- 31 -

A few years back on the European leg of my second tour, Dustin and I went to a fortune teller in France. It was mostly for jokes because it was just there and we were a little drunk and I had cash to blow.

The woman hardly spoke English, but Dustin took French in high school so between what she couldn't say and what he could understand, we got the gist. I had been laughing about the decision before we walked in, but once we were seated in front of her, I felt a sense of unease. She had narrowed eyes like a cat, half-mast and scrutinizing, as if she could see into our very souls. Maybe she could.

Dustin got some corny fortune about a flourishing venture of love or something, which didn't necessarily come true in the coming years until just now when he seemed smitten enough with Kelsi to talk my ear off about her. He seemed content with the reading, smiling ear to ear while the woman tried to speak it into existence without knowing what a player Dustin could be in that era.

I, on the other hand, seemed to stump her for a moment. She held my hands in hers and closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths consisting of mostly patchouli incense. Dustin remained silent as if any noise would break the connection between me and the psychic.

Finally, she read me. She said I had been living selfishly for a long time. I didn't tell her she was wrong because she wasn't. Sweat beaded on my forehead in her small insulated tent while she told me there would come a time in the near future that I'd be faced with a chance to right my wrongs, to put my efforts into helping someone in dire need. It sounded like generic hippie-dippie bullshit at the time. Of course I'd help someone at some point.

But then she looked into my eyes and said, "La moitié d'un cœur en réparera un autre, alors partagez le vôtre avec soin," which Dustin couldn't directly translate. I ended up Googling it later that night, then chalked it up to mumbo jumbo.

Half of a heart will mend another, so share yours carefully.

I didn't think of Noah Russo at that time, or any time after, but it was buzzing within me now. He was curled up in my lap, sniffling into my shoulder while I cradled him on the couch. I rubbed his back, picturing his thumping heart beneath the layers of skin and muscle and bone. In my mind, it was torn in two. Sliced in half by monsters in expensive shoes.

We didn't talk about it. He just cried and I held him and that was that. I could smell remnants of marijuana in his hair and on his clothes. He clutched my shirt, my bicep, my hair, whatever he could get his hands on as if he were afraid I'd leave if he didn't let go. I peppered kisses over his head like I was closing the holes left behind.

"Have you eaten?" I asked when he was quiet for a while, so much so that I wondered if he'd fallen asleep. I was trapped under him on the couch in his living room, the blinds drawn tight so it was nearly pitch black in the room. Not that it'd help if the windows were open. It was nearing two in the morning. I dropped my voice to a whisper, not wanting to wake him necessarily but definitely wanting to take advantage of his company. "Noah?"

He moaned into my shoulder, hand tightening into a grip on the side of my neck. I ghosted my fingertips along the knobs of his spine, his sweatshirt long since abandoned after an hour of crying raising his body temperature.

"Hey," I cooed, nosing into his unruly curls. "Have you eaten today?"

I bit back a smile at the slight huff he blew into my neck, squirming on top of me. "My mon't memember," he said, lips pressing against my shirt with every word. I scratched the nape of his neck into the ends of his hair and he sighed contently.

"Come on, let's go get something to eat," I said, lightly pushing on his hip with my hand that was crushed under his body. I wanted food for purely selfish reasons; it was amazing he hadn't woken up from my stomach growling. "Baby."

My eyes opened suddenly. The word slipped fortuitously off my tongue, dripping like rainwater from a gutter drain. I froze, expecting him to pull away and look at me as confused as I felt, but I heard another satisfied sigh from his lips. I felt my cheeks warm, the preposterousness of feeling insecure about a pet name seeming so ridiculous in the scheme of things. Noah somehow tightened the lock his thighs had on my waist, caging me further into the couch.

I used all of my core strength to sit up, bringing him up with me. He held on for dear life, linking his arms around my neck this time and clearing any chance to create space between our bodies. Not that I minded.

"Come on, you need to eat and I'm starving," I mumbled, hugging him back with similar want.

"I'll never be that comfy again," he grumbled into my ear and I giggled, swinging my legs over until my feet hit the ground. He didn't let go, maybe even snuggled closer. I hooked my hands under his thighs and bracing myself before pulling us both up until I was standing. "Look at you, Mr. Muscles."

His tone was light and airy and teasing and I felt my stomach churn giddily. I knew he wasn't okay and maybe it would be a long time until he was. But that sliver of my sweet Noah I loved that shone through this cracked exterior reminded me that this was temporary. We could get through this.

