25. Aria

25

ARIA

The Past…

Some days are perfect, amazing. Hell, they are the days I want to experience for the rest of my life, like today.

The sun burns high in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the boardwalk by the beach. Birds chirp merrily, children laugh as they play, and the scent of salt from the ocean hangs heavily in the air. It's one of those perfect summer days that feels like it will never end. Noah's hand is in mine as we stroll along the winding paths, the world around us a blur of color and light.

"Look at that," Noah says, pointing to a group of seagulls stealing snacks off a picnic blanket. His smile is boyish and infectious, and I can't help but grin back at him. For a moment, I forget all about the eggshells I usually walk on around him.

How dare he always look so handsome?

"They are adorable," I reply, squeezing his hand. Moments like this make it hard to believe that anything could ever go wrong between us.

Or feel wrong, for that matter.

We find a spot on the sand just off the path to the ocean. From here, I can hear the ocean waves crashing against the shore. It's my happy place, and I'd give almost anything to grab one of those surfboards and ride the waves.

Hell, I might just do it anyway. I put on my bathing suit first thing this morning and wore it under my dress.

Noah spreads out a blanket, and we settle down with the picnic basket he packed. He thought of everything — sandwiches, fruit, cheese, and even a bottle of chilled white wine, even though alcohol is usually a hard no as an omega. I'm lighter than the lightest lightweight.

"To us," he says, raising his glass in a toast. His blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and I easily fall into them.

"To us," I echo, clinking my glass against his. The sparkling wine fizzes softly, the bubbles tickling my nose as I take a sip.

Noah leans back, propping himself up on one elbow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Did I ever tell you about the time I built a tree house with my brother?"

I shake my head, intrigued. "No, you haven't. Tell me more."

He chuckles, his eyes glinting with the light of the setting sun. "Well, we were about ten years old, and we thought we were little architects. We found this perfect tree in the backyard, huge and sturdy, with branches that seemed to reach the sky. We decided it was the perfect spot for our tree house."

I smile, picturing a young Noah, full of excitement and determination. "Sounds ambitious for ten-year-olds."

"Oh, it was," he says, nodding. "We scavenged wood from our dad's workshop and borrowed some nails and a hammer. It took us a whole week of summer vacation to get the basic structure up. We were so proud of it."

"What happened next?" I ask, leaning in, captivated by the story.

Noah's grin widens. "Well, one day, we decided it needed a flag, so we took an old sheet and painted a huge skull and crossbones on it. We were going to be pirates, rulers of our backyard seas."

I laugh, the image of two young boys playing pirates vivid in my mind. "That's adorable."

"Adorable until the squirrels decided they didn't appreciate our new domain," he continues, shaking his head. "One morning, we climbed up to find our tree house taken over by what seemed like an army of squirrels. They chewed through some of the wood and were making a mess of things."

"No way!" I gasp, my eyes wide. "What did you do?"

"We tried to shoo them away, but they just chattered at us angrily," Noah says, his expression comically serious. "We ended up having to call our dad for backup. He came out with a broom, chased them off, and then gave us a long lecture about structural integrity and respecting nature."

I giggle, imagining the scene. "Did you rebuild the tree house?"

"We did," he says, smiling softly. "Dad helped us reinforce it and even put up a proper flagpole. It became our secret hideout for the rest of the summer."

The golden afternoon sun casts long shadows on the sand as the beach gradually empties. The sounds of children's laughter and the distant call of seagulls fade, replaced by the soothing rhythm of waves gently lapping at the shore. We lie side by side on the blanket, the coarse grains of sand shifting beneath us. My fingers intertwine with Noah's as we gaze up at the sky. Cotton candy clouds drift lazily above, their ever changing shapes sparking whispered debates over whether one looks more like a dragon or a sailboat. The salty breeze tugs at stray strands of my hair, and I breathe in deeply, savoring the mingling scents of ocean air and sun-warmed skin.

"This is perfect," I murmur, turning my head to look at him. His eyes are closed, and he wears a contented smile on his lips.

"It is," he agrees, opening his eyes to meet mine, but there is something there, a flicker of…something. I can't quite place it.

"Noah," I say softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, the smile returning to his face, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing, Aria. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About us. About the future."

My stomach twists, a familiar knot of dread forming. I force a smile, pushing the feeling down like I've done so many times before. "What about the future?"

"Just…things we need to work on." His tone is casual, but there's an edge to it that makes me uneasy.

"Like what?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

"Well, for starters, you could be a bit more considerate," he says, his words laced with a hint of annoyance.

I blink, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You know, like not making plans without checking with me first. It's like you don't even think about how it might affect me."

"I didn't realize it bothered you," I say, feeling a knot form in my stomach. "I'm sorry."

What plans did I make?

"That's the problem, Aria. You never realize anything until it's too late." His words are sharp, cutting through the warmth of the afternoon.

I feel hurt, a familiar ache settling in my chest. I try to brush it off, but a voice in the back of my mind whispers that this isn't the first time and it won't be the last.. "I'll do better," I promise, hoping to diffuse the tension. "Could you tell me what plans are an issue?" How am I supposed to be more considerate if he won't tell me exactly what bothers him?

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "It's not just that. Sometimes, it feels like you don't even care about what I want, like when you insisted on going out with your friends last weekend instead of staying home with me."

That's what he's hung up on?

My heart sinks. "Noah, I invited you to come with us. You said you didn't want to."

