The Other Guys

Chapter 14

“Oh,” Noah exclaims, surprised as realization finally dawns upon him, his mouth forming the familiar ‘O’ shape, but he says nothing more of it.

“Oh?” I mimic, feeling all my blood go straight to my head and I get a dizzy spell. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

Or not say, in his case.

I wanted him to burst out laughing upon hearing that ludicrous assumption until there are practically tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, calling me crazy and insane for believing any of it, but instead he’s frozen like a marble statue, like time’s stopped for him. And his face is so ghastly white that he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Eventually, he scratches the back of his head, glances down at his feet before he dares look at me, but he has ‘awkward’ written all over him. “It’s…,” he begins, tensing up before he takes a deep breath while trying to choose his next words carefully and minimize the collateral damage, “complicated,” he says at which I almost jump across the island and strangle him with my bare hands, consequences and prison sentence be damned.

“What’s so complicated about that?” I bellow, slamming my hands down on the island in a fit of anger. “You either are in love with me or not. It’s pretty simple if you ask me,” I tell him, my heart racing in my chest and my palms sweating.

“What do you want me to say?” he fires back, pressing his lips in a thin line and glowering at me, as if any of this is my fault. Like I’m the one who’s talking crazy. “Fine,” he shouts out before another word leaves my mouth, “I like you,” he declares, “as more than a friend.”

“God, Noah,” I basically snarl, then rub my temples because I so feel a massive headache coming, “that’s….”

I don’t even know how to describe what that is. What’s more, I can’t even wrap my head around this newfound information, too.

It’s bad, that I’m sure of, but this is as far as my observations go at the moment, considering that I need time to process what just went down in my kitchen, no less, where I’m surrounded by sharp knives and frying pans that I can throw at him.

“Completelyout of line, I know,” Noah finishes for me, nodding his head in understanding and running a hand through his messy blond hair nervously. He clenches his jaw before he glances away from me since it most likely just hit him what his impromptu confession just did to our years-long friendship that I’ve always assumed is strong enough to endure the most unforgiving of circumstances.

“I should go,” he says to me in a quieter, more resigned voice, not meeting my eyes as he leaves my kitchen, but rooted to my spot, I don’t follow him, realizing that the more distance between us, the easier I find it to think straight. 

*

As Noah leaves my house (and probably my life, too), Brayden comes strolling in.

At first, when the doorbell rings, I get antsy and my palms start to sweat, thinking that it might be Noah, coming back to finish what we started, but then, I belatedly realize that Noah never rings the doorbell.

I’m torn between feeling relieved that it’s Brayden, who’s at my door, and nervous precisely because of it.

Instead of his usual greeting – a swift kiss on the lips, he looks back and tilts his head to the side. “What’s up with Noah? I just saw him storming out of your house. Is there something wrong?” Brayden wonders and it’s not jealousy that I detect in his voice at having seen another guy come running out of his girlfriend’s house, like the devil’s chasing him, but unadulterated curiosity and concern for his friend’s wellbeing.