Breaking Noah (17 page)

“I’m glad to hear that. As terrible as this situation is, we might be able to use that in your defense if the situation arises. The fact that you’re not a habitual offender should work out in your favor. But I’m serious, Noah, no contact. With her. With other students, male or female. Right now you need to stay under the radar.” I nod, taking everything in and vowing to come out the other side of this. Teaching is what I love, and I won’t let a stupid, irresponsible affair come between me and what I care most about.

Dean Calloway leaves and I spend the rest of the morning avoiding anything to do with this situation. Refusing to go on any social media sites or watch the news, I’m stuck with whatever reruns are on and I try to focus on anything but what Zara’s done. After about an hour, I walk back to my bedroom, needing a shower and possibly a nap. On the floor, the notification light on my phone flashes, catching my attention.

Picking it up, I realize that I didn’t actually break the damn thing, just shattered the screen. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because I’ll still have communication with the outside world. Bad because the first thing I see is a text message from Zara, begging for me to call her once the dean leaves.

Me:
Enough. Do not contact me anymore.

I really want to know why she did it, but at this point her reasoning doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is that she tried to take me down in whatever she had planned. I’ll never know why. I’m not even sure it matters at this point.

Zara:
It wasn’t me. Please. Talk to me.

Lies. Fucking lies.
“It wasn’t me.” Does she think I’m a moron? Of course it was her. Nobody else could have recorded that specific encounter. Had it been one that took place in my office, I’d be a little more lenient about speaking with her, but it was at my home. Adding to that, the video was emailed from her student account.

Sitting back, it all starts to piece together. Zara’s been far too interested in me since day one. I was so blinded by her I never saw it coming. I let this happen. I put myself in a situation to be played, and hell, did she play me. I fell right into whatever trap she laid. Whatever I did to her to invite such behavior, I’d really like to know, because it’s got to be huge for Zara to have gone to such lengths to destroy the life of someone she’s just met.

Instead of sending a response to her latest message, I power down my phone. I refuse to have any contact with someone who’s hell-bent on ruining me and doesn’t even have the gall to own up to her decision.

This is exactly what I get for messing with a little girl. I think it’s safe to say that my lesson’s been learned.

“Fuck,” I cry, hurling my phone across the room. The sound of it hitting the wall and shattering rips through me as I fall to my knees.

I’ve never felt so alone. My whole fucking life is a mess. How could I have gotten things so wrong?

It’s been two days since the email went out and he won’t fucking speak to me. All my texts and calls have gone ignored and I’m at the breaking point because I don’t know how to fix this.

Getting to my feet, I walk over to the window and nudge back the curtain with my finger. They’re still there. Fucking reporters. With the world in crisis over various wars and disease outbreaks, how is this news?

I need to get out of here. Dillon’s been staying at the frat house, keeping his nose out of the news. I’m sure with his father’s connections it wouldn’t have been an issue to put a halt to the story, but future congressmen shouldn’t have children splashed across the front pages of a sex scandal at the university. I’d never been so thankful for his pompous-ass parents.

I stalk into the bedroom and stuff a few things into my bag, then sneak out the sliding glass door. I parked my car three streets away to avoid facing the press last night, and it paid off. I throw my bag onto the passenger seat and slam my door closed, revving the car to life.

“Where am I going to go?” I mutter. Home is out of the question. My parents are furious with me. I hadn’t even considered that my uncle was an alumnus of Northwestern. I cringe at the thought of my family seeing that video.
How could I have ever thought this was a good idea?

“Zara?”

Mel frowns at me from behind her front door. The once friendly redhead is now suspicious and reserved—not that I can blame her. She’s probably wondering how much of our friendship was total bullshit.

“I didn’t have anyone else to turn to,” I mumble. I want to laugh. She barely knows me. Two coffees and a dinner and suddenly she’s my only ally? It’s ridiculous.
I’m
ridiculous. I’m a fucking messed-up loser who has spent the past year obsessed with ruining the
wrong
fucking man.

“Come in,” she finally says with a sigh, standing aside. I follow her into the living room and sit down, pulling my knees up to my chest. “What happened?” she asks.

“You saw the video?” I ask.

“Everyone saw it, Zara. I don’t understand why. Did he do something to you? Because if that was just to fuck up his life, then that was really low. I can’t even imagine showing the whole world something like that. But then again, I don’t exactly look like you.” She blushes and drops her gaze.

