barks once, turning to look at my truck and then back to Noelle.
Get in the truck. That’s what he’s trying to tell her. But she appears frozen, and I worry that shock might be settling in. It’s not far-fetched as it often happens when a person is faced with something traumatic.
Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, I retrace my steps back up until only two steps separate us. And, just as slowly, I reach out a hand, palm side up, watching her, my eyes imploring her to take it. The moment she reaches out and slides her hand into mine, I close my fingers around hers in a light grasp.
Softly, I ask, “You coming with us?” Just then, Harley gives a brief staccato of a bark as if putting his two cents in. She looks down at him with a weak smile before meeting my gaze.
“Yes.”
We walk down those stairs, hand in hand, with Harley at our heels, making our way to my truck. And every single step of the way, a certain feeling gets more powerful. And that feeling isn’t one I commonly associate with. Ever.
Because the feeling I’m experiencing, walking with Noelle’s hand grasping my own is incredibly fierce and powerful.
A sense of rightness.
With a woman I am so completely and utterly wrong for.
*
Unlocking the door to my place and disarming the alarm system before Noelle and Harley enter, I kick my flip-flops off onto the mat. God knows I’ll either have to scrub the hell out of those fuckers or buy new ones since they now have a lovely array of shit on them from the mess at Noelle’s place. She’s still grasping her phone, has her purse over her shoulder as she slips off her heels. Heels she drives me fucking crazy with. They’re the type that show some of her toes with a strap at the back of her heel and make her legs look sexy as hell.
Snap out of it, Kavanaugh.
Shaking it off, I walk down the hallway to set my stuff down on the kitchen counter. Spotting what appears to be some dresses on hangers draped over a dining room chair along with a few bags from Target on the dining room table with a Post-it note on top, I silently thank my sister for helping out. I move over to pluck the note and read it, smiling as I can practically hear Laney saying it.
Dude. You owe me big time. And next time, don’t you dare say, “My hands can easily cup 36C’s so that’s probably her size.” Gross!!! But, seriously, let me know if you need me to do anything else. Love you, Goober! xoxo
Even though Laney and I give each other shit, it’s done in love. She’s the best sister a guy could ask for, that much is certain. When I called her earlier, asking her to pick up some stuff for Noelle, giving her a very brief rundown of things, I knew Laney’d take care of things.
“Love note from one of your women, Kavanaugh?” Noelle slides up beside me, eyeing me curiously, gaze flickering to the note in my hand.
Hand clenching around the note, I ignore her question. “This stuff is for you. I had Laney pick up some things.” Gesturing to the dresses on hangers, “Guess she’s loaning these to you, if you want or need them.”
Her blue eyes dart up to mine. “You asked her to do this? For me?”
The way she’s watching me makes me uneasy so I shrug it off. “Sure.” Grabbing the bags and hooking my finger through the hangers holding the dresses, I head over to Laney’s old room, the one she stayed in when she was my roommate a few years back.
Calling over my shoulder to Noelle, I say, “There’s a double bed in this room and the bathroom is right across the hall. You should be all set.” I enter the room, setting the bags on the bed and carefully place the hanging clothes in the empty closet.
She replies with a quiet, “Okay.”
Glancing over at her in the doorway of the spare bedroom, I add, “Laney got toiletries and everything for you. Hopefully, she got what you need. Make yourself at home, get changed and comfortable. But then,” I lower my head, fixing my eyes upon her with an intensity, “we need to talk.”
She offers me a nod that comes off as reluctant, but it’s acquiescence just the same. I exit the bedroom and wait for her to cross over the threshold, and watch as she walks toward where the bags of items are lying on the bed.
“You’re safe, now, Noelle.” I wait for my words to sink in, detecting the infinitesimal relaxing of her shoulders. Closing the door quietly, standing there for a moment, it isn’t until I hear the distinct sound of the plastic crinkling that I let out a silent exhale.
Running a hand over my short hair, I hope to hell I can keep her safe. Not only from whatever she’s been running from, but also from something—someone—I fear is more of a threat to her in so many ways.
Myself.
Chapter Eight
Noelle
My life was officially out of control.
Home trashed? Check.
Person I was running from found me? Check.