Anything More Than Now (Sutton College #2) Page 6

  Chapter Five

  Noah

  It’s not exactly how I want to wrap up my already busy afternoon before spring break, but I find myself in a disciplinary meeting anyway. My middle-aged academic advisor, Scott, sits behind his desk, his sweater vest riding up his potbelly.

  “You understand why you’re here?” He shoves his smudged glasses up the bridge of nose.

  I focus on the window beyond him, out on the early March afternoon. I’m supposed to go to a poetry slam at a coffeehouse tonight for class credit. Of course I have nothing prepared and I’m shit at spit-balling words on the spot. The rest of my classmates seem to possess this ability to weave together the most ostentatious verses void of feeling that my professors eat up. I still end up sounding like Dr. Seuss, not matter how hard I try.

  “Noah?” Scott drums his hand over a stack of papers on his desk. “I want to start my break too but we need to address what happened at Kappa Sigma. I have a complaint here that you broke the nose of another student. It’s another strike against you and I don’t want you to have to go before the judicial board here on campus.”

  I run my thumb over the tips of my fingers, my attention focused on my hands, remembering the feel of the bone beneath my fist¸ then the sweet bracing kiss of Reagan hiding away in my room. She brought me back to reality. She hasn’t come back because it’s not me she wants. And maybe that’s harder to stomach than sitting here, waiting to be told I could be expelled from Sutton.

  “I heard you. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to explain.” He sighs, pushing his chair back from his desk and adjusting his sweater vest while he waits for my answer.

  “Everyone had been drinking—

  “—the truth,” he says, leaning back in his chair. Scott reminds me too much of the counselors I used to have to see whenever I got out of isolation. They wanted to know my truth after locking me away to stare at concrete walls for unending hours, my body shivering from the cold, my brain numb. That room was supposed to break the bleak and divine truth over me until I realized the hazard I posed to society.

  I skipped school a lot and stole a car once—well, borrowed it really, but it didn’t matter. They locked me up with a roommate who’d raped his next-door neighbor. During my second stay, one of my roommates cut himself after being made fun of for crying himself to sleep. He was thirteen. He lasted two weeks before I found him dead in our room before dinner. He told me he stole stuff, that he was helping his mom feed his younger brother and sister. He just had shit luck and was caught one too many times. And then he was dead, blood pooling over the concrete floor, his eyes lifeless.

  “I just want to graduate,” I say, flexing my hand over my jeans. I don’t know if I’ll have time to run tonight before I have to go to class, but I just want to run for miles right now. Nothing inside me will stay quiet. My mind races—images of blood, of dragging Isla home, of attempting to write myself whole again. I still have calluses on my knuckles from the hours I spent writing with a dull pencil, pretending to give myself another life, pretending that life has happier endings than the ones I’d come across.

  “I believe you can graduate, but you need to figure shit out, Noah.”

  Scott swearing grabs my attention. I glance up, resting my elbows on my lap and leaning forward.

  “The thing is, even if I know you can do better, and I do, you’re the one who has to do the work. That means stopping the fighting, studying some more, maybe getting one less letter about the drug policy on campus.” He raises his eyebrows, all-knowing. “I’m not going to waste my breath. We’ve met like this one too many times. And between you and me, I’m sure the guy you hit was a jerk. I don’t care…”

  I smile.

  “That’s between you and me,” he stresses again. “I can’t change anything for you until you want to do something for yourself. You’re failing your major right now. You’re struggling. So tell me why you declared poetry as your major this year. Tell me what’s so—”

  “I promised someone.” I sink back into my chair. I promised to come here, promised to be the person my mother dreamed of while she was stuck working on the family ranch. I promised I’d be a better son than the one I robbed her the chance of raising because I couldn’t get out of my own way. I owe her that much.

  “Consider this meeting your last warning.” Scott waves for me to go and I stand, but pause as he adds, “don’t be so busy trying to live someone else’s life that you forget to live your own, Noah. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something that’s yours.”

  Reagan

  I’m checking someone out at Zola when my phone vibrates. I ignore it, going back to scanning books, except it doesn’t stop. I don’t recognize the number, but there’s a voicemail. I have someone cover the desk and step away, collapsing against the wall when I hear the woman say nurse and hospital and Beau.

  Once my hands stop shaking, I call back.

  Beau’s been taken to a hospital in Washington after suffering from seizures while hiking on spring break with Matisse. Apparently I’m still his emergency contact. They ask me questions about his medical history and I rattle off what I know. Except I don’t know anything now about his multiple sclerosis. He’s moved on and I thought I had too, but the way I feel after this call is confusing.

  I arrange for someone to cover the rest of my shift and hurry out. I dial the number I swear I wouldn’t, that I’ve had blocked since that night of the frat party.

  “Hate me all you want, but it’s Beau. I need a ride to Washington.”

  Noah

  I haven’t said a word since I’ve been stuck in this fucking hospital. I hate being trapped in waiting rooms. Reagan is talking to Beau’s parents while Matisse sits in the corner, looking seconds away from being admitted herself. I should say something to her, make her comfortable, but Beau’s my friend too and I don’t know if things are going to be okay.

