Chapter 29 When I wake up in the morning, I'm in Ally's bed, with my arm slung around her waist. She fell asleep in my jersey last night, and the sight of her lying next to me, blonde hair strewn over her pillowcase and lips slightly parted, makes my heart clench. She's sound asleep, as if opening up about her assault made her sleep like the dead. Like sharing that with someone was such a weight lifted from her shoulders that she was able to sleep deeply. I, on the other hand, did not sleep well. I wanted nothing more than to fall into a contented sleep with my body protecting hers, but I couldn't shake the anger pouring through my veins at the bastard who tried to force himself on her. And then blamed her for the whole thing. What kind of man does that? No, not a man. A boy. I want to strangle him with my bare hands. Easing my arm away from Ally, I slowly slip out of bed. I'm careful not to wake her, and Harry Styles quickly takes up my warm spot, curling behind Ally's back. I nod my thanks to the furball and tiptoe out of her bedroom, crossing the hallway to mine and throwing on some workout clothes and tennis shoes, then grabbing my phone and headphones. The only thing that can keep me from hunting this asshole down and breaking his arms off is an intense workout. I skip breakfast and coffee, heading straight to the gym in our building. It's early, so the gym is empty, and I'm grateful for that. I settle my headphones over my ears and turn on the heaviest metal music I can find. Maybe the screams of Metallica will help me work this hatred out of my system. In college, I did some boxing on the side for cross training, and now, I head straight for the punching bag. I desperately wish I knew what Ally's attacker looked like so I can picture his face as my fists meet the punching bag over and over again. I grunt and seethe into my workout, kicking and driving my fists into the cold leather bag with all the strength I can muster. Sweat pours down my face and my back as the music thrums in my ears. Every beat, every hit helps bring my anger down to a controllable level. I keep going, knowing I don't want Ally seeing me like this-out of control. I don't even like feeling out of control. It's all too much. But this protective urge is all consuming. It's bringing up all of my old fears that I worked out with my therapist after losing my parents. It's reminding me why I've stayed focused on hockey and haven't allowed myself to really get close to anyone. My friendships have mostly been surface level; my relationships with women have been superficial. And now I remember why. I have no concept of time or how long I've been working out my anger, when someone taps me on the shoulder. Startled and reacting on impulse, I whip around and swing at the air, only to find Fisher in front of me, holding his hands up and mouthing, whoa there. Sliding my headphones off, I gasp for breath. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I bring one arm up to wipe the sweat off my brow. "You can't just sneak up on me like that," I finally say through my labored breathing. "Sorry, Downsby," he says. "But I was worried you'd murder the punching bag...and honestly, I'm kind of fond of it." I don't laugh, and I can feel Fisher's eyes on me, sharper than usual. "What's wrong?" Hanging my head, I rest my hands on my hips. My breathing and heart rate are starting to slow down. I want to answer him, but I can't bring myself to say the words out loud. This must be how Ally felt the past several months, holding everything in and unable to bring the words to life. When I don't answer, Fisher's expression registers some kind of resigned understanding, and he sighs. "She told you, didn't she?" My head slowly pulls upward until I meet his gaze. I tilt my chin in a barely perceptible nod. Fisher is quiet just long enough for my anger to swell again. I drag a hand through my sweat-soaked hair and grit my teeth. "I was an asshole to you for inviting her to room with us. I was blatantly rude to her because I didn't want her here...and you were just trying to help her. I'm sorry." Fisher crosses his arms. "It's okay; you didn't know." "It's not okay," I say, my voice raised. "I want to murder him." I clench my fists at my sides. "I know." I blow out a breath, shuffling my feet as my mind spirals. "If something happens to her⁠-" "Noah. It's going to be okay." Fisher cuts me off. "She's going to be okay. Ally has us now." Taking a deep breath, I let his words soak in. I roll my lips together and then nod. "You're right. She has us now." But repeating these words doesn't ease my worry at all. I move to walk toward the gym exit, squeezing Fisher's shoulder as I pass him. He shoots me a somber smile. "You want to stay and work out with me?" I turn to look at him, filled with a whole new level of gratitude and respect for my roommate. He might act the fool, presenting himself as a total playboy, but he saved Ally from the unthinkable-and for that, I will be eternally grateful to him. "Nah, I think I've murdered the punching bag enough for one day." I grimace. "I'm gonna take a walk, clear my head." He lifts his hand in a wave as I leave the gym and head outside. The cool, salt-tinged bay air hits my face, and I inhale, closing my eyes and allowing it to dry my sweat. I start walking, knowing I can't see Ally yet. She'll know I'm angry, and I don't want her to regret opening up to me last night. It means so damn much to me that she trusted me like that. All the feelings coiling in my gut are similar to what I felt after losing my parents. The debilitating fear. The horror of barely allowing myself to breathe when Andie was driving home from work each day, and the relief I felt every time she walked through the door unharmed. That fear eased over the years, but I still find myself checking in frequently on her and the girls. And then Mitch, too, as he became part of our family. As I walk toward the bay, I think of my childhood therapist and wonder how long it's been since I had a session. Probably a year. After my parents were killed, I saw my therapist twice a week, and it was one of the best things Andie ever did for me. Then it went to once a week, then once a month...then yearly check-ins. I didn't think I needed it anymore after graduating from college, but clearly, I was wrong. Pulling out my phone, I shoot a text to Dr. Lamb, asking if we can schedule a virtual session. Glancing at the time, I realize it's eight in the morning now. I'm sure my sister has just arrived home from dropping the girls off at school, so I call her. "Noah, hey!" she answers. "Hey," I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. "Everything okay?" "Yeah," I breathe out on a sigh. "Noah," she coaxes, knowing me all too well. "What's going on?" Her soft tone has me spilling my question in a rush. "I was wondering...do you ever worry?" Andie huffs out a laugh. "Of course. Everyone worries." "No, I mean...do you ever get anxious about something happening to Mitch or the girls? You know, because of the way Mom and Dad died." There's a pause. "Yeah. I do." Her voice is softer now, the way Mom's used to get when I'd had a bad day. "Mitch knows to text me whenever he arrives somewhere or whenever he's on his way home. That helps." I clear my throat. "Do you ever...," I scratch the back of my neck, searching for the words. "I don't know, avoid getting close to people in case they die or get hurt or something?" "Oh, Noah," she says. "Do you feel that way? Did you meet someone?" I shake my head, feeling stupid. The question sounded so dumb when I asked it out loud, and I wish I could take my words back. "Nah, I was just curious," I lie. "We haven't talked about Mom and Dad in a while." "I'm sorry, I'll make a point to bring them into conversation more, okay? Not a day goes by that I don't think about them, that I don't miss them." "Yeah," I choke out. "Me too. Hey, I gotta go, I'll talk to you later, all right?" This conversation is making me more raw than I was ready for. "Sure," she says. "And Noah?" "Yeah?" "Don't let your worries or your fears stop you from living the life that was meant for you. If I lost Mitch, God forbid, I'd be devastated, but ultimately I'd be so glad I got to love him and be with him for however long we had." I try to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper. What Andie's saying is terrifying, but deep down I understand the logic to her words. And while that familiar feeling of fear still niggles at the back of my mind, I know that maybe the best way forward today is to try and fight through that feeling. Do something that will lighten the emotional load Ally and I are carrying, even temporarily. And that's when I get an idea. "Hey, Andie?" I ask. "Is Mitch there?" "He is," she says, a note of suspicion in her voice. "Can I speak to him?" Because no matter what our pasts are scarred by, or our futures may or may not hold, today I am going to focus on being in the present. Being with her. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!