Every Little Secret (Second Chances #2) (7 page)

“Fine.” I toss her the clothes. “I’ll wait in the car.” I want to peek but I don’t. I wait in the car battling between my relief that she’s okay and the knowledge that she’s sleeping with him.

Minutes later, she creeps out from behind the house. All my plans to barrage her with questions and demand to know the truth evaporate. Her face is pale, like death. My sweats hang off her. Instead of her normal swagger, full of confidence and attitude, she shuffles up and climbs in without a word.

My heart breaks. Warning bells go off. Again. Our whole relationship is too similar and that one ended in disaster and left my life in ruins, my dreams shattered. I swallow down my fears. “Here.” I hand her the foam cup.

She accepts the hot coffee. Her body shudders and she stifles a sob. She wraps her hands around it, cuddling it like it’s the first cup of coffee she’s had after being stranded on an island. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers.

“That’s fine. But I’m not taking you back to your dorm like this.”

She nods then stares out the window. On the drive back to my parents’ house through early morning traffic, several questions or comments almost slip out. But I know what it’s like to be on this end. No one wants to talk about something that brought them down a peg, that humiliated them.

At my house, I lead her inside. “My parents are at work, so don’t worry.”
 

The first smile appears. “You never told me you live with your parents.”
 

I shrug. “It’s not the first thing I tell a girl I’m trying to impress.”
 

She briefly touches my shoulder then pulls back. Like she wants to touch me more or wants to say something, but she doesn’t. But just that touch, her fingers brushing my arm, lights my heart and body on fire. I squelch the desire. This is not the time or the place. And we’re just secret friends, not secret lovers.

“Want breakfast?” I ask.

The smile fades. “You should probably just bring me home. I’m exhausted and won’t be good company.”
 

I grab her hand. “You can crash on our couch, but my bed is way more comfortable. Promise,” I say with hands raised. She nods okay, and I lead her upstairs. I cringe at the dirty socks and underwear on my floor. “Sorry about the mess.”

“I don’t care.” Her voice is shaky.
 

I pull back my covers. She slides in and lays her head on my pillow, her dark hair fanning behind her. I sigh.

Her big eyes make their plea to me. “Will you sleep next to me?”

“Sure.” The fluttering in my stomach grows as I slide in behind her. At first, I lay there, awkward and unsure. The ends of her hair brush my cheek. Her body is just inches from mine.

“Closer,” she murmurs.

I inch closer, still scared to touch her. Scared she’ll notice my shaky breathing. Shit. What is my problem?

She leans back so we’re nose to nose. Our lips practically touching. “I promise I don’t have any diseases. I just want to be held. Please?” She rubs her nose against my cheek.

I melt. I wrap my arms around her, across her stomach. I press my body up against her back. I soak in the smell of her shampoo, tainted with the smell of smoke. I close my eyes.
 

She sighs and snuggles into me. Then I admit my truth.

“I threw pebbles at your window last night.”
 

She doesn’t answer and I realize she’s already asleep. I lie there for a while just listening to her breathe. I’m left with one thought. Maybe I don’t want to be careful anymore.

Chapter 5

Carly

I manage to get to The Watering Hole earlier than usual this morning. I need that. The quiet. Especially with a day ahead filled with chatter and noise as I float through classes. I do my work, barely. Somehow I still get good grades. The peace of early morning stays with me as I order and find my corner table. This is my space. I breathe in the smell of cinnamon and relax.
 

Even though it’s been a week, I can’t get Noah out of my head. Every day since he came and got me and took care of me, I wake each morning wondering if I should text. I fall asleep every night, thinking maybe tomorrow. I dream about that night, wrapped in the safety of his arms, his warmth seeping through and warming my heart, causing a crack to open.
 

It made me vulnerable.

Every morning, every time I look in the mirror, I lecture the scared girl who peers back at me that opening her heart is absolutely crazy, the very last thing she needs. But she’s fighting off the flicker of desire to love and be loved back. She tells me to reach out and call him. Invite him out some afternoon for coffee.

