Breaking Noah

Startled, I step back and slam down the hatch, not wanting him to think I’m doing anything devious.

“Where are the keys, Zara?” he asks, taking a few steps toward me.

“In my purse,” I respond, reaching down to grab my purse. “Shit,” I mutter. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“My purse is in the trunk. I’m so sorry. Do you have an extra set?”

Noah rushes to the car, trying all the door handles. When he can’t gain entry, he slams his hands on the roof, spewing a slew of curses. So much for wanting to make the situation better—apparently, I’m only capable of screwing shit up.

“You need help, Zara. Is this because I told you we were over?”

“No.” I shake my head, still clutching the letter in my hand. “I’m sorry…I wanted to get this for you. It was an accident, locking the keys in the trunk, I swear, Noah. I just wanted to show you.” I thrust the letter toward him, and he accepts it, scans over it, emotion filling his eyes as he reads her words.

“You didn’t have to share this with me, but thank you.”

“How far away are the nearest neighbors?” I ask in a small voice. Maybe I can still fix this. I don’t have a phone, but a neighbor will, then I can call the auto club or a tow truck.

“A good twenty miles.” He nods up at the sky. “Come on, we better get inside. There’s a storm forecast for tonight. I’m sure Derrick will figure out something is up when I don’t return his car in time for work tomorrow morning,” he adds, his voice dry.

He’s taking this better than I thought he would. I follow him back inside the cabin and watch as he starts lighting the fire. A shiver races down my spine as I perch myself on the sofa with my legs curled up under me, the warm blanket draped over my lap.

“So we just wait?” I ask nervously. I glance around the cabin just as my stomach rumbles. I blush as he chuckles, though the sound of him laughing makes my heart surge. I’m clinging to the slightest bit of hope that I can still fix this. I have no idea how, but all I can do is hope that I’ll figure something out in the next twelve hours.

“Check the cupboards if you’re hungry. My parents are up here pretty often, so I’d be surprised if there was nothing around.”

I stand up and walk over to the kitchen. I check the fridge first, and find a few cans of fruit, but not much else. I go through each cupboard until I find a packet of potato chips. Opening the bag, I shove a handful into my mouth, wishing I’d had something more nutritious than a cup of coffee for breakfast—or lunch, considering it was well after noon when I woke up.

Noah wipes his hands on his legs, then stands back to survey his handiwork. The fire is crackling away nicely. If we were here under better circumstances it would be romantic.

I hold the bag out for him and he takes a handful, his fingers briefly touching mine. The funny thing is, now that I have him alone and for the night, I have no idea what to say to make this go away. Everything that he needed to know has already been said.

“I’m done,” I say, handing him the bag. I retreat back to my spot on the sofa under my

rug and sigh. “There’s no television,” I say. I had known something was missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“No, there isn’t,” he replies, sitting down next to me. “My mother refused to allow one here because the idea of this place was to have a break from everything. Which is kind of funny, considering how high-maintenance my mother is. There are a few board games in the cupboard over there, but apart from that…” He shrugs.

“Board games?” I repeat, crinkling my nose.

“Yeah, pretty old ones, too. From when I was a kid, mostly.” He stands up and walks back over to the kitchen and begins rummaging through the drawers and cupboards. “Ha. I knew he’d have some scotch here, and there’s a bottle of wine.” He holds up the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. “If you’d met my mother, you’d understand why my dad drinks,” he says and chuckles.

“Did Shannon meet your parents?” I have no idea where that question came from. He looks up at me in surprise, but then nods.

“Yes. I wouldn’t say she left much of an impression, though, considering Mom could never get her name right.”

“I am sorry, Noah,” I say quietly. “For everything. I’m sure you wish we’d never met. You must hate me.”

He hands me a glass. I lift it to my nose, the malty scent hitting my senses.

“I don’t hate you, Zara.” He sighs and rubs his forehead before sitting down, this time in the armchair opposite me. “Honestly, what you did, it scares me. I can live without my career, that’s not even the issue. I really thought we had something, and to find out it was all an act—a calculated, malicious act…I don’t even know what to say. How can I ever trust you again?”

“I wish there was some way I could prove to you I didn’t upload that video—”

“But it doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, his voice rising. “You made the video, Zara. You recorded us. Whether you uploaded it or not is not the issue, is it?”

“I guess not,” I mumble, dropping my gaze. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes again, but the last thing I want to do is cry.