Aria by Jennifer Hartmann

22Chapter Twenty-Two

Noah studied Chelsie’s reaction, waiting for her to speak. Or smile. Or breathe.

She didn’t seem to be doing any of those things. Did he misinterpret everything?

“I just figured we could relax and talk things out over wine and food,” Noah said. “I hope it’s not weird.”

Chelsie looked up at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Noah… I don’t know what to say.”

Fuck. That was not the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“It’s honestly nothing. Rosa made some spaghetti before she left, so I thought maybe you’d want to have a late dinner with me.”

“I do. Of course, I do,” she said. “I’m just… surprised. I was not expecting this.”

Noah tried to read her. Her knuckles had gone white from her death grip hold on the champagne flute. There were mascara smudges under her eyes, and her hair was still damp from the rain, spilling golden waves over her shoulders. She looked nervous; frazzled. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he wondered.

It was too soon. He had dropped the ball.

Chelsie nodded. “It’s great, Noah.”

Noah began to relax until he noticed her face crumble into a mask of tears.

Double fuck.

“Shit, Chelsie.” The bubbly liquid swished back and forth in her glass as her body shook with sobs. She buried her face into her opposite hand. Noah stood frozen to the floor, unprepared with how to handle the situation. Should he hold her? Run away? Jump off the roof? “Damnit, Combs, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just spaghetti.”

“It’s not the spaghetti. I love spaghetti,” she cried, sniffling into the palm of her hand. “It’s everything else.”

The roof was sounding appealing.

“What did I do?” His ego was bruised. His heart was hurting. This was not how he had pictured the night unfolding.

Chelsie shook her head and looked up at him with swollen eyes. "I almost killed you and you make me spaghetti.” She spoke as if there could be no other answer.

That's what this was all about? Guilt for a crime she didn’t commit?

"First off, Rosa made the spaghetti. You give me too much credit," Noah said, adding a hint of jest to his inflection. "Second, you need to stop. We've been over this, Chelsie."

She set her glass down beside her. "It doesn't make it not true."

Noah's shoulders sagged in defeat. He needed to get through to her – it was imperative.

Otherwise, there would be no hope for them.

"Chelsie... listen to me." Noah used his good arm to reach out and take her hand. She startled, then relaxed beneath his touch. "I'm okay. I survived. I'm here, right now, with you. You need to stop dwelling on what might have been and start celebrating the fact that we got through it."

"What about your arm?" she wondered. "What about your music?"

"Whatever happens, happens. I'm just happy to be alive."

Noah watched as her features softened. She squeezed his fingers, as if to make sure he was real. Chelsie ran her hand up his other arm, pausing when it reached the point between his neck and his shoulder. Thick bandages were hidden beneath the confines of his t-shirt, but they both knew their existence was very real. Chelsie's eyes were fixed on his wound. Her fingertips danced along the surface of his cotton shirt.

She took a step closer to him, and Noah tensed with anticipation at her nearness. "I keep replaying that night," she started, gnawing on her bottom lip. "The sounds. The smells. I feel like I can taste the gun powder in my mouth."

Noah tried not to put himself back in that alleyway. "It's over," he told her.

"I still see that look in Ian's eyes. That lifeless, horrible look," Chelsie continued. "I can feel myself running across the pavement, rocks cutting into my heels. I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. Then I see... you."

Noah reached over and grasped her hand, moving it downwards and placing it over his heart. "I'm here." The steady beats were a solace to them both. "I didn't die in that alley, Combs. If you keep living in a reality where I did, I'm going to lose you."

He couldn't lose her. They finally had a real chance. He knew Chelsie wanted this as much as he did. Noah was also aware of her breakup with Devon. Miles had stopped by with coffee and donuts one morning and had filled him in on everything. The band was still practicing. They were trying out a guitar player named Lance, who Devon knew through one of his social circles. According to Miles, Lance came from the social circle that involved all-night benders and cocaine. Miles hadn't felt hopeful for the future of Freeze Frame, and Noah couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for the band's downward spiral. The media was under the impression he had taken a break to heal from his gunshot wounds – they were unaware Noah had made his departure before the attack had even occurred.

Miles had said Devon showed no remorse over his breakup with Chelsie. He’d barely said a word about it. While part of Noah was grateful for Devon's nonchalant reaction to losing Chelsie, he couldn't help but feel enraged by it as well. How could anyone be so apathetic about losing a woman like Chelsie Combs? The thought alone burned him. Chelsie was the kind of woman you fought hard for. There was no white flag or cordial surrender – there was bloodshed. There was impenetrable armor and shiny swords. There was the thought you may not make it out alive, but nothing would ever be more worth it.