  When Reagan is finished, I follow her outside to the parking lot, the two of us quiet as we climb into the cab of my truck. The quiet is insufferable.

  I pause halfway from securing my seatbelt. “Well, this fucking sucks.”

  Reagan turns to face me, her eyes red. She’s the type of person who’s made of steel, fashioned to be strong after a hard life. Steel shouldn’t crumble, but it does, and she is. I pull her close and smooth back her hair.

  “Go ahead and hate me, Noah. I know you’re going to say it.”

  I place a hand on her back, slowly drawing circles, trying to find a balance between being scared shitless and being strong. “I don’t hate you.” When she draws back, surprised, I try to hide my own because her eyes are soft. “He’s going to be okay.”

  She nods and looks out over the parking lot. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Reagan tries to climb off my lap and maybe it’s because I’m shaken up, but I can’t let this be how it ends with us today. “I’ll stay with you tonight.” I let her go, watch her carefully as she buckles her seatbelt. “In case we need to drive back up. And I don’t hate you.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Everyone does.”

  I steer us back onto Route 5. “You’re like a shot of whiskey, Reagan. Some people just can’t stomach the burn. Doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice, to be more palatable?”

  “Maybe. But people only drink milk because it’s good for their bones. And that’s predictable and boring as hell.”

  She curls against the cab window and nods, closing her eyes, shutting me out.

  Reagan

  It’s weird that the house is empty when we get back from the hospital. It’s late and I’m exhausted. I can’t help but feel like a dishrag, wrung out and dirty. I lean against the shower wall, the sound of the water drowning out the thrumming beat of my heart against my chest, tears of exhaustion close to follow. The hot water stings against my skin while I stay propped up in my little corner of the world.

  I don’t
turn around when the shower door opens, I barely move. My breath stays trapped in my throat, probably where my objections should be, but I don’t have any.

  His arms wrap around my stomach, drawing me back against him. I tip my face up into the water, aware of his body pressed against mine—the rigid lines of his muscles and hip bones, and the way I don’t ever seem to fight his touch, even if I should.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says against my ear.

  I swear his arms tighten, reassuring me that I don’t have to hide. Not if I don’t want to. “I’m thinking why you’re here with me. Why you’re holding me. Why don’t you hate me.” When I turn around, it’s strange to see his tawny hair hanging to his shoulders, no beanie. It’s weird to rest against his naked body and feel at home when he should be a stranger. It’s strange to be fixated on the way the water beads up on his lips and trickles off into the sliver of space between our bodies. Strange to feel myself get lost in his amber eyes, the way they’re pinned to me like I matter in this world—his world. It’s strange that I feel as if he’s always looked at me this way. Maybe I never wanted to notice before now.

  “But you know why.” Noah pushes back the wet hair from my cheeks, his thumbs tracing the bow of my lips.

  I nod, never giving voice to the words trapped in my throat. Today has been a world of suck and I’m raw and hurt. In the back of my mind I know, I know this could hurt him, but I end up kissing Noah anyway.

  Only the nightlight shines in the bathroom, soft in the background as the steam gathers and fogs up the glass shower. Noah grabs my hand and pins it against his chest as I push to my toes and kiss him. It’s slow and sad, met with only more sadness and hurt from his lips. We’re not frantic, not desperate. It’s mournful.

  I mean to kiss him, I want to kiss him, but I think I’m still kissing Beau. And I think Noah knows it. He’s warned me before, but today was too much, I guess. We both ignore the rules and dive straight for another bad decision when he quickens his mouth against mine. He wakes me up, my touch suddenly becoming searching. He spins me around, his cock hard against my ass. His hand traces down my spine, my knees weakening at the feel of his fingers. “I’m not going to compete with him, Rea. He’s my best friend…”

  “I know.” My words catch, tears still burning in my eyes. I look out onto the bathroom and push against him, gazing up to the tiled ceiling as his hand sweeps between my legs. “Noah, please don’t stop.”

  He pushes against me, entering me, but not fully. The feel of his piercing hurts at first until he pushes a little deeper. I rest against the glass shower, smearing the condensation, watching as I wipe away the fog when Noah thrusts up, gripping my hips. My cheek slides against the glass as my body melts and warms, my stomach cold. We both move together, the two of us quiet in our denial.

  He pulls my hair in his fist, gently bringing my face around to meet his eyes, his brows drawn in a thick line. His features look so different here…he’s mesmerizing.

  “Please,” I say on a choked whisper.

  Noah reads between the lines, dives deep for the ones I won’t admit. He pulls out then hauls me up against him, wrapping my legs around his waist. His mouth covers mine, and he spins us until we’re under the hot water. It pours around us, seeps between our kisses. It washes us clean, washes away the shame to something quieter, something softer. He shuts off the water and walks us out of the shower, grabbing a towel and laying me on my bed. I shiver, watching him pat me dry. Noah doesn’t say a word, not even as he guides my neck off the pillow so he can dry my hair.

  I think he’s going to put me to bed, tuck me in, and walk away. He’s been good at that, at telling me he can’t be with me because of Beau. I’ve ignored it until now, too angry at him, still too caught up on my ex. But that’s not the truth anymore. That’s my secret.

