Chapter 12

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Noah

It wasn't so bad. I couldn't feel my feet anymore, but it wasn't all that cold anyway. All I had to do was sit in this divot I'd found and wait Simon out. I'd be fine.

I hugged my knees to my chest, tucked my chin in, and trembled.

The forest was quiet. Frozen in moonlight.

I'd get out of this. I had to.

There were things I hadn't done, places I'd never been, sunsets yet to paint.

I couldn't fucking die here. I hadn't even lived.

I wanted to make Killian laugh. I knew he could, he was just too stubborn. But he laughed, and when he did, it would be glorious. That big ol' dumb face of his would light up. Was he ticklish? I'd find out, when this was over.

I wiped cold tears from my numb face.

An owl hooted.

Maybe it was safe to come out?

If— when this was over, I'd go someplace hot with Killian, make him run on a beach in short-shorts. God, yes. That needed to happen. Fuck Boston. Fuck my father and his bullshit business. We'd be free.

Lifting my chin, I looked up through the towering pines and blinked at the stars.

It wasn't right.

What was the whole fucking point if this was the end?

A gun hammer ratcheted in the quiet. "Come out," Simon growled from the bank behind me.

"I'm good," I croaked. I wasn't even sure I could unfold my legs, like maybe they'd frozen stiff.

I'd always hated him, with his too small eyes and ginger hair, that he slicked back, so it always looked greasy.

He skidded down the side of the hollow, dislodging snow and stones, then reached into my hiding place, grabbed my arm, and hauled me out.

His touch sparked whatever instincts I had left. I swung a fist, more out of blind panic than real skill, but my knuckles met his jaw hard , whipping his head back, surprising us both.

He reeled. I lunged. Grabbed his gun arm, jerking it upright. He fired, I heard the muffled shot go high, but if he brought that gun down again, the next bullet would go in my head. I slammed my knee up and crunched something near his balls that made him grunt and slump over. Except, I couldn't hold him, and both of us went down, tumbling in the dirt, grit, and snow.

I still had his gun arm shoved away and scrabbled at his chest, trying to shove him off.

His fingers locked around my neck.

He tried to aim the gun down, while I levered his arm up, shaking, weakening.

His snarling, vicious face loomed. "Now fucking die."

I bucked, tried to twist my hips under him, but he had me pinned, and the more I fought, the quicker the throbbing, pounding darkness washed in.

My chest burned, lungs screaming. My vision swirled through tears.

I tried to grab at him with my useless left arm, tried to push him off, but my bloody fingers slipped off his chin, his face.

This was it; I was dying. The whistling in my ears faded, muffled behind the rush of blood, and it seemed so fucking unfair. I'd never even been in love, could have been… wanted to be, so I could mean something to someone, so all of it had been for nothing.

Would Killian have loved me?