I carried him into the kitchen. It was large and very clean. I wondered if he was a good cook or if he preferred takeout for most meals. If he'd ever used that movie money to hire a personal chef.

Noah kissed my neck when I sat him on the counter. It wasn't sexual in any way, more so just a warm, light press of affection. I pressed my palms flat on the tops of his thighs, still covered by his sweatpants, and he dropped his arms from my neck. As I took a half a step backward, not so far that I'd lose his warmth but far enough to see the soft expression on his face, I felt his hands on my cheeks.

"I'm still mad at you," he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

I nodded. "You should be."

He pressed on and our lips met. It was all very gentle, neither of us brave enough to shatter the fragile glass over our heads. I inhaled his skin, something like the smell after it rains and the aroma that wafts through a swinging bakery door. Noah's fingers danced on my cheeks, leaving his prints so lightly I wasn't sure they were even there.

When I tried to pull away, neither wanting to get too carried away nor abandon my mission to find sustenance, Noah pulled me back in. Like a flame on the wick of a stick of dynamite, we ignited just like that. It heated up before I could protest, his hands holding tightly onto the bunched fabric of my shirt and mine sliding up the sides of his waist. He let out a pitiful whimper, one that snapped me back to reality, and I pulled away again with one final smack of our lips.

"Let's cook something," I said deviously. He glared at me when I stepped away to rummage through his fridge, but I ignored it. I was sure he could tell by the semi in my pants and the flush on my neck that I didn't want to stop, but it was in our best interest.

His kitchen was surprisingly stocked. I'd assumed since he'd only been home for a week or so that he'd neglect any forms of taking care of himself with everything going on but I was wrong. I pulled out some thawed ground beef and held it up. "Were you planning on cooking?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In theory," he said, shrugging one shoulder.

I couldn't look away for a second. His collarbones, his pale skin, the freckles on his shoulders, his mess of mousy brown hair, the dark circles around his puffy eyes, the semi-permanent pink tinge on the tip of his nose. Even at what he thought was his lowest, he was radiant in my eyes. I loved him like this even if he was having trouble loving himself.

Noah stayed quiet while I pulled all sorts of ingredients out and then moved onto the cabinets, creating a work space on the island. When I was satisfied with my picks for a simple pasta and sauce, I turned toward Noah with my hands on my hips.

"Are you just gonna watch me?"

He looked surprised, like he didn't think I'd stop walking on eggshells and treat him like the end of the world was outside of his front door. Noah hopped down and joined me, standing closer than necessary for two people cooking a late dinner. It was hard to resist just wrapping my arms around him and pushing him against the counter, picking up where we left off with that desperate mouthing and touching from a few moments ago.

I started washing the vegetables and he stood with his arms at his side, head nearly resting on my shoulder. It was cute. Really cute.

"Can you put some water on the stove to boil?" I asked sweetly, turning my head. He looked over and, without warning, he pecked me on the lips and turned to do as I asked. Like we had been together for years and this was something we did all the time. "What was that for?"

Over his shrugging shoulder he said, "I dunno."

I smiled to myself, shaking my head as I lined a tomato up to begin dicing. Maybe we'd been put through the ringer since we started whatever this was, but I was sure I picked a good one. The best one, even. I could get used to living a simple life with him.

With how hot and cold he was, I shouldn't.

"Thank you for coming tonight," he said, but didn't turn around. His back faced me, prominent shoulder blades like broken wings. "I don't think I could have been alone with everything going on."

What was the proper way to respond? He was clearly touchy feely in the face of hard times. I was never good at the words of reassurance thing. A generic, 'Anytime,' wasn't going to cut it. So the best thing I could do was be honest.

"Noah," I said and he turned around, brown eyes falling on me curiously. "I don't know what we are, or if you feel the same way, or if I've completely lost my fucking mind. But I think I'd do almost anything for you, alright? If there is ever a time that you don't want to be alone, I will be here. Just ask."

His cheeks reddened and he nodded, turning back around quickly. The pot of water was already on the stove and he didn't have any more business watching it come to a boil, but he gripped the edge of the stovetop and took a deep breath. My heart was thumping in my chest, but I didn't know why. Confessing my feelings was intense, even though I'd said more to him in less words. He just had that effect on me.

Eventually, he joined me with the blender so we could make what I was hoping to be a homemade sauce. It was simple enough, after a quick Google, and I made Noah laugh so hard he was almost to the point of tears when I nearly shot tomato sauce all over the kitchen. The sound made me so unnecessarily happy, relief flooding over me just to see him smile.

