Take Me Tomorrow

Chapter 14: Who Are You

He was an extremist. Wasn't he? He could've participated in the Phelps' Massacre too. I didn't know where he went that night. Not at all. And now he knew Noah. And Noah almost caused another one.

"We could've died," I said.

Broden winced. "But we didn't. And it didn't turn into... that," he said. "Miles made sure it didn't. The State won't kill minors, and Noah needs to be hidden."

"Isn't that what his fake identity is for?" I argued, loud. Loud on purpose. I was tired of hiding. And Broden was tired too, just of something I couldn't understand yet.

He sighed. "That identity won't protect him forever."

My anger fell to a simmering rage. "I thought he wasn't staying."

The only hope I had managed to cling to was the fact that Noah had mentioned leaving again--and soon. My life could go back to normal then. My life could be mine again. But Broden didn't respond. The thought of Noah staying churned my stomach--and made my heart race.

I dropped my face to hide my burning cheeks. "I hate him," I managed, knowing that Broden could hear the lie in my cracking voice. I didn't hate Noah. Not a single bit. Even though hate was all I wanted, I couldn't feel it.

The roof squeaked when Broden shifted. "You don't know him."

"I know that he shouldn't know my father."

"That's for your dad to explain," he pointed out.

"Which I'm guessing he won't."

"You never know."

We fell into silence, and the voices from downstairs floated up, indecipherable. Still, I could pick out Lyn's groggy voice out of the bunch. The young nurse from the Albany Region had suddenly become another stranger.

"Does Lyn know Noah, too?" I asked.

Broden shrugged as if it were a possibility, and frustrated tears built up in my eyes. "Does everyone know Noah except me?"

"Sophia—" Broden laid a hand on my arm.

I swatted his hand away. "Who is he, Broden?"

He cringed. "I can't explain that to you."

"Then, who will?"

"I will."

Broden and I jumped at the interruption, and I clutched onto the windowsill, careful not to fall off of the ledge. I peered into my bedroom window to see Noah standing there. He wore fresh clothes borrowed from my father, though the large clothes hung off of him. His brown hair dye had been washed out, revealing golden blond hair and his injury. The cut on his forehead was in the beginning stages of being bandaged. My father had woken Lyn to give him stitches.

Noah hesitantly stepped toward the windowsill before he poked his head outside. Since he was closer, I could see a knife hanging from the belt around his waist, a six-inch throwing blade that had my father's signature—a spiraling sun—embroidered on the grip.

My father trusted him. Whether or not I trusted him was another debate.

Noah opened his mouth to speak, but a cop car flew by, sirens wailing. Even though the road was far away, Noah ducked back to conceal himself in the shadows. He exhaled as his eyes met mine, releasing the nerves, but the wild remained behind his gaze. Wild and afraid. I hadn't been able to see that in him before now.

My rage broke into contemplative silence, and for a few, fleeting seconds, I looked at Noah and he looked at me, and nothing else seemed to exist except us. And danger.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I said I would tell you when I had the right kind of permission." He paused to look at Broden before returning his gaze to me. "I got it."

Broden smirked. "You never did care for my permission."

Noah hadn't been waiting for Broden or Miles or even a stranger to talk to me. The man he deeply respected was my father.

"Tell me now," I said.

"Only if you're sure." Noah lowered his voice to a whisper. "You won't be able to look at anyone the same way again, Sophie. Even your father."

"I already don't."

"Okay." His softened gaze hardened, all traces of his fear now replaced with steady preparation. "But you two need to come inside first. We'll talk downstairs."

...

If you'd like to support me or my work, please check out my other novels, available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and wherever books are sold.

www.ShannonAThompson.com