Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Noah: At least let me take you home. I don’t want you walking home like this. Your dad will kill me.
Zoey: It’s fine. I got a lift from Abby and Cora. I’m safe.
Noah: Babe, it’s our last night.
Zoey: I know…
Hitting the gas, I peel out of the parking lot, determined to get back to her, hitting call on her number again, only this time it goes straight to voicemail, and I realize she’s turned her phone off. Panic tears at my chest, not wanting to spend what little time we have left together like this, but if she needs time, I’m not going to force it.
Then just to make sure she’s really alright, I drive by her house, slowing to a stop and looking up at her bedroom window, watching as she makes her way around her room. Then as if hearing the rumble of my engine outside, she strides across to her window and just stands there a moment, her gaze lingering on mine. My heart races, waiting for her to pick up the phone and tell me it’s alright to come in, only she makes a show of locking her window before pulling her blinds closed.
A moment later, her room falls into darkness and with my heart crumbling in my chest, I drive away, knowing this is so much more than what Liam said. She’s terrified of what tomorrow signifies, terrified that I’m going to slip away and that a newfound distance is going to force its way between us, but I’m not going to let that happen, and I know damn well that she won’t either.
But if she needs tonight, then I’ll give her that, and in the morning . . . fuck. In the morning, I’ll hold her for as long as she needs as we say goodbye.
35
Noah
I’ve been pacing back and forth in my room since five this morning, and as seven rolls around, I can’t wait another damn second. My car roars to life, and I’m speeding down the road toward Zoey’s place.
After leaving her place last night, I sat in my car at the park, staring out at the empty swing set where we used to share all our wild secrets. By the time I got home, I was about ready to turn back around and crawl straight into her bed, desperately needing to hold her. Instead, I stayed up and packed my bags, a job I’d put off for weeks simply because I didn’t want it to feel this real. But now, there’s only three hours left.
Three hours before I drive away, and I’ll be damned if I leave without saying goodbye. I’ve made that mistake once before, and I’ll never do it again.
I think I slept all of two hours before flying out of bed to get to my girl.
Last night sucked, but I don’t think she’s angry with me. If she heard our conversation, then she knows I told Liam to fuck off, so that’s not the problem. I think she’s angry and frustrated with the whole situation, and I can’t blame her. She hates that I’m going away, hates the thought of putting this distance between us again, and hates that she can’t just reach out and hold me.
Shit. I hate it too.
But it’s only a year. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. No amount of repeating that is ever going to make it an easier pill to swallow.
A whole fucking year.
I don’t know how the hell I made it through three.
Two hours. Two fucking light-years.
Pulling up at her place, I cut the engine and make my way toward the side of the fence, more than ready to take the shortcut straight up to her room, but the front door opens, and Zoey’s dad appears before me, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Shit. I guess I’ll be going through the front door after all.
“I don’t know what happened between you two last night,” he says, “but she’s not here.”
I stop in the middle of the lawn, my gaze pointedly shifting to her Range Rover still parked in the driveway. “Really? She’s not here,” I question, letting him hear the doubt in my tone, more than happy to call him on his bullshit if it means making things right with Zoey.
Henry gives me a blank stare, and I inch closer to the front door. “Please. I just need to see her,” I beg. “I’m leaving today, and I—” I let out a heavy sigh, “I can’t leave without telling her goodbye.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Noah. She’s really not here,” he says. “She took off about an hour ago.”
“Fuck.” I turn and start pacing across the lawn, just as I’d done this morning, my jaw clenching. If she’s not here, that means she’s still upset, still falling apart. I should have left ages ago. I could have made things right by now and taken the pain and fear out of her heart.