Noah

"Do you want the bed?" Emma asked dully.

She'd finally given up on me taking her back.

"No." I wiped some sweat off my forehead and looked out over the emptied living room. The hall outside the loft was packed, and only a few shelves with my stuff remained.

I wasn't stupid. By the time Emma had understood I wasn't changing my mind, she'd gotten greedier. There was plenty of shit she'd probably sell, 'cause God forbid she get a goddamn job. But I didn't care. She could take it and shove it up her ass.

"You don't know how hard this has been for me," she said.

I chuckled darkly, and I wasn't touching that one.

"I'm serious," she cried. "I'm thirty-seven and back to living with my mother. It's humiliating."

"I don't think it's wise we discuss what's humiliating," I warned her with a pointed look. "Are you honestly whining about living with your mother right after I've lost mine?"

She paled, realizing the situation, though she pushed on with her own agenda. "You can't hold that against me. I'm very sorry you lost your family, but that doesn't make my problems any smaller. It's unfair that I'm the only bad guy here—"

"Stop talking, Emma." The movers were here, and I walked over to the door to buzz them in. "I never claimed to be perfect. I've probably made plenty of mistakes, but I would never fucking step out on you. A relationship is sacred to me, and to learn four years later that you don't feel the same… It makes any other issue useless to argue. 'Cause, no matter what, I didn't push you to betray me." I leveled her with a look that said I was fucking through. "We're done for good. I mean it."

She clenched her jaw. "You're heartless."

Fuck you.

I opened the door for her. "Goodbye, Emma."Chapter 5

Two weeks later

I stared at the remote.

I was on the mattress in front of the flat screen in the living room.

The remote was on the floor.

I couldn't reach it.

Maybe I didn't need to change the channel.

A knock on the door made me throw the covers over my head.

Go away.

"Noah?" It was Sophie. No surprise. "I know you're in there."

Well, of course I was. Where else would I be? I hadn't left my loft in ages. No one judged me for being a fucking coward here. No side-eyeing for every bottle I drained. Although, I could imagine the looks my family would give me.

I flinched and closed my eyes.

Too fucking bad you're all dead.

After a week of hiding, I had tried to get up and live. I had showered, shaved, used deodorant, and put on clothes to go out and buy groceries on my own for once. But then I'd checked my phone and saw they'd found out why the plane had gone down.

They'd located and dug out the flight data recorder and learned the pilots had been dealing with a mechanical error.

By the time they’d started the decline, they hadn't fixed it yet, and then they'd flown into a thunderstorm, counting on backup systems to guide them safely to the ground.

It had been one hell of a drop. And I had retreated to my bed and the nearest bottle.

I had nightmares of JJ and Linda screaming. The plane had been filled with families.

"We're hitting the road, sweetie," Sophie said. "Please let me know you're at least breathing."

Hit with guilt, I pushed away the covers and reached for my phone. A text would have to suffice 'cause I looked like shit and hadn't showered in…way too long.

I'm fine, just exhausted. Enjoy the holiday. Give the kids a smooch from me.

I heard the chirp of Sophie's phone and could imagine her sigh that followed.

"You have the keys to our place," she said. "There are leftovers in the freezer. I don't know what it is Nicky drops off, but I doubt it's good for you."

Nicky—what a godsend. I tipped him well for bringing me microwave dinners and alcohol a couple times a week.

He'd also arranged for my new bed to be delivered. All that was missing was a bed frame, and I didn't care enough to pick one out. I'd just placed it where the couch used to be, and it was my haven.

I didn't like leaving it.

Rolling over to bury my face in the pillow, I came to the reluctant conclusion I wouldn’t have a choice but to leave it soon. The pillowcase reeked, and if I could smell it while living in the filth, it had to be bad.

*

It took me hours to talk myself into getting outta bed. But eventually, I got up and threw the sheets and pillowcases in the washer. Then I suffered through a shower, brushed my teeth, said fuck it to shaving, and pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

In the living room, I opened a window and threw away some paper plates and plastic forks and knives. I'd have to buy some fucking silverware at some point.