Noah made a valiant effort to not think about the attack, but when he would wake up at night in a cold sweat, he always saw her. He saw the look in her eyes when she’d realized he'd been shot. She looked like she'd lost everything.

That’s how he knew she felt it, too.

Chelsie was biting her lip, her face a canvas of emotions. "I wish I could be what you need," she whispered. Her words cut him down like a gallant soldier.

Noah wanted to shake her.

Instead, he kissed her.

Chelsie fell limp against him as he wrapped his arm around her waist, crushing her to him. He ignored the pain in his side and walked her towards the wall, leaning them both against it to steady his balance. She seemed startled at first, but then she raised her hands to his face and deepened the kiss with a frenzied passion. She tasted like spearmint gum and sunbeams. Chelsie was pulling him as close as possible, one of her hands reaching around and clutching the nape of his neck. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, eager and impatient. Noah pulled back for air and pressed his forehead against hers. "You're exactly what I need.”

She raised her head to close the gap between them, her lips seeking sanction with his. Before he could deepen the kiss, she withdrew from him and shook her head, breathless and distraught. “I can’t, Noah. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Noah stood up straight and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated and confused. “Why can’t you just admit this is what you want? What are you so afraid of?”

Chelsie was heading towards the front door and reaching for her coat.

“Abandonment? I would never abandon you,” Noah assured her.

She paused, jacket in hand. Chelsie gazed at him with a poignant clarity in her eyes. “I’m not afraid for me,” she confessed. “I’m afraid for you. I care about you too much to let you get hurt. I’m poison, Noah.”

Noah was flustered; angry, even. “I’m a grown ass man, Combs. I’m willing to take that risk.” Except, she wasn’t a risk at all. Noah had never been more certain of anything in his life. “Is it Devon? Do you still have feelings for him?”

Chelsie was pulling her arms through her coat sleeves, flipping her hair out over her shoulders. “No. It’s over with Devon.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

She hesitated again, this time lowering her gaze. “Yes.”

Noah walked towards her with caution, as if any sudden movement might scare her away. “Then stop punishing yourself.”

Chelsie looked reflective for a moment, her eyes dancing with possibilities. For a split second, there was hope – there was a future. There was spaghetti to be eaten.

“Give us a chance,” Noah pleaded.

The hope dissipated. Chelsie zipped up her coat and spared him an apologetic glance. “I’m so sorry, Noah. It’s for your own good.”

Everything in Noah was telling him to stop her. Don’t walk out that door, he silently begged. The sound of the door rattling shut echoed through the house, a metaphorical closed door on everything Noah thought might be.

“Fuck!” he shouted, storming through the living room towards the kitchen, kicking his wheelchair as he passed. Noah grabbed the dinner plates from off the kitchen table and tossed them both into the garbage can, dishware and all. He poured the rest of the champagne into the sink and threw it into the trash, wincing as the glass bottle clashed against the plates. He could still feel her presence. He could still taste her fruity lip balm.

Noah took a calming breath and walked back into the living room. He felt hopeless and defeated. He was about to make his way up the stairs when the front door burst open. Chelsie stepped inside soaking wet, her hair matted against her cheeks and forehead. Noah made a move towards her, but she was faster. She pulled her coat off as she advanced on him, her eyes reckless and wild.

“Chelsie, what are you –” Noah’s question was cut short by her mouth. She was a fury of passion. There was desperation in every move. He parted his lips to let her in, groaning as their tongues collided. Chelsie’s hands were everywhere – pulling at his hair, cupping his face, and sneaking their way up his fitted t-shirt. Noah felt his body heating up as her fingertips grazed his taut skin.

She pushed him backwards, their feet awkwardly stepping on each other as they moved together. When the back of Noah’s legs found the edge of the couch, Chelsie gave him a gentle shove and he collapsed onto the cushions. She climbed into his lap, straddling him and reaching for his t-shirt.

Noah grabbed one of her hands and they locked eyes. He was transported back in time to that night in Manhattan – a night in which he had fully intended on sabotaging Chelsie and Devon’s budding relationship. His goal was to cast her out of their lives forever. Instead, she had wormed her way into his heart after baring her soul to him in a hotel room. Noah would never forget the tortured look in her eyes as she confessed her darkest secrets. He would never forget the way her body felt when she’d crawled into his lap and forced him to look at her – to truly see her. And he had. He had seen all her broken bits and unparalleled beauty. In that moment, she had made her mark.

