Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,61
her okay.
“They didn’t believe me.” She confessed, curling into his arms. He rested his chin on her head. Even sobbing, she was gentle and perfect, like lavender with vanilla. Noah felt her tremble.
Noah kissed her forehead. “It’s okay. If it’s not, it’s going to be.”
Aly shook her head, pulling away. Wiping at her cheeks, she offered apologies, swearing she never acted like that, that she was stronger. Sprinting after her as she walked away, he grabbed her arm and encouraged her to face him. He didn’t care that they were in the middle of the street, or that the nearest neighbors were probably looking through the windows if they were sober enough to notice.
Aly was all that mattered.
As he took her face in his hands, her fingers curled around his wrists. Brushing his thumbs below her eyes, Noah murmured, “Everyone cries, Aly. You’re already strong.”
She bit her lip, nodding as another wave of tears brimmed. They were silent for a moment. Hesitating, she continued, voice wavering, “My dad said he’d make me regret it if I ruined his job, that you were messing with my head. Noah, he forgot my mom was dead. When he remembered, he acted like… like it was funny. He just kept screaming.”
He felt something snap, and struggled to stifle it. His temper was writhing to surface, the rage eating at his roughest edges. Jaw set, he swore, “I’ll go down there right now. I’ll tell him everything. If he doesn’t believe you-” She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with hurt. Noah growled, “Or I can just kill him. Actually, I prefer that plan.”
She laughed through the tears, burying her face. Against his chest, Aly murmured, “Can I ask a favor?”
“Name it,” he said, completely serious.
“Help me,” she begged, finding his gaze. “We could prove it.”
He imagined his father’s response if he knew he’d gone into the woods again, nonetheless with Aly to run after the already disrespected wood beast.
Wincing, he began, “Aly-”
“I have this really amazing motion camera. My mom bought it for me when I took a photography elective. It’d be perfect... Please Noah?” Aly pleaded, her hands knotted in his shirt. Analyzing his doubtful expression, her chilled fingers brushed his jaw, her palms rising to rest against his cheeks. He shuddered, leaning close. She mouthed, “Help me.”
“Anything,” he breathed.
“You promise?”
Her words smashed through his head, followed by the infuriating echo of Greg’s threats. He never thought he’d call Alyson Glass desperate, but it certainly wasn’t for him. Aly needed this, to prove to her jerk-too-jerky that he was the nothing he’d labeled her as, that she was everything he wasn’t. It was no different than the evils of Lee, but Aly would never have to choose between using her fists or running. He could offer her what she offered him– a piece of happiness, like liberation from a father’s chains. Looking her in the eye, Noah knew he had to do this for her.
She could ask me to rip the moon from the sky and capture the sun thieves, and I’d die trying.
He swore, “I do.”
~
They had quarreled whether it was best to leave that night, though it became banter fast. Aly had been adamant that they get it over with. Noah argued that it was dangerous, but the fact that nighttime was terrible for photographs and she might have to face Greg if she went home to retrieve the camera were the end of it. He walked her to the main part of the diner, leaving her in a booth to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.
The diner was dark except for the backlights. Someone had shut the front row off while he was outside, most likely hoping to conserve the wires from the brunt of the flickering. While he debated whether she’d be comfortable in the booths or to sneak her into his room, his best guess was that it would be a lot more difficult to explain a platonic pass-out if his parents decided to give a damn enough to check in. Despite feeling completely guilty, her exhaustion made her more than comfortable where she was, nearly asleep when he peaked through the round windows. He intended to stay downstairs, at her side.
Noah had positive, or at least neutral, memories of Yazzie’s before they had reopened. He and Sarah built blanket forts and played hide-and-seek beneath rundown tables. They would beg Mary-Agnes to permit mini-picnics, or to play Restaurant with borrowed pots and old aprons,