Fractured Trust by L. M. Dalgleish
Chapter 13
Noah took a step toward her, his expression dark, sending nerves and something else trembling through her.
“I never touched any fucking women when we were together, so tell me, where the hell did this all come from?”
Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened. “I saw the proof with my own eyes.”
He growled. “You couldn’t have seen anything, Summer. How many times do I have to tell you? There was never anything to see.”
Summer stared at him, the hot sting of tears burning her eyes. She shook her head in frustration. “This is pointless, you’re never going to admit to anything. And what does it even matter now? It’s in the past, we’ve both moved on.”
His eyes seared into hers, his voice hoarse when he answered. “Because maybe I haven’t moved on. Maybe I still wonder what the hell happened and what I could have done differently. Maybe I’d just like to finally lay the fucking ghost of this relationship to rest. And maybe I deserve an explanation after I came back for you during the tour only to see you kissing my fucking friend, not even two weeks after you’d broken it off with me!”
Summer’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. “You… you came back? You… saw that?”
“Yes, I fucking came back. And yes, I got there at the perfect moment to see the girl I loved in the arms of my friend. At least I thought he was my friend. Turns out I didn’t really know him at all. Or you, for that matter.”
Anger flared, bright and hard. “Yeah, well maybe your friend didn’t agree with your actions. He was the one that showed me the photos, Noah. God help me, I didn’t want to look at them, but he thought I should know.”
The memory of Deacon’s voice bounced around her head. “Summer, I think you should see this.”
She shook it away and glared at him.
“Know what! What was I doing in the damn photos that was so bad?”
“You were kissing her!” Summer yelled, the same pain that had filled her back then, storming through her veins again. How could it still be so close to the surface after all these years? Surely, she should have moved past it by now. It had been a kiss, that was all, but that photo—that kiss—had ripped her heart in two.
Noah’s face blanked. “I don’t…” He shook his head in confusion.
Summer let out a pained laugh, crossing her arms tightly over her stomach as she pictured the photo in her mind, still so clear after all this time. “You were in a booth at a club. She was almost straddling you and you had your… your tongue down her throat.” A harsh breath shuddered out of her. She could still recall the way her heart had stopped when she’d seen it. The way it had felt like it might never start again. And that when it did finally swell and pound in her chest, it had hurt. The very beating of her heart had hurt her. “I knew it was you because I could see the leather wrist cuff I bought you before you left on your arm. The arm attached to the hand that was buried in her hair.”
Noah’s confused expression slowly cleared, and he stared at her, an unknown emotion flashing across his face. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and exhaled harshly. “Fuck.” Then again, louder this time. “Fuck!”
When he didn’t immediately deny it, Summer’s heart sunk. As if a small, irrational part of her had actually been hoping he’d tell her she was crazy, and that it had never happened. That he’d never touched another woman while she was still waiting at home for him like a lovesick fool.
She glared at him; every muscle strung tight. “So now you know. Feel better?” An unfamiliar bitterness coated her voice.
“Summer…” Her stomach twisted uneasily at the pain in his voice. “I never knew there was a photo. Our manager back then warned us not to look at what was being written about us in the tabloids.” He stared at her, his eyes dark with turbulence. “I didn’t… fuck. I wasn’t kissing her, Summer. She was kissing me.”
Summer snorted. “I’m sure she was.”
“No, I mean, she literally jumped on me and kissed me and if the photograph had been taken a second later, it would have shown me pushing her off. In fact, if my hand was in her hair, it was because I was trying to detach her mouth from mine.” He gripped the back of his neck. “She was one of the promo girls at the club. Their PR manager wanted to get photos of them with the club’s name on their tops sitting with us. And for some reason, this girl decided that gave her the right to put her hands and mouth on me.”
Uncertainty quivered through Summer, and she bit her lip. “That’s not what it looked like.”
“I don’t care what it looked like, that’s what it was!” he roared, and Summer jumped. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen Noah so upset before.
“There were other photos,” she said, trying to cling to her conviction, the conviction that had seen her dialing his number that night, tears running down her face.
“And what did they show?”
Summer hesitated, her mouth increasingly dry as she cast her mind back, reassessing what she’d seen, the foundation of her belief starting to crack and wobble. “She was sitting pressed up next to you, you had your arm around her shoulders.”
“From before she kissed me. The photos the club wanted,” he said. His voice vibrated with anger and hurt.
Summer’s fingers trembled as she clutched them together in front of her. “If it was innocent, then why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Noah shoved both hands through his hair. “Fuck, Summer, I probably should have. But at the time, you were so damn stressed out whenever I spoke to you on the phone. I didn’t know how you’d react if I’d called you up to tell you some random woman had kissed me. If I’d known there was a photo, I would have. Of course, I would have. But I didn’t know. And I damn well would have hoped that you’d have at least talked to me before breaking it off.”
The quiver in Summer’s fingers had spread, and she was shaking all over now. “Deacon…” Her voice gave out for a second. “Deacon told me he’d seen more photos like that. From other nights. Other women. He said he didn’t want to show them to me, that it would only hurt me more.”
The memory of Deacon’s words echoed in her ears. “I’m so sorry Summer, but there’s more… it looks like it’s been happening for a while… don’t look, don’t put yourself through that…” She sucked in a shuddery breath.