Here they were, in the same position. Chelsie had the same passionate look in her emerald eyes and Noah could almost envision waves crashing together at sea. There was no metaphor more perfect than that – Chelsie’s eyes were the ocean. Tranquil, yet turbulent. Vast and full of life. Mysterious.

Dangerous in the most beautiful way.

Chelsie leaned into him until their noses were touching. Her fingers disappeared underneath his shirt and she closed her eyes, her hot breath tickling his face. Noah ran his hand up the length of her arm and pulled her cardigan down over her shoulders. Raindrops dripped down her collarbone and onto her chest, then disappeared between her breasts. Her icy, wet hair was a stark contrast to the heat between them.

“Noah…”

His name was barely a whisper. Noah wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him until their groins were touching. She let out the tiniest moan and Noah sucked in a sharp breath.

“Noah,” she repeated. “Did you mean it?”

Noah knew exactly what she was referring to. He leaned in and moved her hair over her shoulder, kissing along her neck. She squirmed in his lap as he peppered kisses up to her ear, and then he whispered, “Yes.”

Chelsie froze, her body falling still. When she pulled back, her eyes were wide and dazed. Noah cupped her face in his hand, his thumb grazing over her cheek. She relaxed beneath his touch and moved forward, touching her lips to his. Chelsie breathed her reply against his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It was Noah’s turn to go still. His only logical response was to kiss her senseless, their bodies becoming a mess of entangled limbs and tongues. He pulled her arms out of her cardigan and yanked her tank top up over her head. Her hair sent a shower of raindrops over him, as her long locks fell back down. Chelsie leaned over and pulled at his belt buckle, her hands trembling as she tried to unlatch it. Noah attempted to unbutton her jeans with his good hand, but she pushed him aside and did it herself, sliding the denim down her legs and wriggling free.

Chelsie pushed up his shirt and pressed a delicate hand against his bandaged wounds. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. Noah wondered if her words had a double meaning.

She was sitting in his lap almost fully exposed. He’d be lying if he said he’d never imagined this moment before. Only, in his own fantasies he didn’t have multiple gunshot wounds and a defective arm. “You won’t,” he replied.

Chelsie leaned forward again, their mouths colliding, then reached down to situate him inside her. Noah’s head fell back against the couch when he entered her. Chelsie pressed her forehead against his and cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. Goddamn.

She was motionless. A heady potency wrapped itself around them as they clung to each other, each of them lost to the power of the moment – each of them utterly bewitched. It was a culmination of nearly a year’s worth of almosts, maybes, and if onlys. It was the pinnacle of the ultimate slow burn. It was a divine inevitability.

Chelsie finally began to move, her forehead still glued to Noah’s, as if she needed to feel every inch of him. He groaned, reveling in the way her body melted against his. Reveling in the sheer magic of it all. It was as if he was made for her. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he gently pulled her head back. “Look at me.” Her eyes. Noah needed to see her eyes.

Chelsie blinked her eyes open and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. The chemicals danced between them, flickering, sparking, exploding. Her cheeks were flushed, and her skin was warm and intoxicating. “Noah…”

Ohh. The sound of his name passing through her lips as she rocked against him, and as he was fully sheathed inside her – Jesus Christ. Noah kissed her hard. Recklessly. Fevered moans escaped her, and the sounds vibrated right through him. She picked up her pace, wrapping her fingers around the nape of his neck and squeezing tightly. Noah pulled back to speak. Not to breathe, or to regroup, or to collect his thoughts. He pulled back to speak the words that had been swelling, sweltering, inside him for months. “I fucking love you, Combs.”

Chelsie tensed in his arms and buried her face against his neck, letting out a primal gasp. He felt her shudder and peak. He felt her rise and fall like a tempestuous tide. He felt her break, and burn, and above all, surrender. Noah followed behind her and they rode out the waves together as Chelsie clutched to him. Her face remained concealed in the crook of his neck, her breathing low and heavy. Warm and comforting. Noah ran his hand up and down the curve of her back, which was slick from sweat and her wet hair. They stayed in that position for a while longer until their breaths became steady, and their heartbeats slowed from their frantic pace.

Chelsie poked her head up. “Wow.”

Wow, indeed. He smiled in reply. Noah glanced over her shoulder, realizing Sam could have interrupted them at any moment. He reached across the couch and grabbed the fleece blanket, draping it around Chelsie the best he could with one arm. A coy smile touched her lips. She took the blanket and wrapped herself up like a cocoon, while lifting herself off his lap. Noah instantly missed her warmth and envied the blanket that had replaced him.

Chelsie cleared her throat, sliding up next to him as he fumbled with his zipper. “So… that happened,” she said.

