Chapter 64 Chapter 64
Emily's POV
I couldn’t sleep again. But this time it wasn’t anxiety clawing at my ribs or panic tightening around my lungs until breathing felt difficult. It was something quieter and more dangerous. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling while pale city light spilled through the crack in my curtains, cutting soft silver lines across the walls. My room felt too warm despite the cold outside, the blankets tangled around my legs from turning over too many times. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Not the dramatic moments or the kiss. Not even the scandal. It was the smaller things.
Noah handing me coffee without asking how I took it because he already knew. Him sitting beside me in silence like silence wasn’t something that needed fixing. Him on the balcony looking at me like I was something steady instead of something temporary.
I’m not pretending anymore.
The words had followed me into bed, into my chest, into every thought afterwards. And the terrifying thing was, I believed him completely. I rolled onto my side with a frustrated exhale and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. It was 2:14 AM. A completely unreasonable time to contact another human being, which was exactly why I called April.
She answered on the third ring sounding half-asleep and immediately suspicious. “If someone is dead,” she mumbled, “I need at least thirty seconds to emotionally prepare before you tell me.”
Despite myself, I laughed quietly. “No one’s dead.”
“Okay, good.” A rustling sound followed, probably blankets moving. “Because honestly, if this is about anatomy flashcards again, I’m blocking you.”
“It’s not about flashcards.”
There was a pause and then she was instantly more awake. “Oh, my God.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “What?”
“That tone.”
“What tone?”
“The ‘my life is emotionally collapsing’ tone.”
“I do not have a tone.”
“You absolutely have a tone.” Another pause. “What happened?”
I sat up slowly, pulling my knees toward my chest while leaning back against the headboard. The room suddenly felt smaller like the truth had already entered it before I said anything out loud. “I think…” I hesitated. The words lodged somewhere behind my ribs.
April gasped dramatically. “You hesitated. Emily Taylor never hesitates. This is catastrophic.”
“April.”
“Sorry. Continue.”
I swallowed. “I think I’m in trouble.”
“Define trouble.”
I stared at the dark window across from my bed. At my faint reflection staring back. And suddenly it felt impossible to hide behind vague answers anymore. Because I was exhausted from pretending I didn’t already know. “I don’t want to walk away.” The second the words left my mouth, everything inside me stilled like some part of myself had been waiting for me to finally say it out loud.
April didn’t answer immediately, which honestly scared me more than if she started screaming. “Oh.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
“That’s… serious.”
“I know.”
There was another silence settled between us, but it wasn’t awkward. April had known me long enough to understand that when I admitted something emotionally honest, it cost me something to say it. “Do you love him?”
The question hit hard enough that my chest tightened instantly. I opened my mouth and closed it, before opening it again. “I don’t know.” Which was technically true. Maybe I just wasn’t ready to survive the weight of saying it yet.
April hummed softly like she could hear everything I wasn’t saying anyway. “You sound terrified.”
“I am terrified.”
“Because of him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Myself.”
The room stayed quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside. April’s voice softened. “Explain.”
How was I supposed to explain this? How was I supposed to explain what it felt like to spend your whole life building yourself carefully, methodically, logically, only to meet someone who made emotion feel less like weakness and more like truth? “I had a plan,” I said quietly.
“For everything.”
“I know.”
“I knew exactly what my life was supposed to look like.”
Graduate school. The residency and research. A future built carefully enough that no one could take it away from me. That was always the goal. Not romance, not emotional chaos, not whatever this thing with Noah had become. “I don’t know how he got past all of it,” I admitted.
April laughed softly. “Babe...He lives with you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, it’s...” I stopped, frustrated. “He wasn’t supposed to matter this much.”
That was the real fear underneath everything else. Not the scandal, university, or even my career.... Him mattering. Because once someone mattered enough, they could hurt you, lose you and leave you. And suddenly your carefully controlled life had another person stitched into it whether you wanted that vulnerability or not.
April was quiet for a second. “Do you trust him?”
