The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)(99)

I look at Jamie once the door closes behind Daniel. “J?”

He lifts his chin. “We’ve become fast friends. While you and Noah were . . . busy.”

I walk backward toward the door, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Blushing too. “I’m going out for a walk.”

“You? A walk? Since when do you need food, sunshine, fresh air?” Jamie looks around dramatically. “Oh. Noah isn’t here. That explains it.”

“Shut up.”

“Come. Let us find him together,” Jamie says, and offers his arm, which I take. We wander a bit before heading to the park. I do not fail to notice the pendant around Jamie’s neck; he’s developed a habit in the past week of hooking his finger around it while he talks. Mine rests in my pocket, nestled next to Noah’s. I haven’t made my decision yet.

“So what college am I going to lie to your parents about for you?” Jamie asks, bumping my shoulder.

“Not sure.” We walk past a street cart selling roasting nuts; the smell mingles with the scents of dust and metal from the construction being done on the street. “But I like New York.”

“Same. I was thinking about Columbia, or NYU maybe. Not sure I’ll get in, but I’m black, queer, and Jewish so I got three brochures.”

I smirk and catch a glimpse of our reflections in the dark glass of an office window. Not that long ago, I probably would’ve died laughing at the things Jamie said. But what we’ve been through has thrown us forward a decade, at least. People who didn’t know us would think we looked like teenagers still, and if they saw pictures of us Before and After they might not even be able to tell the difference. But I can tell. Our smiles for cameras are jaded now, our grins at jokes a bit bitter. That’s what separated us from the multitudes of Them. We lived harder. Knew better. But we laughed anyway. Laughed because there was nothing else to do but give up.

And I would never give up. I’ve done terrible things I regret and terrible things I don’t. But I don’t need to be fixed. I don’t need to be saved. I just have to keep going.

We cross the street into the park, and blossoms fall like snow as we walk beneath the trees. The sky is blue and cloudless—a perfect spring day. It’s like a dream, light and beautiful and happy, the kind I never have.

“Fancy meeting you here,” says Noah. He’s right behind us, in slim, dark jeans and a faded black T-shirt. His hair is carelessly tousled and noticeably clean. He’s carrying a shopping bag, which dangles lightly from his fingers.

I look him over with narrowed eyes. “How long have you been following us?”

“Forever.”

I touch a finger to my lips. “Funny, you don’t look like you’ve been running.”

Jamie claps his hands once. “That would be my cue!” He kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going to bid farewell to my illustrious cousin, your illustrious attorney.”

“Say hi to her for me.”

“Shall do.”

“Me as well,” Noah chimes in, but Jamie’s already walking away. He raises his hand to give him the finger from over his shoulder. Noah’s mouth spreads into a grin.

“So where were you?”

He moves the shopping bag farther behind him. “Oh, hookers, blow, the usual.”

“Why do I even love you?”

“Because I come bearing gifts,” Noah says, and withdraws the thing from the bag with a flourish. A sketchbook.

My cold heart melts a little. “Noah.”

“The old one was a bit morbid,” he says, the corner of his mouth turning up with a smile. “Thought you could use a fresh start.”

I rise on my toes to kiss him.

“Wait,” he murmurs against my lips. “You haven’t seen the best part.”

“There’s another part?” I ask as he takes my hand and tugs me toward a bench. He slips the sketchbook under his arm and sits me down by my shoulders.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and I do. I hear him turning the pages of the sketchbook. “All right. Open.”

I’m looking at a drawing, if you could call it that. But of what, I have no idea.

“I thought I’d christen it for you, so I drew your portrait.”

“Oh!” Oh, hell. “It’s . . . really special, Noah. Thank you.”

He bites his lip. “Mmm.”

“But wait.” I turn it horizontally. “Why do I have a tail?”

He tilts his head to look at it. “That’s not a tail, that’s your arm.”

“Why is it coming out of my ass?”

He closes the sketchbook. “Behave.”

“Or what, you’ll spank me?”

He leans toward me. His mouth makes contact with my earlobe, his rough jaw with my cheek, and he says, “That would be a reward, darling. Not a punishment.”

My heart is already racing. Gets me every time. “Speaking of,” I say softly. “I missed you this morning.”

“I’ll have to find a way to make it up to you. Have you packed?”

“We have time still,” I say, because I’m not ready to go.

Noah knows what I’m thinking. He laces his fingers between mine. “We’ll be back.”

We would be. I could feel it. I stretch out next to Noah, my head in his lap, my feet on the rail. People weave around us, but it feels like we’re alone in a sea of beating hearts and breathing lungs. I watch smoke rise from a manhole across the street, and can almost see it form words in the air: welcome home. We could be anonymous here. Just a normal couple, young and in love and holding hands in New York.