Chains Of The Heart
I turn my back on the dishes, leaving them uneaten.
I continue listening as Noah's car pulls into the driveway and I trek across the house. A wave of anxiety washes over me, and my pace quickens to retreat to the living room. I plop onto the couch, picking up a book to feign interest, but my mind drifts to thoughts of Elvis. I want to text him, to tell him how I feel, but I hesitate because I'm worried Noah will notice if I'm not being careful.
Noah walks into the house, his commanding presence filling the room; it's a sight both soothing and terrifying. He drops his bag by the door and makes for the kitchen, opens cabinets, clatters pots and pans, probably blind to the storm brewing inside
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