The question caught me off guard because of how easy the answer was. “Yes.” There was no hesitation and no overthinking, just the truth.
April noticed that immediately. “That was fast.”
I swallowed. “He stayed.”
“Meaning?”
“He could’ve protected himself when the scandal broke. He didn’t.” My voice softened slightly. “Everyone else cared about optics. He cared about me.” The memory hit me hard all over again. Noah standing in front of cameras, taking responsibility publicly, knowing exactly what it could cost him, and doing it anyway.
I wrapped my arms tighter around my knees. “I think that’s what changed everything.”
April sighed dramatically. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“You’re fully gone.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m being rational.”
“You called me at two in the morning sounding emotionally devastated because you like a football player.”
“I do not sound emotionally devastated.”
“You sound one minor inconvenience away from writing poetry.”
I laughed despite myself, covering my face briefly with one hand. “This is serious.”
“I know,” she said more gently. And immediately the joking faded from her voice. “Are you happy?”
The question hit differently than the others, not because it was complicated, because it wasn’t. I thought about mornings in the apartment. Shared coffee. Rehab sessions that no longer felt clinical. The quiet way Noah looked at me now, like he wasn’t afraid of wanting something real anymore. The safety I felt beside him lately. Not emotional numbness or control just safety. And that realization alone nearly unraveled me. “Yes,” I whispered. The word barely made it out, but it was painfully honest.
April exhaled softly like she had been waiting for that answer. “Then maybe this isn’t the disaster you think it is.”
I looked down at the blanket tangled around my legs. “It still feels risky.”
“That’s because it is.”
“Well that’s comforting.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “Emily, love is risky. Trust is risky. Letting someone matter to you is terrifying.”
I shut my eyes briefly. “I hate when you sound emotionally mature.”
“I know.”
“But here’s the thing,” she continued more softly. “You’re acting like the risk automatically means it’s wrong.”
I didn’t answer. Because part of me had been doing exactly that. Equating emotional vulnerability with danger like if something scared me enough, that meant I should avoid it. But Noah made me question that instinct constantly. Because nothing about him felt safe in the traditional sense. He was complicated, emotional, and reactive sometimes. He was capable of getting under my skin in seconds. And somehow, he still felt safer than people who had never once challenged me emotionally. That contradiction lived inside me constantly now.
April’s voice interrupted my thoughts gently. “What do you want?”
I stared out the window again. At the dark campus skyline beyond the apartment buildings. At the faint glow of the city still awake somewhere beyond us. I admitted it to myself fully for the first time. “I want this,” I whispered.
April went quiet for a second. “Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Tell me I’ve lost my mind.”
“Oh, you absolutely have,” she said immediately. “But not because you care about him.”
I smiled faintly despite the ache in my chest. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” Her voice softened again. “I do.”
Eventually April yawned loudly into the phone. “If I stay awake any longer, I’m charging you therapy rates.”
I laughed quietly. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“For what it’s worth?”
“Hmm?”
“You sound happier lately.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I am.”
After we hung up, I remained sitting there for a long time with my phone still in my hand. The apartment beyond my bedroom door was quiet. I stood slowly and opened my bedroom door. The apartment lights were dim, soft shadows stretching across the living room. Noah was asleep on the sofa. One arm thrown over his head, blanket half-falling onto the floor because apparently he physically could not sleep like a normal person.
I leaned against the doorway quietly watching him for a second and something inside me softened so deeply it almost hurt, because this wasn’t fake anymore. Not in any way that mattered. And maybe that should’ve terrified me more. Emotionally, I was already too far gone.
I walked over quietly and pulled the blanket properly over him. His eyes opened slightly at the movement. “Hey,” he murmured.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Are you okay?”
The question wrapped around my chest painfully, because he always asked like he genuinely wanted the answer. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I am.” His hand brushed lightly against my wrist before sleep pulled him under again. And standing there beside him in the quiet apartment at almost three in the morning, I finally admitted the truth fully to myself. I wasn’t trying to survive this anymore. I was choosing him. And that was the risk I hadn’t planned for.