My heart pounds as shots from the video flash through my head. I’m so embarrassed. The idea had been to Photoshop some of the more graphic scenes, because believe it or not, I do have some dignity.

“I didn’t…It wasn’t me who sent the email,” I say quietly.

“Did you videotape yourself with him? Edit the video to make it look like that?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

I nod. “He won’t let me explain things.”

“I’m not trying to be rude, Zara, but can you blame the guy?”

No. No, I can’t.

“You know about my cousin, right?”

Confusion clouds over Mel’s face. “What does she have to do with Mr. Bain?”

“She told me before she killed herself that he had gotten her pregnant. She said she’d had an affair with a professor, and after talking to your sister, I learned she told me the last part to keep me from knowing she was sleeping with my boyfriend, but I didn’t know that until it was too late.” I take a deep breath and force myself to continue. “I thought it was Noah and I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel helpless like she did. It worked, but I got the wrong guy.”

“Holy shit,” she mumbles, her eyes widening. “So you think your cousin killed herself because she was sleeping with your boyfriend?” I nod. “And you thought it was Mr. Bain. You were trying to punish him….”

“Right. Heather’s the one who told me everything. It was Dillon. I went home and he’d found the video and sent it out,” I whispered. “Now Noah won’t talk to me. I’ve ruined his life for no fucking reason and he won’t let me apologize.”

“God, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say. Where is Dillon now?”

“Frat house, I assume. He hasn’t been back in a couple days. But with all the reporters at home I couldn’t stay there. And I broke my phone.” My voice cracks as tears roll down my cheeks. I laugh. With everything that’s happened in the last few days, it’s my fucked cell that has me in tears.

“I’ve got a spare phone you can use. It’ll be okay, Zara. Let him calm down and then he’ll talk to you.” She hesitates. “Are you upset because you hurt him, or is there more to it?” she asks, her voice gentle.

There’s always more to it. My sobs are the only answer she needs. She stands up and crouches in front of me, wrapping her arms around me.

“Poor girl, you’ll be okay. Things feel fucked now, but this will all die down, okay?”

“He’ll never forgive me.”

I sit cross-legged on the bed in the spare room at Mel’s apartment. I’m sure she’s letting me stay only because she feels sorry for me, but I’ll take it. It’s not like I have anywhere else to turn right now.

Logging in to my personal email account, I begin writing to Ryan. I pour out the whole sorry story. I tell him everything, including how angry I am at him for being so far away. He’s the only person I know who won’t judge me.

I press send and sigh. Just getting all that out makes me feel a little bit better. Even though I know what I’m about to do is a bad, bad idea, I can’t stop myself. I click Google and type my name and Northwestern into the search engine.

Hits fill the screen. I click on the first one and see the video, followed with more than two hundred comments. Even though I know I’m not going to like it, I scroll down and read them.

Stupid fucking whore, but nice pussy…

I’d eat that…

I knew there was a reason I should’ve become a teacher…

I bet that cunt’s seen a lot of dick…

My stomach churns. The video has gone fucking viral. It’s
everywhere.
Slamming the laptop shut, I curl up on my side and wipe my eyes. I pick up the phone Mel gave me and stare at the screen. I so badly want to call him, but what’s the point? He won’t answer. I have to think of another way to get his attention.

How the hell am I going to make him listen to me?

Mel is gone the next morning when I get up. I make myself a coffee and lie down on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself.

I open my laptop and click on my email, crossing my toes and fingers that Ryan has emailed me. My body tenses when I see his name. Noah. He emailed me. My hands shake as I click on the email. I was not expecting this. What does he want?

You want to talk, so let’s talk. Meet me at the Walker tonight at six. I can’t wait to hear this. Maybe leave your phone at home so I know you’re not recording it.

I’m officially in panic mode. What am I going to say?
Sorry, I did set out to ruin you, but then I fell in love with you?
This cannot possibly end any other way than him hating me. Even if I explain everything, the fact is I planned to bring him down. He would have to be fucking crazy to be able to move past that.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that Ryan has also replied.

I’m guessing what you don’t want me to say is that I’ve seen the video? Sorry, sis…I saw way more of you than I ever wanted to see. I’ll need years of therapy to get that image out of my head, but on the plus side, you’re pretty popular around camp ;)

In a weird, fucked-up way I know your heart was in the right place, and I really think this guy will understand that if he feels the same way about you. Sure, you ruined his career, but didn’t he technically do that himself by messing around with you, too?