I always turn away from my reflection, apologize, and wait for Chad to start his “I’m sorry” routine of endless flowers and the not-so-subtle romance, but maybe I’m not good enough for him either. Maybe this time I pushed him too far. He hasn’t sent even one text. For that matter, my secret friendship with Noah has been on the fringe too. Maybe I scared him away.

I sip my coffee, the warmth trailing down through my chest.
 

The door opens. Noah walks through, bringing in a fresh breeze laced with sunshine and everything autumn. My heart responds and I quickly stifle the smile itching to cross my face.
 

He meets my eyes, nods and smiles, then approaches the counter. He laughs and flirts with the girl behind the counter. She falls to his charm and practically writes her phone number on a dollar bill.
 

My chest deflates, the urge to smile gone. I stare at my cup and trace the swirly designs on the outside. He’s probably going to walk right back out. I’m to blame. I should’ve called, said thank you, done something. Instead, a couple hours later, I slipped out of bed, leaving before being faced with the uncomfortable truth and having to tell it. Duh. I mentally do a head slap. I’m such an idiot. Of course, I should’ve at least said thank you!

I don’t even realize how hard I’m gripping the to-go cup or that I’m holding my breath until Noah slides into the chair opposite me. I don’t dare lift my head and see the truth in his eyes that our friendship is over, that he doesn’t want the baggage that comes with me. I sure as hell wouldn’t blame him.

He doesn’t say anything at first but shifts in his chair. He clears his throat and drums his fingers on the side of his cup.
 

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, amusement in his words.
 

I meet his gaze and fill with hope. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t scare him off. I nod, struggling to find words. Why did it take so long for him to get in touch with me?

“Do you come here often?” he asks casually, as if we’re just meeting now.

I swallow and muster up my voice. “Every morning.”

“You must be an early riser then to make it here and then classes on time?”

“Not an early riser.” How can I explain this part of my day without sounding like I need counseling? “It’s quiet this time of morning, and being in here, me and a coffee, grounds me. I feel stronger and ready to face the day.”
 

He studies me, curious, not judging. “Always alone?”

I nod. “Yes.”
 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Am I?”

“No. It’s okay.” If this was Chad I’d be chasing him out, holding a grudge, but with him I always feel pressed down, suffocated, like if I’m with him too long in public I need to stretch my wings and break free. With Noah across from me, I feel nothing but the flutters playing with my insides.

“I can always bump into you another time.”

“No, really. It’s okay.”

Our casual banter stops, the awkward silence stretching between us. I stare back at my cup and trace the designs again, over and over, trying to control my shakiness. All my lectures about getting hurt and not taking risks are crumbling within seconds of sitting with him.

He takes a deep breath. “People wonder what happened to the Noah they knew in high school. They wonder where the playboy, the flirt, the star athlete, the most popular guy went. Why did he stop partying? Why didn’t he go to college?”

I stop tracing. I was one of those people but only briefly. He was years older. I only heard traces of his story and I didn’t care enough about him or Haley to find out the facts. Some scandal. But in his words I hear the pain, the brutal heartache of what he went through, and I want to reach out.
 

“I stopped living. I stopped caring about myself and spent too much time trying to control the pieces of my life and the lives around me, forcing everything to fit into tidy little rows. But the other night, with you…”

Seriously. Of course this would happen. He’s breaking off our secret friendship. I’m too much trouble. I totally get it so why is my heart crushing to bits? I take a sip and glance at him over the rim, desperate to hide from the truth sure to come my way, but I see nothing in his eyes but compassion and understanding.
 

He tries again. “I promised Haley I’d stop trying to play God. I’d start living again. That’s why I’m here this year. Taking classes. Trying to figure out my life so I can live on my own someday. When I saw you that night on the beach in the ocean and then again last week,” he looks down as if embarrassed, “I felt the urge to protect you, make sure the pieces of your life were in order.”
 