Noah looked at her and was relieved to see a twinkle in her eyes. Her hair was wild, and her face was pink and fully aglow. She didn’t seem to harbor any immediate regret. “I guess it did,” he replied, the curve of his own mouth twisting upward.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only noise around them being the soothing sounds of rainfall against the roof. Noah soaked up her presence, relishing in the feel of her warm body pressed against his side. This felt good. This felt right.

“Want to go upstairs?”

Chelsie’s voice penetrated his thoughts, and Noah glanced at her. She was looking up at him expectantly. “Bedroom?” he winked.

She ducked her head. “It might be more comfortable,” she acknowledged.

Noah grinned, then garnered the strength to pull himself up from the couch. Chelsie was at his side, one hand clasping her blanket together, and the other holding him steady. His journey up the staircase seemed painstakingly long compared to the usual trek. All he could think about was being inside her again.

When they reached the bedroom, Chelsie turned to face him and let go of the blanket. The moonlight brightened her milky skin, and Noah couldn’t help but stare in wonder.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

Chelsie replied by leaning up on her toes and planting a temperate kiss on his mouth. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor beside her feet. “You make me feel beautiful,” she whispered against his lips.

Noah lifted her up with one arm and walked her towards the bed, dropping her down with playful ease. He climbed over her. “You just make me feel.”

Her hair splayed out around her on the bedsheets, her eyes dancing with anticipation. “Make love to me, Noah Hayes.”

And he did. He couldn’t get enough of her. There was no reality in which he would ever get enough of her.

After they finally felt spent and satiated, Chelsie curled up beside him. Her head was resting on his shoulder and her fingers were drawing lazy designs across his chest. Noah held her close, concentrating on the way her skin felt against his, and burning it into his brain forever. He could get used to this.

“We’re, like… the perfect duet,” Noah told her, his hands combing through her knotted hair.

Chelsie’s fingers paused on his chest. “Duet?” she wondered.

Noah shrugged. “I’m a music guy, so that’s the first thing that came to mind. You know, when you hear this killer duet and you think, ‘shit, they go so well together’. That’s you and me.”

Chelsie seemed to consider this for a while. She was silent as she lay sprawled against him.

“Think we should get some shut-eye before the little man finds his way in here?” Noah asked. He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I wish we could make this night last forever, but you know… dad life.”

She nodded into his chest. “I know.” Chelsie rolled off him and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Noah?”

Noah turned to face her, a pang of worry washing over him. Something had changed – the tone of her voice, her demeanor. The mood had shifted ever so slightly. He braced himself for what she might say. “Yeah, Combs?”

Chelsie reached her hand out and rested it on his cheek, her eyes wide and expressive. “Sam is so lucky to have you,” she said.

Noah took her hand and kissed it. “He’s lucky to have you, too. We both are.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Goodnight, Noah.”

“Goodnight.” Noah watched as Chelsie rolled over to face away from him, burying herself beneath the blankets. As he drifted off to sleep, he could have sworn he heard the faint sound of cries. Noah was so consumed with exhaustion, he was unsure of anything at that point, so he blamed it on the howling wind outside his window and drifted off to sleep.

Noah stretched out his arms the next morning with a content smile and reached over to the other side of the bed. He was eager to feel her warmth. When he opened his eyes, his bed lay empty and he found himself alone. Noah frowned and sat up, looking around the room in a sleep-filled daze. He wondered if she was in the bathroom until he spotted a note resting atop one of the pillows. His stomach sank. It took a moment for Noah to work up the courage to read it, so he let it sit there for a few minutes longer. He savored his final moments in a reality where Chelsie was still his.

Finally, Noah plucked the piece of green construction from off the pillow and sucked in a tremulous breath. His eyes scanned over the note, front and back. He analyzed every word with careful scrutiny. He studied the curve of her letters. He could still smell the ink. Noah envisioned her voice in his mind, reading to him with thoughtful reflection. He imagined the tears in her eyes as she put the pen to paper.

She couldn’t want this. How could she want this?

Noah grabbed his cell phone off the bedside table and dialed her number.

Straight to voicemail. All ten times.

His heart was shattering. His mind was racing. His stomach was sick. He reread the note over and over for the next hour until Sam came running into the bedroom, completely unaware Noah’s world was falling apart. He tried to make sense of it. He tore apart every letter, every syllable, every fucking dotted “i”. It was senseless. It was illogical. It was ludicrous.

And yet, it was. This was how the cards had fallen. Chelsie had made her choice. There was no going back in time – there was only moving forward. Step by step. Day by day.

Noah would get through this. Sam needed him to be strong. Sam needed him.

If only she knew how much he had needed her.