Let the dude cool down, then talk to him. Make him listen. If there’s one thing you excel at, it’s not letting up until someone has heard your side. That’s why I love you so much. You never give up.

Losing Karly messed you up big-time, Zars. Honestly, I think what all this shows is you still haven’t gotten over that, and maybe you feel a little responsible for not being able to help her? Then to find out about her and Dillon…I don’t know how you’re functioning at all right now.

Anyway, keep me posted.

Love you

I grab the phone and text Noah:
See you at six. Thank you for giving me a chance to explain. Z

Talking to Ryan has really put things into perspective. I feel better than I have since this whole mess started. Ryan is right. If there’s one thing I do well, it’s get my point across.

I will
make
him listen to me, because losing him is not an option.

Against the advice of my attorneys, the school board, and my own conscience, I agree to meet Zara. I shouldn’t. She doesn’t deserve one more second of my life, but I have to know what I did that was so terrible she felt the need to destroy my career and reputation.

For the last few days, I’ve dodged an obscene amount of interviews and even more phone calls from other faculty members, my family, and, believe it or not, Shannon. I’ve tried to stay away from the Internet, but it’s like a train wreck: so terrible and tragic, yet you can’t look away. I needed to see. And I saw, all right.

“I knew something was going on with Noah and his student from the moment I saw them together. I started mentoring her when she approached the fashion and design department at Northwestern. At the time I had no idea she was a student of my ex-boyfriend’s, but whenever the two of them were together, the secret glances and sly smiles were hard to miss. Had I not been blinded by love, I would have reported the improper conduct. I send my deepest apologies to the student in question as well as her family. Maybe if I would have opened my biased eyes, I would have been able to save her from this travesty.”

Yeah, that was Shannon’s interview she gave to CNN yesterday. So much for ending on good terms, right? Oh, well, she’s not the only one who commented on the relationship between Zara and myself. One of my worst students, the one who refuses to hand in any assignment yet aces all the tests and passes by only a fraction, had the nerve to tell the local newspaper that I favored Zara. She received special treatment in exchange for sexual favors.

The whole damn thing makes me sick to my stomach. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve spent building my credibility—one stupid email ruined everything I’d worked for.

Zara had responded:
See you at six. Thank you for giving me a chance to explain. Z

This should be good. I told her to meet me at the Walker, but I don’t plan on staying there. At this point in time, I think it’s clear to say that Zara Hamilton cannot be trusted…for any reason. The girl’s a walking contradiction.

Just after five, I dress in dark clothes so I’m not noticed leaving the apartment with all the reporters still camped out front. Sneaking out the back door, I set off on foot, making it a few blocks before I reach Derrick’s house. Luckily, I have friends who are still on my side and are trying to help any way they can.

“Thanks again for this, man. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it, bro. I saw the video. I’d nail her, too,” he jokes, handing me the keys to his car to borrow. Rolling my eyes, I shut the driver’s door and head out into the early evening. I pull up in front of the Walker, looking around for Zara, and then I see her. Still, regardless of what she’s put me through…is putting me through…I can’t see past the feelings I’ve started to develop for her. Even dressed down, she’s gorgeous.

Before I text her, I just watch her for a moment, trying to decide if this is a good idea or not. Am I going to be able to set aside my anger to have a conversation with her? Will I be able to keep my hands off her? Unsure of anything right now, I pick up my phone and text the number she messaged me from earlier.

Me:
Here. Dark blue BMW. NW corner of the lot.

A few seconds later, she pulls the phone from her pocket and checks my incoming message. Peeking up, looking in my direction, her lips turn upward and her shoulders sag slightly, like she’s let out a breath of air she’d been holding, as if she thought I wouldn’t show. She starts walking to the car slowly.

When she’s only a few feet away, I exit the car and meet her at the hood. Holding firm, I stick out my hand, palm up. Reading my mind, she places the phone in my hand and watches me patiently power it down. I move to the trunk and she’s on my heels. Lifting the hatch, I stare her down and toss the phone inside.

“Purse and coat, too. And empty your pockets, please.” I should pat her down for any other kind of recording device, but I give her the benefit of the doubt when she follows my instructions implicitly. I shouldn’t give her anything, but at this point, I have nothing else to lose.