I’m a project? Suddenly my compassion flips into annoyance that I’ve been hoping he cares when really it’s just some weird compulsion of his. “I don’t need another father in my life. The one I have is bad enough. So please, take me off your fucking list of needy people. I don’t need anyone.” All my nerves are on edge, spreading the message to be wary, be careful, to run.

His shoulders fall and he rubs his temples. “That came out wrong. That’s how it started. Wanting to make sure you were safe. The other night, with you…I decided I didn’t want to be careful with my life anymore. I want to be crazy and reckless. And I want to be crazy and reckless with you. Even if all it means is letting a true friend back into my life.”

My heart skips a beat. I must’ve heard him wrong. “I’m not a project to you?”
 

“God, no.” His face hardens, his jaw tightens and lips press together. “But friends look out for friends and make sure they’re okay.”
 

The underlying message behind his words weasels past my anger. He wants to be crazy and reckless with me! He’s not breaking up with me even though we’re not even going out. I mean, I have a boyfriend. Right now, all I want to do is tear off Noah’s clothes and jump into bed. To make sweet love to him, because even though I’ve screwed my share of boys, I’ve never truly done anything but go through the motions. For the first time, I want more. I deserve more.

“So,” he says, “are you going to tell me what happened the night I found you in your car? Or what happened the other night with Chad?”
 

I fold my arms across my chest and smirk. “Are you going to tell me what happened in high school that made you turn your back on your life and all your dreams?”
 

I wait as he ponders this question. It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind telling him that my dad’s an asshole. I don’t mind telling him that I’m a screw-up in the department of being a girl friend. Really, I should warn him away.
 

He laughs. “You got me there. Fine. We’ll take this one day at a time.”

 
My phone buzzes against the table. Chad’s name pops up. I read his text.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Noah asks.

“Chad’s on his way in. So if our secret friendship thing is going to last, you need to get out of here. Now!”

I glance outside and see Chad heading to the door. It might already be too late. My only safety is that Chad knows to leave me alone here so he doesn’t know my usual spot.

“Seriously?” Noah asks, a storm crossing his face.

“Now!”

He scoops up his trash and steps up to the counter as if he’s just ordering. A second later, Chad struts through the door. He searches the place and I sigh in relief. That means he doesn’t know where I am and didn’t see me sitting with Noah. When he looks this way, I wave.

Chad sits, all with an easy cool, the swagger that attracted me to him the first time I saw him. I should’ve known better.
 

“Miss me, baby?” he asks and winks.

My face is stone. I reveal no emotion. Or so I try. My leg bounces under the table and the heat of almost getting caught is spreading through my body like needle pricks.

Chad reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Listen. I’m sorry about the other night. I waited so long to talk with you because I couldn’t stand to look at you. I mean I didn’t want to look at you, get furious again, and make any more mistakes. You mean too much to me.”

I almost scoff, but it’s that kind of behavior that gets him riled up.
 

“I always want to look at you.” He rubs his thumb across the top of my hand.

He’s offering me an apology, as bad as it is. I want to tell him to fuck off and then go back to my easy friendship with Noah. Or I could just tell him that we’ve drifted or I want time alone or that the feelings just aren’t there. This is the perfect time. Any of those break-up lines will work. But then I look into Chad’s eyes and see his vulnerability. He’s trying.
 

“I missed you too, babe.” Somehow those words just slipped out. It’s not what I want but it’s what is safe. I don’t want Noah to realize I’m not worth it because that would break my heart even worse.

He tugs on my hand; robotically, I stand and breech the distance between us. He pulls me into his lap. His one hand finds my hair, the other hand finds my ass, and he kisses me.

I let it go on for a bit, turmoil swirling inside me, building and building. I’m torn between what is comfortable and safe and the great unknown stretching out before me with Noah standing at the edge of it.
 

Sensing more than one pair of eyes on me, I crack mine open and catch Noah’s furious look. Sadness fills me as he storms away, probably for good. Shit. I majorly screwed up this time. Chad squeezes my butt one last time and I break. I scramble off him.