Out of the Blackness (22 page)

I close my eyes and can’t stop the twin shudders of revulsion and terror that race up my spine at the thought of Tommy Blevins. I don’t want to talk about him, but somehow I know Noah deserves the truth. He can’t change anything, but at least he’ll know I’m not freaking out about his kiss. “When-when I was in the group home, before Sam came….” My voice cracks against the tears in my throat, but I force myself to continue. “There was a kid—Tommy—who used to beat up the younger kids. Joey and I got it worse than the rest and more often.” I risk a glance up to find Noah gone completely still, his eyes on me, an unreadable expression on his strong face. “When Sam came, he pretty much forced Tommy and his gang to leave us alone, but sometimes he’d get to us anyway.” I try a wan smile, but it dies on my trembling lips. “I have only seen him once since I left the group home. It was my fault. I was where I shouldn’t have been.” I shake the memory to the back of my mind. “Anyway, Sam ran into him yesterday on a call. Tommy got in a few punches before Sam could subdue him.”

Noah's index finger gently strokes the back of my hand. I don’t remember sliding it closer to him, but I must have. His touch soothes my ragged mind.

“One of your worst nightmares shows back up in your life and you’re a little freaked out. It’s perfectly natural, Aves.” Noah's hand moves mine so his thumb gently caresses my palm. “Just remember I’m not here to hurt you, sweetheart. In fact, I’d give anything to make sure no one and nothing ever does again.”

Immediately and involuntarily, my downcast eyes fill with tears. I know he means every word. It means more to me than he can ever fully understand. With Noah, I don’t have to pretend to be strong. With Noah, I actually have someone other than Sam to lean on. There’s not a molecule in his body that believes the terrible things Mom and Carl beat into me with words and fists. Noah genuinely cares for and will protect me. And that last thought is my undoing.

Without embarrassment or shame, I allow the tears to flow. They’re pain and hate, fear and self-loathing, relief and release, but ultimately they’re healing. It is long moments before my mind recognizes the feel of wet cotton against my face. It is only then that I recognize the strong bands of Noah's arms around me, holding me to his chest. He croons softly into my hair as he caresses my neck. Contrary to every instinct I’ve ever had, I allow myself to lean into him, absorbing his undeniable strength. Incredibly, I recognize the lyrics to the pop song he’s marvelously singing to me. I first heard the Christina Aguilera song in a temporary foster home on one of my rare stints outside of the group home. Mrs. Garcia played it for us at least once a day, but the words never seemed to apply to me before. But now, as Noah sings them in that gorgeous, deep voice of his, I believe that Noah thinks I am beautiful in all ways.

I squeeze my eyes tight against a fresh onslaught of tears and allow my arms to encircle him. I tilt my head up to look at him. He smilingly sings the chorus again and I fall deep into those hazel eyes. When his words die away, he caresses my cheek gently then leans down to press a kiss to my lips. My mind sighs with some alien but wonderful emotion and I allow myself to kiss him back. Before it gets too deep, Noah pulls back and presses pecks to my nose and forehead.

“All better?” he asks.

I can only nod and smile goofily at him as my chest explodes with the most wondrous feeling. I have no name for it, but it feels suspiciously like happiness.

***

Spring arrives before I realize it. One moment we’re having the biggest blizzard on record—on Valentine’s Day, no less—and the next moment the grass is that fresh, beautiful green, the trees are getting their leaves back and the birds are singing rapturously. The days get longer and brighter and I can’t help but compare them to my mood.

With Kendall’s help and a lot of ugly, painful hard work, I’m almost back to where I was before August. I feel like a normal person again. It’s almost unsettling. Of course, I still have setbacks, still have days I’d rather spend sleeping the day away in my closet, but I resist that temptation, and, thankfully, those days are fewer and farther between than they’ve been for years.

Naturally, Noah plays a part in all of this, too. The day I allowed him to hold me as I cried over the reappearance of Tommy Blevins changed something fundamental between us. For the first couple of days afterward, Noah was almost tentative around me. It was the first time I’d ever seen him unsure of himself. Seeing him that way made me unsure, too. I spent far too much time wondering if he regretted kissing me or if he would ever do it again. I wanted to put back up the walls he so successfully destroyed between us because I was afraid he would up and disappear one day, realizing I am far too much trouble for him to bother with.

