Chapter 6

six

Noah – One Year Later – Nineteen Years Old

I stare at the glass table in front of me, tapping my finger over each rose on my arm, ignoring the suits talking around the table, trying to figure out our tour dates for the next eight months before we take a break to write a new album.

Since leaving home, everything has gone by quickly; as soon as we got to LA, the producers didn’t even hesitate to put us up, opening for big acts all over the state, and now, The Delinquents are one of the highest, most sought-after bands.

We only just got back from touring last night, and already they’re discussing our next tour, starting one month from now. This time, we’re the headliners, and it's insane.

Yet, I’m not fucking happy, and neither are my boys.

Barnett is depressed while Cameron is just fucking angry all the time, and me, well, I’m just a fucking robot, doing what I must, day in and day out.

My heart is not in it, my music has gotten fucking depressing, and I’m drinking more, becoming my fucking mother, who, according to Nick, has barely touched a drop of alcohol since I left.

One fucking year….

I have gone one year, 365 days, 8760 hours without seeing her, without hearing her voice, and the pictures and videos on my phone that I just can’t seem to get myself to delete haunt me.

A whole fucking year since I walked away without hearing her side of things, my anger overpowering me.

My mom has called several fucking times a day, asking if maybe how it looked was wrong, making me question myself, and I haven’t wanted to hear it.

If Mom brings her up now, I hang up because, honestly, it doesn’t matter whether the picture was how it looked or not; I still walked away without questioning her, which has made me question whether I truly did love her or if it was just my teenage brain making me think I did.

I mean, I wouldn’t have left the way I did otherwise, right?

Yet, she’s all I think about….

“Alright, we’ll finalize these dates, and eight months from now, your final show of the tour will be in your hometown,” our manager, Alan, says, snapping me out of my head.

I glare at Barnett, knowing this shit was his doing, and he took advantage while I fucking zoned out.

He just shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest, not bothered, but he fucking will be when I knock him out; he and Cameron both know I don’t want to go home.

Barnett never believed the picture and begged me to call her to get answers, but the hurt I felt at the time clouded my judgment, and I left. Cameron, on the other hand, believed it and told me to hook up with Piper as punishment, the same fucking Piper who followed us to LA after graduating high school last week.

She’s turned into a roadie and won’t leave me the fuck alone. Cameron keeps encouraging her, believing I’d give in sooner or later, thinking it’s something I need to do with Rose being my only, but I know I won’t.

Despite her maybe cheating on me, the thought of allowing another girl to touch me makes me physically sick.

Shaking my head as the suits leave, I stand, ready to follow them out, needing a distraction, but before I can make two steps, Barnett opens his fucking mouth.

“Let me guess, you’re going to grab a smoke, then drink yourself stupid while pretending like you mustn’t have loved her if you left without getting an explanation to help ease your guilt?”

I internally groan, fed up hearing the same shit from him, and snap, “Give it a rest Barnett,” as I head to the door.

Just as I was going through it, he shouted, "You were scared of how painful it felt seeing that photo, Noah. You reacted without thinking, hoping to save yourself from the pain, but all you did was clarify the fact that you needed her!”

I ignore his words and carry on walking.

I haven’t saved myself from shit, I’m fucking drowning, and he knows it.

Ignoring everyone around in the halls, I head outside for a smoke, needing an outlet. I know I could go to the studio and play, but knowing my luck, Piper will be there waiting.

Why she thought I’d fucking accept her here, I don’t know, but if she doesn’t fuck off soon, I’m going to go nuclear, especially after the other day when she decided to lick my fucking neck in front of the paparazzi.

I don’t need any reminders of Rose, and she’s a big fucking one.

It’s bad enough that I have Rose’s initial tattooed on my arm and her name on my ring finger.

I’ve booked to have them covered several times, but I can’t make myself go through with it. Instead, I end up adding more fucking roses.

It’s pathetic.

Sighing, I lean my back against the wall as soon as I get outside. I grab my smoke from behind my ear, place it between my lips, and light it.

Instantly, I inhale and relax, the nicotine doing its job.

A whole fucking year, and I still can’t breathe….

I know I should have confronted her instead of walking away like I did, and now I have to live with my decision. It’s about time Barnett realizes there’s no going back now because, overall, it was probably for the best.

Placing my foot flat against the wall and bending my knee, I look down at my wrist as I flick the ash off my cigarette. The silver chain bracelet from Rose, matching the one around my neck, feels heavy.

Roughly, a week after I left, I concluded that we probably wouldn’t have made it. She would have missed her father too much, even though he treated her differently than her brother growing up. She would have wanted to attend college full time, hoping to learn all about marine life, she would have hated to tour, and we would have fought and most likely broken up by now anyway.

Well, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Trying to swallow over the lump that’s formed in my throat, I take another hit of my smoke, inhaling deeply as my phone rings, but I ignore it, knowing it’s likely my mother.

