Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits #1.5)(89)

Tears prick my eyes. “What if we’ll always be broken? What if we can never be fixed? What if this is it, for the rest of our lives? Regardless of whether we’re together or not? What if our past will always haunt us and makes us miserable? What if we’ll never shed our baggage and weights, and we’ll never be set free?”

The truth of my words is too heavy to wait for a response because I’ll drown from the answer. Noah and I are trapped in a black hole. A terrible, consuming black hole.

A black hole.

I suck in a breath like I’m waking up. I slip my shoes on my feet and snatch my key card off the dresser.

“Echo...” Noah rapidly moves for me, his hand outstretched.

“It’s a black hole,” I tell him. “The constellation, the one I’m painting...it contains a black hole. The answers I’ve been searching for...the painting...I know what I need to do.”

“Okay. That’s good, but you need to sit—”

“No!” I desperately attempt to rein in my emotions. “No. I need to do this now. I’m going to the gallery and you stay here, and then I’ll be back.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“If it’s not me, then I’ll wake Isaiah, but I’ve only seen you like this once before, and I’ll be damned if I let you walk out that door without someone keeping an eye on you. Kick me in the damned nuts. Break up with me a hundred times, but I’m walking you to that f*cking gallery. Got it?”

Because there’s no arguing with him when his eyes turn solid with determination, I grab the canvas and walk out the door with Noah.

* * *

I try the back door, and I have to fight the urge to punch it when, like the front door, it’s locked. Hunter gave me a key, and I forgot it. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me. I know what I need to do for this painting, and I’ll go mad if I don’t finish it. I step back from the door and assess the second story. Is there a freaking way to scale the wall?

“You’ve got paint in the room,” says Noah. “Can you finish it there?”

“I don’t have what I need there,” I answer. There’s a tree near the corner, but it would be a heck of a jump, and who knows if the windows are unlocked.

A sharp pain on my scalp. “Hey!” Did Noah yank out my hair?

Noah flattens out a bobby pin and leans into the door. His head swivels like an owl’s up and down the back alley. “Are you sure you’re allowed in here?”

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you in. I see the look on your face. You need this. So, I’m asking again. Do you have permission to be here?”

Calmer than I was in the hotel, I glance at Noah. “Do you think I’m the breaking-and-entering sort?”

With his shoulder against the door, Noah sticks the pin into the lock and begins this weird jiggling movement. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe you’d think that.”

“If you think about it...” Noah halfheartedly offers his wicked grin. It doesn’t quite touch his eyes, but the small attempt at playfulness does cause me to smile...a little. “You’re the one who broke into a therapist’s office.”

I laugh, and the sound surprises me. “You broke in. I was saving your butt. Are you always going to rewrite history?”

“Maybe.” There’s a click, and both Noah and I freeze as he opens the door. Holy crap, it worked. Noah freaking Hutchins broke into a place that he absolutely hates, after he got out of jail and did something illegal...for me...again. Just like he did last spring.

Knots form in my throat, and I’m at a loss for words.

He pushes open the door and scans the empty hallway. “If anyone asks, you had your key.”

“Noah...” My mouth gapes. I close it and through the thunder of my heart, I ask, “How were you arrested for possession? Because I believe you, that you were innocent, so...how?”

He slams his hands into his pockets and half shrugs. “Mia was in her car and had a bag of pills in her hands. Part of me was pissed because she wouldn’t answer me, and another part didn’t want to see her behind the wheel stoned. Either way, I took the bag from her, and that’s when the cops showed.”

And Noah, being who he is, never would have ratted anyone out. Not even to save himself. Honorable. Loyal. Even to people who often don’t give him the same respect back. “I’m sorry I slapped you.”

“I’m not. Let me walk you in.” Noah stalks in before I can respond. He’s slow going up the circular staircase, sort of like he expects...

“I am allowed to be here,” I say, holding the canvas like a shield. “No one’s going to shoot.”

“All the same,” he answers.

Even though Hunter gave me the key, I creep up the circular staircase like I’m a burglar on the prowl. Reminiscent of how I had skulked against the lockers the night I went after Noah.

“Have you told your dad you don’t need the bail money?” mutters Noah. “Because we might need it.”

I shush him. Now that would be irony, me needing the money because I’m breaking in. I also like that Noah’s willing to go to jail with and for me.

We reach the top of the stairs, and the hundreds of Christmas lights illuminate the room. On the far side of the room, Hunter directs his attention to us. Noah splays his arms in front of me like he’s willing to take the bullet.