"That's not the point," he snaps, sitting up and glaring at me. "The point is, you should have stayed with me. I needed you, and you chose them."

"I didn't know you felt that way," I say, my voice trembling. "You should have told me."

"I shouldn't have to tell you," he replies, his tone harsh. "You should just know."

I keep quiet, because anything I say will just make his mood worse. "I'm sorry, Noah." I paste on a fake smile and lean over him to press a kiss to his lips.

He barely kisses me back, so I pull away, only to find him lying back down, his eyes closed.

I guess the conversation is over. Great. Another thrilling episode of Noah Knows Best.

Annoyed, I lie down, watching the clouds lazily stretch across the sky.

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting an orange hue across the sky. We finish the last of the wine, and Noah stretches out on the blanket, sighing contentedly. I feel a warm glow from the perfect day we had, or maybe that's just the wine buzzing through my system, because his words aren't perfect.

He's here, though, and he packed this amazing picnic. Isn't it always said that guys are supposed to show their love through actions?

A storm cloud passes over Noah's features, his earlier warmth evaporating in an instant. "Why do you always have to dress like that?" he asks, his tone accusatory.

I blink, taken aback. "Like what?"

"Like you're trying to get attention," he says, his eyes narrowing. "It's embarrassing."

I look down at my dress, a simple sundress that I thought was perfect for the occasion. "I thought you liked this dress," I say, my voice small.

"I did," he replies, his words dripping with disdain, "until I realized you wear it just to show off."

"I'm not showing off," I protest, feeling a wave of confusion and hurt. "I wore it because I thought you liked it."

"Well, you thought wrong," he snaps, pushing his plate away. His eyes dart around, as if searching for someone watching us. "You never think about how your actions make me feel. You know how people think about us, about me. I can't have you drawing attention like this."

The words hang in the air, each one feeling like a physical blow. The joy and warmth of the afternoon have vanished, replaced by a cold, heavy silence.

"Let's go." He abruptly stands, sand flying everywhere. "This day is ruined."

Feeling a pit in my stomach, I slowly help pack everything in silence, hyperaware of his actions as he angrily shakes out the blanket upwind so it flutters all over me.

That's fine. I'm a beach bum by nature, and a little sand doesn't bother me.

Gritting my teeth, I hold the basket and step on the path as Noah sneers at everyone who passes us. The silence is heavy, thick, and suffocating as we walk to the car parked on the street. The crunch of sand under our feet seems deafening, each step a countdown to an explosion I can feel building.

In the car, I stare out the window, tears stinging my eyes. How have things gone so wrong so quickly? The Noah who was so loving and attentive just hours ago is now a stranger, his words echoing in my mind like a dark chant.

"You don't care about me."

"You're selfish."

"You'll never be good enough."

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the sobs. Tears blur the passing scenery, and I feel completely lost, adrift in a sea of doubt and pain.

As we pull up to my apartment, I hesitate, not wanting to get out of the car. "Noah," I begin, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to."

He turns to look at me, his expression softening slightly. "I know, Aria. I just…I need you to understand how much you mean to me. How much I need you."

"I do," I say, reaching for his hand. "I love you."

He squeezes my hand, his grip almost too tight. "I love you too. More than anything."

I blink away my tears as he pulls into my apartment building. The cheerful beach day fades away, replaced by the looming shadows of our building, a concrete reminder of the reality I'm returning to. Nerves bubble in my stomach as he throws the car in park and gets out, not even looking back at me as he unloads the trunk.

Inside, something screams at me that something isn't right and that I need to run as fast and as far as I can, but I can't. I don't. I don't understand the feelings bubbling up inside me.

As I climb out of the car, my phone rings, and my aunt's smiling face peers up at me.

"Hey, what's up?" Genuine happiness fills me as I answer the call.

"Girl," she begins, making me laugh. My aunt is my mom but not my mom. She raised me when my parents died in an awful car crash when I was just a kid. She's my home and only thirteen years older than me. She was twenty when my parents died, but she didn't give a fuck. I was hers, and I'm thankful for her existence every damn day. She never wanted kids anyway, and somehow, this was the perfect situation for both of us. She's a badass beta with a heart of gold.

"Spill the tea," I sing as I tug my keys from my purse.

"So," she begins, "remember that guy I was seeing?"

"Which one? Baldy, or the guy with too much hair? Really, there's no in-between for you." I laugh as I push open our door and wait for Noah to come up with our things.

"Sasquatch," she says. "Well, I think I like him, and I want you to meet him. What do you say to dinner Sunday night?"

"I'm in." The words fall from my mouth immediately. If my auntie is in love, then I must meet the guy who swept her off her feet.

"Fuck yeah. I'm thinking I'm going to test his cooking skills. What do you want to eat?" she asks.

"Better play it safe."

"You're right—burgers and sides."

"I'll bring dessert." I giggle just as Noah comes up over the steps.

"Know what I've been craving?" She sighs, and I can just picture her sparkling gray eyes and the smile on her face. "That tiramisu you made with ice cream."

"Auntie, I made that when I was eighteen." I step out of the way for Noah to enter.

"And I can't stop thinking about it," she presses.

"I'll make it. I love you. Can't wait to see you." I'm so focused on my auntie and her happiness that I don't notice the sudden silence behind me. The air shifts, a chill runs down my spine, and as I turn, I never see the fist flying toward my face.