  I shut my eyes, steeling myself for the sounds of someone else walking out of my life. I’m used to it. It’s my least favorite sound, one I hear often. I wait, but instead I feel his teeth at my hip, his mouth on me, then his fingers parting me until I’m wet and frustrated. He’s so damn quiet.

  “Say something.” I grip my sheets, holding back another sigh, trying to deny the fact that it’s Noah who is getting me off.

  I hear him rip open the condom package, sense his body closing in over mine. And then his hand reaches for my hand. He guides me over him until he’s covered.

  “Open your eyes, Rea.”

  I’d rather not. I’d rather be back in that shower where we got lost in the steam and dark and the truth wasn’t so real. Here, in the quiet of my room, it’s different. We’re different.

  Noah sits back, pulling me upright to face him. He doesn’t look like such a douchebag screw-up now. He looks…hurt.

  Damn it.

  “I didn’t mean to….I don’t want…”

  Noah guides me up to his lap, meeting my stare as I hover over him. “We don’t have to say anything.”

  I slide on top, never taking my eyes off his…and I’m breathless. He stretches me, fills me, but it’s his honesty in this blank space between us, left empty by the words that need to be said, that shakes me. And since I don’t know where to begin this story of ours, I rock against him, ducking my head to rest on his shoulder. He thrusts into me in equal measure and when we both come, it’s quiet, laden with more guilt, more shame.

  I’ve made it worse. Lying to myself that Noah was a rebound, lying to myself that it wasn’t complicated, lying that Noah meant nothing to me. I’ve made it worse for the both of us.

  Noah

  I’ve been up for a few hours, went for a run, packed some of Beau’s things and called the hospital. I’m waiting for Reagan now, convinced that she thinks I’ll leave.

  I hear her pad into the kitchen behind me then slide to a stop. “You’re still here, and you’re making…”

  “I don’t like breakfast,” I say.

  “Then why have anything at all?”

  I turn around, the spatula gripped in my hand. I don’t know when the hard edges fall around Reagan, but when she’s sleepy, she still appears approachable. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks pink. Even her hair is cute, all ruffled and out-of-place. It’s so unlike her to have misplaced intentions.

  “Why do we do anything at all?” I ask. “No answer, Four Eyes?”

  She darts her glance away, trying to hide the small smile beginning to tug at her lips. The burgers sizzle in the frying pan, I should flip them over, but I step forward and pull her hand, hauling her close to me. I drop a kiss to her forehead, then lean down to whisper in her ear, “I’m hungry. We’re wired for instant gratification. I want what I want now.”

  Like you.

  “Fine,” she says as I start to trail my lips down her throat. Reagan playfully shoves me away, heading for the refrigerator. “Burgers are fine. Whatever.”

  I catch her tracing her fingers over the skin where my lips had just been.

  “I like blueberry pancakes better.”

  I flip the burgers, trying to keep my voice even as I say, “Maybe next time…”

  “No, no next time. No more sleepovers,” she says, whirling around. “No more hookups. That’s finished now. It’s over.”

  Sometime between flirting and grabbing orange juice, she’s back—the ice queen who wields a sharp tongue. Fine. As if I already didn’t feel like a big enough asshat for sleeping with my best friend’s ex, Reagan’s really making it a point to drive my mistake home. I get it, I’m a fuckup. It’s bad enough sleeping with her knowing that it’s not me she’s thinking about. I’m an idiot for thinking she’ll ever change her mind to want me.

  I plate up the burgers, not saying a word. I’ll let her think she won. I take a bite, then bring her a plate.

  “You’re a hard person, Reagan. I don’t mean that like you think. I mean you’re a hardass. You’ve got this wall up and I’ll be honest, I don’t care if I get past it right now because that’s going to take fucking years, knowing you.” I take
another bite and grin at her, my mouth full. “But don’t lie to me and say you don’t want me to stick around. I’d rather you didn’t say anything if it’s easier.” I grab her plate since it looks as if she’s about to hurl it at me. “And don’t insult my burgers.”

  “You’re so full of yourself. You want the burger?” she asks, playing tug of war with the plate, then she shoves it into my chest. “Fucking take it.”

  I take it, but only because there’s a hint of a smile on her lips and I think, even if I’m an idiot, something might have changed with us last night.

  Chapter Six

  Reagan

  Life doesn’t slow when you’re staring down the barrel of a milestone, it seems only to fly by quicker. While I try to drag my heels and enjoy what little I have left of these four years at Sutton, it’s hard not to admit things are changing.

  The bungalow is changing.

  There’s been this simmering sadness that seeps out of the walls since Beau’s returned from the hospital after spring break. The doctors found a brain tumor after his seizure. He’s supposed to go in for a biopsy soon to find out if it’s cancerous.

  This afternoon, there’s been a lot of noise downstairs. Fighting, doors slamming. I give up on studying and go downstairs to piece the chaos together. Curiosity gets the better of me. I shove open Beau’s door and go cold. Beau’s packing, he’s moving out. And Noah is helping.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I cross my arms as Beau attempts to shove some clothes into his suitcase, almost toppling over on his unsteady feet.