Instead, Noah shows me he has no intention of going anywhere. He invites me to meet him at the kart track to defend my victory from months ago. Now how am I supposed to say no to that? It takes three weeks to sync our weekends off, but finally it happens. Because I’m still nervous about being there with just him, we make it a foursome. Kira and Sam come along and entertain us for a while, but sometime after the second race, they vanish.

Noah feeds me so much cotton candy I swear I will be buzzing for two days. He thinks it will be enough to distract me from the race, from kicking his pretty round behind out on the track, but he sorely underestimates my competitive nature.

I’ll never forget the way he stares down at me, eyes narrowed, hands on hips. His posture might have intimidated me if Kaleb weren’t massaging my shoulders. Well, that and the goofy grin on Noah's face pretty much takes away the fierceness of his expression. We’ve just finished our fourth race and we’re all tied up, two apiece.

“Double or nothing, winner takes all,” he dares me.

I laugh. “Noah, we haven’t bet anything.”

“Don’t distract me with semantics.” He scowls around a grin he can’t contain. “Okay, so we bet now.”

“Watch out for this one, Aves,” Kaleb faux-whispers in my ear. “He’s up to something.”

I smile up at him from the corner of my eye. ‘He’s
always
up to something.”

“Hey!” Noah clasps his hands to his chest just over his heart and staggers back a few steps. “That hurts.”

I laugh again and take in the moment. I honestly can’t believe I’m here with
him
, doing
this
, literally without a care in the world. This…
happy
…is such a foreign emotion, but it feels so amazingly good. This is what people write songs about, what they take drugs to simulate. But for me, all it takes is being with a teasing Noah at an indoor go kart track. Five months ago I never would have believed it possible for me to feel so totally unburdened, so free, so happy. And five months ago I never would have believed Noah Yates would be the catalyst for it all. I push down the uncomfortable thought of exactly what that means and soak up the sights and sounds and energy of it all. I want to be able to tuck this memory safely away, to be able to pull it out and enjoy on one of those bad days.

“Name your terms, Goliath,” I tease.

Kaleb’s rumbling laughter behind me vibrates through me where he’s kneading my shoulders. “He’s got your number, Yates. You’d better quit while you’re ahead.”

“But I’m not ahead!” Noah pouts. “We’re tied!” he shakes his head. “Fine, but you just remember you forced me into this.”

“I what?”

“Tut!” He makes a shushing motion with one hand, bringing the other up to wipe the grin from those beautiful, tasty lips. “Okay, if—
if
—you win this race, you can give me a consolation kiss.”

If my eyes could widen any more, I think they would fall right out of my head. “I—what?”

Noah smiles innocently and continues. “But when—
when
—I win, you agree to go to dinner with me somewhere nice, just the two of us. No chaperones.”

I gape at him, but he isn’t finished.

That cocky grin of his reappears as he slowly walks toward me. The pitch of his voice changes to a sexy rumble that vibrates my entire body. “And of course I promise you can give me a victory kiss.”

Involuntarily my eyes roll back at the incredible promise in his voice and I hear a whimpering sound issue from my suddenly constricted throat. At the sound, my eyes pop back open and I lock my knees where they’ve threatened to buckle.

Kaleb’s hands have stilled on my shoulders and I look back up at him. He’s wearing the most astonished expression, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Suddenly he comes back to himself and looks down at me. He squeezes one shoulder and steps back, swallowing hard. “Honey, if you don’t take that bet, I will.” Then he winks, smacks my butt and walks away.

I turn to stare at Noah who gazes back at me with a serene smile. “Whaddya say, baby?” he asks. “You interested?”

I growl and shove him hard in one shoulder. He barely moves. “You’re such a jerk. Of course I’m in.” I put my hands to my hips and give him the death scowl. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.”

He actually chuckles. “Are you sure that’s what you want, little one? You’d settle for a hollow victory and a kiss?”

I move to point at him to reinforce some argument I’m about to make, probably that he’s a presumptuous jerk, but he captures my hand and brings it to his lips. All rational thought ceases. I can almost feel the switch in my brain flip. All power to the auxiliary! Ridiculously intense tingles spread through my body in response to Noah's touch.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought,” he croons lowly. Turning my hand over, he presses a licking kiss to my wrist and my whole body shudders. “Cotton candy,” he whispers with a wink and a lick of his lips. As his lower lip slowly slides free of his teeth, I finally regain breathing function and look reluctantly away. He chuckles again and slides past me. “Go get ready for me, little one. You’re gonna eat my dust.”