Once she’s wearing only a pair of skintight jeans and a black fitted long-sleeve shirt, it would be impossible for her to hide anything, unless she’s wearing a wire. Stepping around the side of the car, she follows until I direct her to the passenger’s seat.

Cautiously, she does as I request, climbing into the car, feet planted on the floorboard and eyes focused straight ahead. I briefly catch a glimpse of what this is doing to her and it makes me feel things I’m trying to suppress. I want to take her hand and tell her that we’ll get through this together. I want to wipe away the tear she’s trying to hide and make sure she knows that we’re a team and as long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

I won’t.

“Where are we going?” she asks softly, as I leave the parking lot and head toward the highway.

“Somewhere we can talk and I don’t have to be worried about being recorded in one way or another. Somewhere safe.”

“Noah, I wouldn’t…” she starts to say, and it does nothing more than piss me off. Slamming on the brakes, the car screeches to a halt on the shoulder, Zara bracing herself on the dash to keep from smacking her head on the window. Throwing the gearshift into park, I turn toward her, my face stern.

“Don’t. You would. You did. There’s no trust here, Zara. You wanted to talk, so we’ll talk, but it’s going to be on my terms. I’m not sure I can be ruined any more than I already am, but just in case there’s a fighting chance for my career and reputation, I’m willing to take it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, readjusting in her seat and staring out her window as I put the car in drive and continue our journey. More than an hour later, we pull up to the cabin I used to come to as a child. Lucky for me, my parents had given me a key a few years ago when Shannon and I needed an escape from the city and never asked for it back. Even luckier, nobody is using the house tonight. On the way over, I’d wondered if my parents would come here to avoid the questions and prying eyes of the journalists, but seeing no cars in the long stretch of a driveway and no lights on inside, I’d say the coast is clear.

“What is this place? You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” Zara asks, her face ghostly white as she looks around at the isolated land—no houses anywhere in sight, the woods pitch black, and a single cabin illuminated only by a porch light. I guess I understand why she’s scared. I might be, too.

“I’d never hurt you, Zara. I figured if we needed to talk, we should do it somewhere the reporters won’t see us and make this even worse. My parents own this place. It’s safe. I’m safe.”

Stepping inside, it’s obvious I need to turn on the heat; it’s freezing in here. Showing Zara to the living room, I head to the basement to fire up the furnace and get some warmth in this place. After I light the pilot and ensure that everything’s in working order, I’m back upstairs in time to see a shiver run through Zara’s body.

“Let me go grab your coat.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you thinking I’m hiding any recording device. Do you have a blanket or something I can use?”

I look around and see an old afghan that my grandmother made lying across the rocking chair closest to the fireplace. I debate throwing a few logs in just to get it warmer faster, but quickly shut that idea down. Something about a fireplace in an old cabin screams romantic, and this situation is anything but. Tossing her the blanket, I sit on the couch opposite Zara and wait for her to open the lines of communication.

It takes a few minutes for her to speak up, but when she finally does, she breaks. “I’m so sorry, Noah. So fucking sorry,” she sobs, her shoulders violently shaking and her chest heaving, trying to take in as many breaths as she can.

“I just don’t understand why. I don’t know why you would do that to me. I could have fallen in love with you, Zara. I was well on my way.”

“I’m not the one who sent the email. I swear. I recorded it, but never sent it.”

“Who else could have done it? I’m far from the smartest man in the world, but it came from your student account. I don’t know you that well, but I think I know enough about you to know how guarded you are. I’m sure that password was saved only on your personal laptop. So if you didn’t send it, who did?” I don’t know why I’m bothering with this excuse. Her email. Her video. I’m such a stupid man for listening to her, but for my own sanity, I have to know.

“Dillon,” she whispers, looking down into her lap, twisting a frayed string of the blanket around her index finger.

The two live together, so it’s plausible to think that he would have access to her computer, but it still doesn’t answer the question why. I’m about to ask that very question when she continues.

“Karly’s my cousin.” The weight of a hundred bricks comes crashing down on my chest, restricting my breathing.

“Why didn’t you say anything when we talked the other night? I had no idea,” I say between breaths. I knew there was something familiar about Zara, and had thought at first maybe there was some connection, but she’s Karly’s exact opposite.