But I saw the moment the sadness returned.

He'd finally stopped laughing, long after the incident even occurred, and I was trying to brown the meat on the stove. Noah had resumed his position on the counter and really was just watching me at that point. He took a deep breath, let out a sigh, and clasped his hands together in his lap. I swear the twinkle in his eye dimmed right in front of me. His shoulders slumped, his teeth tore at the skin of his lip, and his eyes found the floor.

I abandoned the food and stood between his legs. He looked at me and it killed me how defeated he seemed. I refused to let this be it for him. For some stupid video to render him set back.

"Are you thinking about it?" I asked carefully.

"Yeah." He looked away.

I smoothed his eyebrows, pressed a long kiss on his hairline, and pulled him into me. Noah's arms didn't hesitate, simply bracketed my shoulders and he nosed his way into my neck.

"Everyone thinks I'm disgusting," Noah whispered and I tightened my grip. "Except you. I don't understand. I expected . . . I thought you'd just leave me here to face the consequences. I would, if I were you."

Before I could stop myself, I scoffed. He stiffened in my arms and tried to wiggle free, but I only held tighter. He might have had a point. If he'd never told me about his backstory and about MacNeil, maybe I'd have been blindsided enough to distance myself when the video came out. But that didn't mean I'd ever stop feeling this way about him. It wasn't his fault that he was the victim of a really shitty situation.

And maybe it stung to hear that he'd leave me if the roles were reversed. But I understood it. He and I were on different planes, in terms of Hollywood. Sure, our names were usually mentioned alongside each other most of the time, but never with the same connotation. He couldn't afford to be loving someone with a crippling past or rumors flying by with every move I'd make. But maybe that was the difference between us. I truly, without a doubt, didn't give a fuck.

"I'm on your team, Noah," I said, taking hold of the hair on the back of his head and pulling soothingly. "You have some kind of spell on me."

This time he scoffed. "A spell?"

I laughed. "Yeah. Literally can't get you off my mind or whatever. It's kinda gay. This past week . . ." I paused, feeling my gut twist. "I was really afraid you'd never talk to me again. And then when I found out about the video, I nearly had a stroke hoping if you were okay."

Noah let out a shuddery breath. I finally pulled away to dip my head down and meet his eyes. "I was mad. Like really fucking mad, Theo, because you did what I wished I could do for the past ten years. But I couldn't because he had too much on me and too much could go wrong and, as we know, he's true to his fucking word. I already knew that, though. I knew crossing him would lead to something like this," he sighed, holding me by the drawstrings on my sweatpants. "That was a warning shot, by the way. The video only vaguely looking like me. But he has more."

Just the thought made my skin crawl. "We're going to do something about this, okay? But not right now."

I meant it. We were going to take David MacNeil down, rip him apart piece by piece and sell him for parts. By the time I was finished with him, he'd no longer exist. Not to Noah, not to his pathetic ego, and not at risk to our relationship anymore. But not right now.

Right now, my meat was about to burn on the stove and I had a delicious dinner to finish cooking for my Noah so he could eat. I kissed his forehead and went back to what I was doing, draining the meat then dumping it into the sauce that was simmering on the stove. The pasta was ready, too—Noah's only contribution. I'd cook for him every day for the rest of my life.

When it was plated and ready, we didn't sit at the table. We ate right there with me slotted between his thighs and him sitting on the counter, bowls in our hands. I swiped tomato sauce across his cheek and he yelled in protest when I licked it off before he did the same exact thing to me. It was a precursor to the evening, because it built up some tension I thought was appropriate to capitalize on now that we'd eaten and slept and spoken briefly about things.

Our empty bowls clattered on the counter and I swept down to his lips. His fingers knotted in my hair and we kissed with partial fervor, while somehow savoring every taste, sound, and flick of each other's tongue. I slid my hands up his chest and pinched one of his nipples gently. I was rewarded with the break of a whimper from the back of his throat.

I pulled away and rested my forehead against his. "I'm going to put the food away and do the dishes," I said. I felt his hands hold tighter onto my hips, like he wasn't going to let me go that easily. Noah kissed me again, surely trying to distract me from what I needed to get done. And it worked, but only for a minute, before I pulled away and looked right in those perfect brown eyes of his. I said, "I want you in your bed ready for me by the time I'm done."

I had never seen him run so fast in my life.