It’s become the drill over the past few months. She’ll call, and I’ll ignore her; she’ll then try again, but I still won’t answer, so Nick will then call, and I’ll blank him, then message I’m rehearsing, and he’ll say alright and that he misses me, knowing I’m bullshitting to him.

He allows me to do what I have to.

I need to try and live my life and move on.

If she did cheat, as the photo suggests, then I did the right thing. If she didn’t and I left knowing I should have spoken to her and confronted her, well, then I still did the right thing.

No matter the problem, any girl deserves to at least have that conversation, but I didn’t respect her enough or our four-year relationship. I left without looking back.

By the time I finish my smoke, my phone rings two more times, right on cue. I go to take it out to message Nick our usual message, but I frown when it rings again.

Grabbing it from my pocket, my frown deepens when I see it’s my sister, and the three missed calls were hers.

Concern shoots through me, and I quickly answer it.

“Gina?” I answer.

Her sniffles enter my ear, my concern getting higher until she whispers, “I-I went to my interview and to look around the college in Fremont and-and I-I saw Rose, Noah….”

I swallow hard, ready to hang up, not wanting to hear this. I’m aware she no longer lives with her father and that he cut her off, something Alejandro mentioned at his wedding to Vanessa.

He said she wasn’t welcome for what she did to me, taking my side with Van, which makes a part of me believe the picture is what it seems.

No one knows where she’s moved to. After her father cut her off, she blocked his number. According to Al, he and Van had a confrontation with Rose a week after I left. He messaged her, wanting to meet, and she went, agreeing to meet two and a half hours outside of Kingston.

Whatever happened at that meeting caused Rose to be cut out of the wedding, not even allowed to attend, fuck, he even banned her from Cal’s funeral two months ago, and she was like a sister to him.

He was killed in action and, apparently, when Rose had found out, she called her father for the first time since leaving, or so Nick told me. Al stated he’d had her removed after Vanessa got pissed, not wanting to be around her. Al chose his wife over his sister, not giving her a chance to say goodbye, and now the only person she apparently has contact with is my mother.

I don’t know why, and honestly, I don’t care.

Gina clears her throat, bringing me out of my head. “She had a bump, Noah; she’s pregnant….”

Everything in me stops.

Pregnant….

Is it mine? Did I leave her alone and pregnant?

Oh fuck, please tell me I did not fuck up that badly because if I did, she’d never fucking forgive me….

Fuck, I need to unblock her. I need to call her….

Gina continues and stops my thoughts, tearing my whole world apart when she whispers, “She didn’t seem that far along, maybe four months….”

Four months?

She’s pregnant and looks to be four months along, which means….

I hang up, not wanting to listen anymore, and drop my arm, my gaze looking out at the heavy traffic.

She’s having someone else’s baby, so she did cheat, huh?

I don’t know what I was hoping for most: the fact she may have cheated or the fact I left, misreading a situation and not hearing her out, disrespecting her, showing that I didn’t love her at all.

My love, though, yeah, it’s there because right now, the thought of walking into the oncoming traffic is enticing.

Dramatic? Maybe.

Do I care? No.

I drop my phone to the ground and push off the wall, putting one foot in front of the other, heading to the road, one word repeating in my head.

Pregnant….

Pregnant….

Just as I get one foot off the sidewalk, a, incoming car honking, a strong hand pulls me back, and I turn, making eye contact with Barnett. Cameron is standing just behind him, his hands on his head, shock and worry etching his features.

I notice my phone in Barnett's other hand and grab it, placing it in my pocket.

“What the fuck, Noah?” Barnett snaps, his eyes teary.

I shake my head and croak, “She’s pregnant with someone else’s baby,” before shoving away from him and walking down the street, heading to our shared condo, even though the urge to turn around and head into traffic again is strong.

I thought I could survive without her, but I can’t, I fucking can’t.

It doesn’t take long before I’m walking into our condo. I ignore everything, including the boys rushing behind me, asking how I know, and head straight to my room.

I feel them standing behind me as I look around my room. Photos of Rose hang on the wall, in some I’m grinning, others are with the boys, and my heart shatters knowing we really are over, that she did fucking cheat.

She didn’t fucking love me….

Shaking my head, I slam the door in the boys’ face, and head to my desk. I take a seat and grab my pen.

She’s moved on from what I thought we were, and it's time I did as well.

Tears sting my eyes, but I ignore them and grab the half-empty bottle of whiskey. I take a huge swig before pressing my pen on the paper, lyrics coming to mind, lyrics I’m hoping she fucking hears by the time she gives birth to someone else’s child.

I grab my guitar, which I bought on Rose’s eighteenth birthday, with a large rose painted on the back, and start to strum. I write the first verse, and the melody hits me, creating a new song.

Rose’s Thorns ….