Chapter 13

“You sure?” Dad asks, eyebrows drawn tight, but I already know he won’t argue. He never does. 

“I’m sure,” I say softly. “Noah and I will figure it out.” 

He gives a reluctant nod. “Alright. I’ll tell your mother you got in safe. But make sure to call, okay? I know your mom can be… intense. But she means well.” 

Of course she does. When it comes to Elena. Never for me. 

My smile barely stretches across my lips. “Yeah. I know.” 

I watch as he pulls out of the driveway. I lift my hand, wave, then drop it once he’s gone. I take a breath. Then I turn to face the house and start up the steps. 

What’s Noah going to say when he sees me? Will he tell me to leave? What if he does? What then? 

I picture Mom’s disappointment if I show back up at home. But I can’t force him. Not if he really doesn’t want me here. 

I knock, but there’s no answer. 

Noah didn’t mention going to work. I don’t think he’s even gone back yet. How long do doctors get off for grief? A week? Two? I start to think maybe I should call him, check if he’s stepped out for something quick, when the door creaks open. 

For a second, it’s eerie, like it opened on its own. Then I glance down and meet a pair of green eyes and a serious little face. 

“William,” I say, surprised. “Why are you the one opening the door?” 

He stares at me. Doesn’t move. I wonder if he’s processing it, my face, my voice. His mother’s, but not. 

Then he opens the door wider and steps back without saying a word. 

“Where’s Daddy?” I ask, stepping into the house. 

“He’s upstairs,” he answers, then takes off toward the kitchen on quick, quiet feet. 

I follow, half-curious, half-nervous. He climbs up on a small plastic bucket flipped upside down, barely balanced, trying to reach something on the stovetop. 

Something smoking. 

My heart lurches. “Oh my God, Will!” I rush forward, snatch him off the bucket and pull him into my arms. “What are you doing?” 

“Making breakfast,” he says with that tiny, serious voice, and my heart just... cracks. 

I don’t know where to start. I set him down gently and turn off the gas, shoving the pan aside. My hands shake. My mind races. 

What if he’d dropped the pan on his legs ? What if he slipped off that stupid bucket and hit his head? What if he got burned? 

I look at him, suddenly so relieved I came. 

I bend down and meet those soft green eyes. “Will, why did you want to make breakfast?” 

“Because Daddy hasn’t eaten any.” His answer stuns me into silence. 

“What about you? Have you eaten breakfast?” 

He nods. “I poured myself a bowl of Captain Jack.” He points toward the cupboard. “And I washed my plate like Mummy always says.” 

His little face Is so serious, it makes my heart swell, warm and proud. I ruffle his hair and smile. “That’s great, William. You’re such a smart little boy. But you shouldn’t make breakfast for Daddy. That’s not your job. I hope you haven’t been eating just cereal this whole time.” 

“Dad made me PBJ. I ate peanut butter with marshmallows. And pizza.” 

I freeze. He tells me so honestly, counting with his little fingers. Every one of those meals is completely unhealthy for a child. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, surprising me. 

He reads my face so easily. I’ve been told my expression is always blank, unreadable, but this little guy sees right through me. It makes me a little happy. I scoop him up and twirl us around. 

“Nothing’s wrong, my little chef,” I say, setting him gently on the island. “Now that your aunt is here, you don’t have to eat like that anymore. I’ll whip up something for you and Daddy in a second.” 

I move to the fridge, and my hope that Noah hasn’t been feeding this child only sugar and carbs dies immediately. 

All that’s good in the fridge is bread. The eggs have gone bad. The cheese is moldy. And something is dripping down the shelves, thick and black and disgusting. 

I exhale slowly. What did I really think? That Noah was fine? That he was effortlessly piecing his life back together? Elena was his world, he wouldn’t just bounce back like nothing happened. As much as I hate to admit it, Mom was right to be worried. 

Noah has always been good at hiding things, at pushing his emotions so far beneath the surface that no one could reach them. He doesn’t want people to know he’s drowning. He likes to be the sturdy one, the unwavering rock everyone leans on. 

Except right now, he looks nothing like that. 

"Okay, so maybe a second might not be long enough," I throw over my shoulder as I rummage through the kitchen. 

That’s when he walks in. 

His hair is a scruffy mess, sticking up at odd angles. His greenish t-shirt hangs loose, stretched out, and his black sweatpants are wrinkled, dragging low on his hips. His beard has grown thicker, unkempt. He rubs his bleary eyes, lets out a tired breath, scratching absently under his shirt, revealing his stomach. 

"Will, what are you, " 

He stops mid-sentence. His gaze locks onto mine, and his entire body stiffens. 

He blinks, once. Twice. Swallows hard. 

It’s unsettling to see the weight of my presence hit him, the sheer impact of my face on his. It takes the edge off my frustration, the anger I’d felt moments ago after seeing the state of his fridge, the way he’s been "taking care" of William. 

"Ray?" His voice is uncertain, like he’s doubting his own eyesight. 

I don’t want to crush him, but I nod anyway. 

"Yeah, it’s me. Are you just waking up?" My voice is softer than I intended. 

It’s past two. Lunch has come and gone. And yet, Noah looks like someone who’s spent more time sleeping than living, like shaving, eating, maybe even showering, have all slipped his mind. 

"Uh," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. His eyes dart toward the burnt bread on the counter. "What’s that?" 

I glance over. "That’s your breakfast." 

Confusion flickers through his gaze. He looks at me again. "Ray, what are you doing here? Is this because I didn’t call back? I was going to." 

I sigh, tilting my chin toward my bag standing by the door. 

Noah follows my gesture, his eyes settling on it. He stares for a long, stretched-out moment. 

Then, with a quiet finality, he shakes his head. 

"No."