Noah stilled, raising his head to stare at her. “Deacon said what?”
“He… he said that he hadn’t wanted to tell me what you were up to, but that he thought I had a right to know.”
“And you said he was the one that showed you the photo?” Noah’s voice was low, but it resonated with tension.
Summer nodded hesitantly.
Fury was rolling off Noah in icy waves. “That fucker,” he seethed. He began pacing furiously, back and forth between her small kitchen and the living area. “That fucking bastard.”
“Noah,” Summer reached her hand out to him, trying to stop his frantic movements, but he ignored it. Rather than his pacing helping to calm him down, Noah only seemed to get more agitated.
“Noah!” Summer tried again. “He was just trying to do the right thing.”
Noah stopped and stared at her, his eyes flame-blue and wild. “The right thing?” His voice was like gravel. He swung away from her and braced his hands on the kitchen counter, the line of his back strung tight with tension. Anger seemed to pulse through him, manifesting in the coiling and uncoiling of the muscles in his arms. In the almost rhythmic flexing of his fingers where they pressed against the countertop.
Summer could hear the rasp of his breath in the silence. She hugged herself, heart squeezing tight as she watched him try to wrestle his emotions under control. She had a sudden vision of him reaching for drumsticks that weren’t there. Knew that if he could, he’d be releasing everything he was feeling on his kit.
Or if things were different—how they used to be—he’d reach for her. She’d wrap her arms around him, hold him tight, press her lips to his until the storm passed. Then she’d lay her head against his chest, so she could hear the drumbeat of his heart, slow and steady under her ear.
But things weren’t different. And she could only stand there helplessly as his tension seemed to ratchet higher.
“Fuck!” he yelled suddenly, making Summer’s pulse jolt.
His hands fisted on the countertop, but his head dropped, hanging low between his shoulders. “Fucking Deacon.” It came out a broken whisper.
Summer couldn’t stand it anymore. She rushed forward, reaching for one of his hands, a single tear spilling over and trickling down her cheek as pain threatened to choke her. “I told you we shouldn’t talk about it, what’s the point except to reopen old wounds.”
She looked up at his face, more tears trembling on her lower lashes. A muscle pulsed in Noah’s jaw, his lips a thin line, eyes pools of torment as he stared at her, breathing heavily.
“There weren’t any other photos, Summer. The one you saw was the only time something like that ever happened. There couldn’t be any more photos.” His voice was like sandpaper.
Summer looked down at where she was holding Noah’s fist, her fingers smoothing over his knuckles as she tried to get him to relax it. “Deacon said—”
“Don’t you get it, Summer? He lied. The bastard fucking lied to you.”
Her head jerked up, and she stared at him. “He wouldn’t— Why would he do that? He was your friend.”
“Because he was a fucking jealous prick, and he’d always wanted you. He used to joke about stealing you off me all the time. I always laughed it off, but Zac warned me to watch out for him. Told me he was the worst kind of friend. I should have fucking listened.”
Summer’s heart was flinging itself against her ribs, and she struggled to breathe. “No,” she said. “No. I don’t believe it.”
Hurt and anger bloomed across Noah’s face, and he gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you’ve got a bad habit of believing in everyone else but me.”
But his bitter words barely registered as Summer dropped his hand and backed away, clutching her stomach, and shaking her head. “I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t.”
Noah stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Just fucking trust me for once. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m telling you the truth?”
Summer was trembling so much she was surprised her teeth weren’t rattling together. She looked up at his tortured blue eyes, and her own welled with more tears. “Because that means I spent the last eleven years married to a stranger. If I believe you, it means the last decade of my life has been a lie. It means”—a sob tore from her throat—“it means I h-hurt you for no reason.”
She pulled away from him, and when Noah took a step toward her again, she held her hand up to stop him. Her emotions were too raw right at that moment to handle his touch. If he so much as brushed his fingers across her skin, she thought she might fall apart.
They stared at each other, pain and anger and regret swirling in the air between them.
Noah shook his head. “I need to go, Summer. I need… I just need to think.” He took a step forward but then stopped, dragging his hand down his face. “But this isn’t over. We need to talk about this. We need to talk about Deacon.”
She nodded, feeling like her world was tilting on its axis. She thought maybe she should stop him. Should say something—do something—to try to ease the hurt that pulsed between them. But she needed space as well. It was all too much—too overwhelming. So, she just watched him as he strode to the door, hesitated with his hand on the handle, then opened it and stepped out, letting it swing shut behind him.
Summer closed her eyes, a shudder rippling through her. Her head was a mess. She couldn’t even begin to process her emotions right now. She walked shakily to the door and was reaching for the latch when a hard bang rattled the hinges. When she looked through the peephole, all she could see were wide shoulders, a muscular chest. She took a shaky breath, then turned the handle and swung the door open. “Noah, what are—” It was all she got out because he took one step forward, buried his hands in her hair, and slammed his mouth down on hers.
She didn’t know whether it was instinct or muscle memory that parted her lips. She didn’t know if it was shock or desire that made her whimper as he took control. And she didn’t know how she’d ever gone a day without the taste of him on her tongue.