Twenty minutes later he leans down so I can give him his victory kiss. I avoid his lips, placing a tender peck on his left cheek. I whisper into his ear, “We’re still tied, you know. That first one still counts.”

His big hands goose me where he holds my small waist. “It’s still a
win
for me,” he whispers back and I know he’s not talking about racing anymore.

***

The end of March rapidly approaches and with it comes the decision I have to make about the bookkeeping position. Walter talked me into doing the training for it while Brian could still teach me, with the understanding that, in the end, I still might decide it’s not something I want to do.

Although I’m still unsure about taking on the responsibility, I’ve discovered that I love the job—the ordering and invoicing systems were a piece of cake to master. Brian’s a good teacher and he’s careful to explain the whys of everything we do so I understand. Even though I was painfully trained by Mom and Carl to blindly obey without question or hesitation, my brain works best at tasks for which I comprehend the reason. Perhaps it’s because there seemed to be no rhyme or reason behind half the things that happened to me as a kid and I always tried to think one step ahead to avoid being in trouble—not that it did any good. In the concrete world of numbers, I find reason, flow and order. It’s a revelation. For me, the best part is trying to find a discrepancy in the numbers. It’s like a mystery with few clues, just waiting for me to solve it.

I only wish my feelings for Noah were like that. If I could divide them by nine and figure out where they got transposed, I would be a happy guy. Well, that might not be true, but it would be one less thing to worry about.

I cook him ten meals a week, lunches and dinners, for which he pays me a ridiculous amount of money, but I would do it for free just to see his reactions. I’ve hit on a few key favorites, ones he asks me to make again and again, and I’m broadening my skill set tremendously. Sam has been enjoying the fruits of my experimentations, too. He took to calling me the Good Wife until he got meatloaf three days in a row. Now he calls me Chef Champ, which cracks me up. I’m neither a chef nor a champion, but it makes me feel good to be able to please the two men in my life.

And as much as I have fought it, there is no question that Noah is in my life to stay. It absolutely petrifies me to think he wants more from me than friendship, food and a few kisses. Really, there is no thinking to it; he’s basically said it.

March Madness is some eons-long college basketball tournament that apparently happens every year. I remember vaguely hearing about it before, that it’s a really huge deal for college sports lovers. I’ve even heard that the President of the United States talks about it. I don’t get it. Basketball is so supremely boring. I can’t understand the point of watching ten giants running from one end of the field—
court
—to the other throwing an orange ball through a hoop in the air. I guess it’s better than golf, but so is watching paint dry.

Of course, both Noah and Sam are obsessed with this tournament. When Sam stops by the store one day while Noah and I are eating lunch—tarragon chicken with sautéed string beans and wild rice, with cranberry nut dessert—Noah invites us to his place to watch the UK play KU. When I ask why the British are coming, both men laugh, then Noah presses a sweet, somewhat condescending kiss to my forehead and says, “Ah, honey, the University of Kentucky, not the United Kingdom.”

“Oh,” I say, cheeks flaming with embarrassment, and that’s the end of my basketball discourse.

When the day comes, Sam insists I tag along to Noah's place to watch the game. I pretend not to go willingly, but as much as I am uncomfortable stepping into Noah's personal space, I’m almost equally as curious about the place he calls home.

In the end, it takes two days of cajoling from both of them and a blessed valium, but I put on my big boy pants and step into Noah's lair. I almost laugh at Sam, decked out in KU attire, until Noah answers the door in very nearly the same stuff—except my heart skips a beat and all my blood rushes to my face and my groin when I see Noah.

Where Sam wears a polo shirt with the university letters and bird logo, Sam is only half-dressed, clad in a tank top jersey and shorts. A tank top—which means those amazing arms I’ve felt around me and fantasized about in my most private moments are now laid bare in all their smoothly muscled glory for my eyes to see. And those shoulders! He greets Sam jovially with a handshake that rivets my eyes to that incredible bicep as it flexes and bunches and whatever the heck muscles like that do when they’re putting on a show. My mouth goes dry and I have to work to swallow in order to squeak out a hello.