Birthday Flowers | The Kissing Booth

3. A Disaster Averted...

Dad was always an invincible figure in my head, and after Mom died he went to great lengths to make sure Brad and I felt secure. He fought with insurance companies to make sure we got Mom's life insurance and weren't wiped out by hospital bills, and he never let on how close we came to losing the house. He was at all my soccer matches, led Brad's Scout pack, and then stayed up late working to keep on top of our bills. He made a big deal about quitting smoking and getting fit and never skipping his physicals, to reassure us he was doing everything to protect his health. But none of that helps when a texting driver t-bones your car.

Noah was with me when Brad called. Accident - totaled - helivac - ICU - none of Brad's words made sense. It was Noah who took my phone and coaxed what details he could from a panicked Brad, Noah who booked me the next flight to LA and packed my bag, Noah who called Lee to fill him in and sent the Flynns to sit with Brad at the hospital, Noah who shepherded me to the airport. I just followed in a daze. Brad had been sending updates; I wasn't even sure what they all meant, but it sounded like Dad was headed into surgery. Noah walked me to the gate when my flight was called, then kept on walking into the jetbridge. I pulled his arm back, confused.

"Noah—they won't let you walk me onto the plane. I'll be fine."

"Pretty sure they'll let me onto the plane."

"Noah, I'm not helpless. I can manage. You've already done so much." I took my bag from him and started down the jetbridge. He kept following. "Seriously, deactivate white knight mode. I'll manage. I'll call you when I land." We were nearly at the plane by now.

"Sure. But I've got a flight to LA to catch and you're in my way." Noah flashed a boarding pass at me.

"You cannot! You— have classes! And practice! And, and, you don't even have a bag!" Noah ignored me and plucked my boarding pass from me, handing it to the flight attendant along with his. She led us to first class. "Noah! I can't afford this!"

"I can. And these were the last two seats. Sit."

I had no choice. I could recognize a Noah on a mission. "But—your classes. And your stuff." I was still stuck on that.

"Shell, who packed your bag? Have you even looked inside? I threw in clothes from the stuff I keep at your place. Next week is just shopping period—I already emailed the registrar to let them know I had a family emergency. I'll be fine. And I emailed my coach. Relax, please."

"Oh god, the registrar. I should do that."

"It's done. And your boss too."

"WHAT?"

"Shelly, just— please. Just let me help."

I was so tired, and there was no point fighting Noah for being, well, Noah. And I couldn't say this instance of him meddling was unwelcome. I gave up and let Noah tuck me against his chest and cover me with his jacket, and I fell asleep as he drew light circles on my back.

That's how the next few days went. Brad and I huddled together by Dad's hospital bed and Noah took care of all the things I didn't even realize needed doing, making calls and organizing, feeding us, reminding us to bathe and change and get some sunlight. Dad's injuries were significant but survivable, the doctors said. Whether he'd walk again was uncertain, but at least his brain had never been deprived of oxygen. By the fourth day Dad was mostly coherent, if rather loopy on pain meds, and his medical team starting talking about the longer term plan.

"As I was telling your son in law," the attending said, "if your blood pressure stays steady and your surgical sites keep healing cleanly, in a few days you can move out of the intensive care unit, and then in a week or two to a physical rehabilitation ward."

Dad's eyebrows shot up at "son in law," and as soon as the doctors left the room Dad leveled a death stare at me and Noah.

"Son in law? Anything I need to know?" he demanded.

"Don't give me that look! This is news to me, too!" I defended myself.

Dad and I turned our glares to Noah, who sheepishly rubbed at his neck.

"That first day, the doctors told me they could only give updates to the patient's family, and you and Brad weren't in any state to listen, so... I may have, ah, overstated my position in this family." Noah admitted. "And— maybe also to the nurses, so they'd let me stay after visiting hours. And I may have made a few calls to insurance companies on behalf of my beloved father in law."

"Well, thank you for everything you've been doing here. But the next time you marry her, I want to know ahead of time." Dad was still glaring, though it was hard to gauge his seriousness through the pain meds.

I blushed crimson, but Noah just laughed.

Dad made me go home that night to sleep in a real bed, although "home" turned out to be the Flynn house, where Brad was already staying. I'd been running on adrenaline and naps for four days, and Noah looked equally exhausted. We didn't bother with dinner, just crawled into Noah's bed after showers and fell asleep. June didn't even pretend to expect we'd sleep apart.

I woke with a start at 4 a.m., the result of nightmares and a circadian rhythm thrown off by patchy hospital sleep and the time zone shift. I slowly took inventory of my surroundings to calm my racing heart. Noah's arm was slung across me, cradling me against him as he curled his longer body protectively around mine. I stretched my legs and found I was not perched on the edge of a narrow dorm bed as usual; instead, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I recognized the room. I was in California. With Noah. At his house. The events of the last few days slid back into place and I felt tears fill my eyes. It wasn't a desperate cry as in the panic of the first days, but an expression of relief and dread for the long road ahead. Noah's arm tightened against me as he woke.

"Go back to sleep, Shell," he whispered into my hair. "He's going to be okay."

"Promise?" It was an unfair request.

"You know I can't. But I promise I'll be here."

I could feel the steady thump of Noah's heartbeat against my back. I let myself focus on that, on the soft sounds of his breathing, on the faint citrus and cedar smell of his soap. I thought back to the first morning I woke in this bed, and to how far we'd come since then. Noah's fingers were tracing lazy, soothing circles over my stomach, and a need for a different kind of comfort swept over me. I twisted to face him, my lips seeking out that spot where his neck curved into his shoulder. I kissed my way up to his cheek, my fingers sliding into his hair. The quickening of Noah's breath betrayed his reaction and his hands tensed at my sides, holding me lightly.

"Shell, are you sure?"

Of this, yes, I was sure. My lips accelerated their path, meeting his as I pulled him closer, my fingers twisting in his hair with growing insistence. My answer clear, Noah rolled us over and I let the familiar press of his hips anchor me to this instant, this needed respite, this distraction from a world turned upside down. If I had known it would be our last time, would I have burned brighter, faster, fiercer to sear the moment into memory? But we had no idea.