"London, I swear I didn't tell him you were here. I don't want any trouble."
"Neither do I," I say before exiting the truck.
When I step out of the truck, Noah's eyebrows rise in surprise before settling. "London Hale," he says with a long exhale, his tone laced with disdain.
"Noah," I say indifferently.
"I wasn't aware you were here," he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khaki chino shorts. The rising sun catches on his Rolex as he shifts his weight, and with little words, I can tell he's still the same arrogant, preppy prick he ever was—maybe more so. Only now, there's something harder about him, something that suggests his privilege has calcified into entitlement. I don't dignify his comment with a response. I'm not interested in entertaining any conversations with him. We were never friends. I knew he'd help me in a time of need because it helped him. Now I have exactly one concern, and entertaining his small talk isn't it.
"Does she know?" I ask pointedly.
His brows tug together, and his head tilts slightly to the right as he studies me. "Not unless you told her." There's an undercurrent of curiosity in his voice, not concern but rather interest in someone who's just realized they might not be the only one playing a long game. I give away nothing, giving him my back to open her door when he asks, "Are you planning on telling her?"
My hand remains frozen on the door handle as I wait to see if he'll say more. Because this is Noah Donovan, there is a chance my judgment is clouded. I'm jaded by our pasts. Perhaps he's changed. In my mind, he'll always be the man who wants my girl, but that doesn't make him a bad guy; it just makes him my enemy by default. But then he speaks again. "I don't know what this is…why you're here…but if you don't stay away, I'll tell her myself."
Liar. His guilt may not run as deep as mine, but there's areason he's kept his mouth shut about that night. There's crimson staining his Ivy League hands too, and no amount of family money or carefully curated alibis can change that. He's not some innocent bystander I dragged down with me, which is how I know his threats are empty.
I feel the corner of my lips tug into a smirk as I stare at the door handle. Noah Donovan is still threatened by me. That means a part of her still belongs to me. I'll let him believe he holds the reins—for now, anyway.
Chapter 19
LANEY
"Knock, knock," Asha's voice vaguely registers, and I try to wish it away as though I never heard it at all. I'm too warm and cozy in my bed until she says, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was interrupting."
My eyes flash open when I realize why I'm so warm. There's heat at my back and an arm draped over my waist. I move to sit up, and when I do, so does Noah. I don't remember him being in my room when I lay down to rest my foot, but he's definitely here now.
"It's fine. You're not interrupting. We fell asleep," he answers with a yawn. "I drove straight through the night. I closed my eyes, and I was out."
She rolls her lips to stifle what I know is an awkward smile. Asha doesn't have a reason not to like Noah. In fact, until I met Trigg, I would have said Noah was exactly her type—pristine Ivy League pedigree with cufflinks that cost more than my monthly tuition, the kind of man whose hands have never known a day's hard labor. But I see the heat in her eyes when she looks at Trigg. She wants a man who has weathered actual storms, rough around the edges, and not afraid to put her in her place. Noah is none of those things, and now he's in my bed.
"Did you need something? Is your father upset I've been here less than a month and already need a personal day?"
"No." She rolls her eyes as though my comment is absurd, which maybe it is, but I don't ever want him to think I'm taking advantage of my friendship with Asha to get out of my responsibilities. "But I am here to deliver a message. He's currently in the gym with his physical therapist and would like you to come downstairs so he can assess your injury. I know you think it's just a minor sprain, but having a professional take a look doesn't hurt."
"Actually, that sounds great. Does he want me to come down now?" I say, tossing the blanket off.
"You can take your time and freshen up," she quips, mocking my discomfort, knowing damn well I've been avoiding Noah, and the last place I want him right now is in my bed. "His session is over in twenty minutes, and the trainer will stick around to look at your ankle." She clasps her hands together and flashes a sheepish smile. "Do you want me to help walk you down?" She finally tosses me a bone.
"I can walk her down," Noah says, stretching his arms above his head.
Her eyes widen, and she says, "Oh, I almost forgot." She ducks back into the hallway and then rolls in a cart filled with flowers. The scent of lilies quickly fills the air.
"You didn't have to get me flowers. It's incredibly thoughtful but completely unnecessary. I'll be fine by the morning, I'm sure."
"Oh, I didn't get you flowers," she says with a shit-eating grin.
"Then who did?"
"Dallas's brother," she sing-songs as she parks the cart in front of my bed.
"Dallas?" Noah repeats the name in question.
"Trigger Hale," she clarifies.
"Trigger Hale?" Noah repeats his name in question. Hale obviously ringing a bell, the other two names not so much.
"Yeah, his brother, Dallas, dropped Laney off this morning. You met him in the driveway."
