Page 3 of All of Him
As much as I wanted to keep standing there, looking at him, not even caring how awkward that would be, I had to make the first move. I was the one in charge at the moment, and I needed to do my job if I ever wanted to move up.
Get your shit together, Amanda.
Noah shifted on his feet and hiked his tan backpack further up his shoulder. I tried not to stare back as his eyes searched mine for any kind of sign that I was going to, you know, show him to his desk.
“Crap, sorry,” I said suddenly, shaking myself out of the moment. “Follow me.”
As soon as I turned around, I mouthed a few curse words at myself. I had work to do, and I had to show the guy the ropes. There was no time for zoning out because someone semi—okay, very—attractive had come through the door.
I waved at Claude, who was on the phone, as we walked by his office. He’d introduce himself appropriately to Noah at some point, but there was no rush. He relied on me to do all the dirty work, which was fine, but I wasn’t so sure I had a grip with it this time. While Noah was maintaining his distance, I wanted him so much closer, and that was going to be a problem if it didn’t subside.
“So, you’ll sit here,” I said, channeling my inner Penny. “I’m in the cube right next to you. Why don’t you set your stuff up and then let me know when you’re ready to learn the ropes?”
Noah looked around, nodding at nothing in particular. He was less than impressed at his digs, but that was predictable. I was pretty sure his desk was the one withanuscarved into the keyboard tray.
Noah bit his lip and turned to me briefly, then back to look at his computer—it worked as far as I knew. How well? No clue. Knowing Peabody Insurance, it could collapse in on itself with the touch of the power button.
“You good?” I asked, checking with him one last time.
He turned to look at me again, those sad eyes briefly making contact with mine. They weren’t empty. Something was behind them, but he seemed like he might be a shell of his former self. I continued to stare at the side of his chiseled jaw, uninvited, as he looked down at his shoes.
“Car accident,” he mumbled quietly, not looking at me.
“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“My face,” he clarified, pointing to an obvious scar on his cheek. It had concealer on it, but all the makeup in the world wouldn’t cover the unevenness.
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “I honestly…didn’t even notice.”
I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t; it was a couple of inches long and hit right at the apple of his cheekbone. He was just sobeautifulthat I’d missed it.
Noah looked at me like I’d lost it, which was very possible, then sat in his mostly functioning chair. It immediately slumped to one side, but eerily, I didn’t have the urge to laugh. Clearing my throat and trying not to stare, I stepped back cautiously. Noah’s eyes flicked to me, sending chills down my arms, but he didn’t dare turn his head.
In my complete lack of self-control, I’d embarrassed him. But that hadn’t been my intention in the least. Still unable to look away, I stepped back toward my cube and realized I needed to know who he was. Where he had come from.
Why he didn’t smile.
Finally angling myself toward my own space, I took a deep breath and shook myself out of my trance. At least temporarily. “Shoot me an email if you need anything,” I said quietly, my voice catching. “But I’ll make myself scarce.”
I want to know you, Noah. I want to know everything.
2
Noah
I TURNED A CORNERon the trail and shot up the hill as fast as possible. I had never really been a runner until a few months before.
“Exercise,” the doctors had said. “It’ll aid the medication in lifting your mood.”
They weren’t wrong, but I hated that I had to do it rather than running just to run. My runner’s high didn’t excite me; it simply leveled me out with other people. But that was an improvement compared to where I had been.
My quads burned as I reached the crest of the hill, my body leaving some of the shit from the prior year behind. Little by little, I crawled out of the hole I’d fallen into the night of the accident. Physically, everything was as good as it was going to get. Emotionally, I was a walking disaster. My progress felt like using a stepladder to go up ten stories of scaffolding.
Everywhere I went, I carried with me the oppressive burden of what had happened to my brother. I felt it constantly in my scars, radiating into my core and spiking without warning. There was no shaking the shame. I’d been to hell, and I hadn’t come back.
After sprinting to the back porch steps, I stopped quickly and grasped the wooden railing with one hand. Bent over, I gagged slightly but didn’t mind it. The harder I ran, the better or the more normal I felt. The images from the night of the accident subsided, disappearing more and more with each run. Running until I gagged meant more hours of mental freedom, hours I needed to keep going.
To keepliving.