“That’s not all,” she says, glancing up at me through tear-stricken lashes. “I thought you were the one who got her pregnant and scared her. I recorded us together with the intention of releasing the video after I carefully disguised myself, but Dillon got to the video before I got the chance.”

“Zara, I would have never been involved with Karly. She was an excellent student and a very nice girl, but I never saw her any other way. I knew of her pregnancy, but I assure you, I’m not the one who caused it.”

“I know. Please let me finish. If I don’t get it all out, I never will.” Swallowing as much air as she can, Zara squares her shoulders, wipes away the tears, and continues. “Karly was sleeping with Dillon behind my back. He got her pregnant, and he was the one who threatened her. He’s the reason she killed herself, but for the last year I thought it was you. I hid the USB drive with the video, but he found it. I don’t know if it was jealousy or what, but he sent the email to everyone from my computer. Noah, I’m so sorry I dragged you into my mess. I was so upset after Karly died, I needed someone to blame, and instead of her telling me she’d been screwing my boyfriend, she said she had an affair with a teacher.”

The mixed emotions swirling around my head are overwhelming. Knowing there was nothing I could have done to save Karly takes away a heaviness I’ve felt since they found her body. Realizing that the only reason Zara sought me out was to avenge her cousin’s death is disturbing. Nothing was real. She was an act. A façade. Our entire relationship—every conversation, detail, glance—it was a show.

“I’m very sorry you had to deal with all of that. You’re a wonderful girl and to know that you’ve been dealing with this all alone makes me so regretful that instead of trying to talk to you, I jumped into bed with you. For that, I’ll be sorry forever. But on the other hand, I’m not sure how this information changes anything.”

“I don’t know what to say. I wanted you to pay. I wanted justice for Karly. For her baby. I fucked everything up so bad. I don’t know how to fix it. Please tell me how to fix this,” she begs, more tears streaming down her face.

Staring into her bloodshot emerald eyes, I tell her the only thing that makes any sense right now. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I’ll have to deal with the fallout from the university and decide what kind of career I’ll want in the future. You’re going to have to live with what you’ve done. It’s a sad and harsh reality, but it’s just that, Zara. Reality.”

“But…” she starts, then clamps her mouth shut. Tossing the afghan from her lap, she stands and marches toward me. Stopping just before our legs touch, she looks down at me and her expression softens. “I love you, Noah. I want you. To be with you. I need you. Even when I thought you were still the one who hurt Karly, I wasn’t going to release the video because I had fallen in love with you.”

Unsure of what to say, I look down. As angry as I am, I’m not sure I’ll be able to withstand the pull I’ll feel if I stare into her eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you, Zara. I very well could have fallen in love with you, but I don’t know a single thing about you. I let you in and you played me.”

“No. Noah. No,” she cries, falling to her knees, angling her head awkwardly so our eyes meet. “You know me. The real me.” Zara jabs her index finger into her chest, her tears falling onto my jeans. “You were falling in love with me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, placing my hands on her shoulders and softly pushing her back so I can get off the couch. As I walk into the kitchen, she’s on my heels, not letting the conversation go.

“Dammit, Noah. Listen to me. Yes, my actions were wrong, but I’ve been crazy after losing Karly. We were like sisters, twins—I couldn’t get over what happened, and all of the evidence pointed to you. Yes, I was wrong. God, I feel horrible about everything. I couldn’t have been more wrong. But from the start I’d been fighting our attraction, trying to make you this monster in my head, but my heart didn’t believe it. Please, don’t walk away from me—I can’t lose you, too. We can figure this out. I’ll figure it out. Please.”

“There’s nothing for you to figure out. The damage is done and it’s on me to figure out where to go from here.”

“Go there with me. Be with me. Let me back in.” My heart races. Had none of this happened and she’d said these words to me…I don’t even know. I would have married her on the spot, probably. I had been thinking she was it for me, too. The woman I was supposed to be with, the one who would save me from a lifetime of loneliness or misery. Breaking it off with Shannon was the best decision I’ve ever made, and if it wasn’t for my feelings for Zara, I probably wouldn’t have pushed it, but I did.

“Zara,” I whisper, as she curls herself around my waist, squeezing tightly, sobbing into my chest. I want to reciprocate. I want to comfort her. I want to tell her it’s all going to be okay.

But again, I can’t.

I won’t.