Chapter 56

Kayla

The silence between Noah and me in the wake of Nicholas’s sudden exit felt heavy and awkward. I stared down at the peeling label of my beer bottle, unsure of what to say.

The edges of the label were already frayed from where my nails had been picking at it earlier, and I didn’t even try to stop myself from tearing off another strip. My mind was elsewhere—it was in the direction Nicholas had gone, trailing after Rebecca like a moth to a flame.

I twisted the bottle in my hand, aggressively tearing off another piece of the label. My chest felt tight, although I couldn’t quite tell if it was directed at Nicholas or myself.

Why did he have to go after her like that? What possible reason could he have? Was she crying? Complaining? Playing the victim to his knight in shining armor?

And most importantly, why did it bother me so much?

The thought made my stomach churn uncomfortably, and I ripped another piece of the label free, crumpling it between my fingers.

“You good?” Noah’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, and I looked up to find him watching me with his brow furrowed a little.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, plastering on what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Just… thinking, that’s all.”

“Right…” His eyes flicked to the torn pieces of paper scattered on the table between us. “You’re definitely not thinking about tearing that poor beer label to shreds, huh?”

I glanced down at the small mess I had just made and let out a tiny laugh, quickly pushing my bottle away. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Any particular reason, or…?”

“Nope. Just a fidgeter.” That was a blatant lie and we both knew it, but I wasn’t about to admit my frustration to anyone, let alone him. Noah was only just barely starting to like me, let alone know me well enough to warrant venting our worries to each other.

Noah didn’t press further, but the look he gave me said he wasn’t entirely buying it. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He quietly studied me for a moment without saying a word.

Normally, when Nicholas stared at me like that, it made me feel like liquid heat was intentionally being poured into my veins. But something about Noah’s steady gaze, quiet and probing like he was a curious researcher and I was a bug under a microscope, felt oddly different—it was as if he was trying to figure me out somehow.

I wasn’t sure what to say or do, so I just sat there awkwardly and let him look.

“You know,” he finally said, “hitting things with a racquet is a pretty good stress reliever. Better than destroying innocent beer bottles, anyway. I could show you how to actually hit the ball this time.”

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Are you offering to give me a tennis lesson?”

He shrugged. “If you want. It’s better than just sitting here and wallowing.”

I looked down at myself, my cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m pretty sure I’ll just embarrass myself again.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, standing and pushing his chair in. “But I’m gonna get one last game in, and I’ll find another partner if I have to.”

A part of me wanted to ignore him, to stay seated and stew in my irritation until Nicholas eventually returned covered in Rebecca’s lipstick marks.

But the thought of sitting here alone, with nothing but my racing thoughts and half-peeled beer bottle labels for company, wasn’t exactly appealing.

“Alright,” I huffed, standing and smoothing out my skirt. “I’ll play with you.”

Noah gestured for me to follow him back to the court. The indoor lighting was still bright, casting sharp reflections on the polished floor as we stepped onto the court. He grabbed a racquet from the bench and handed it to me.

“First lesson: how to serve,” he said, picking up a tennis ball. “It’s all about technique. Watch closely.”

He demonstrated the motion, tossing the ball into the air and striking it cleanly with his racquet. The ball sailed over the net, whizzing as it passed, and bounced neatly inside the service box.

“That looks easy enough,” I said, which was obviously untrue. Watching him do it felt like watching someone solve a complex mathematical equation.

“Your turn,” was all Noah said as he stepped aside and motioned for me to take his place. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the service line.

I adjusted my grip on the racquet, feeling its weight in my hand, and tried my best to mimic his movements without making an utter fool of myself. But, just as I suspected, the ball left my hand at the wrong angle, and my swing was timed terribly, resulting in the ball skidding pathetically along the ground before bouncing into the net.

“Not bad for a first try,” Noah said, clearly suppressing a laugh. “Here, let me show you.”

He stepped behind me, his hands lightly brushing against mine as he adjusted my grip on the racquet. “Hold it like this,” he said, his voice low in my ear. “Not too tight, or you’ll lose control.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. His hands guided mine through the motion of the serve, making me feel like a puppet on strings.

“Toss the ball higher,” he instructed calmly. “And time your swing with its peak.”

I nodded, focusing on his words. Taking another deep breath, I tossed the ball into the air again and swung. This time, the ball cleared the net, although it landed well outside the service box.

“Much better,” Noah said with an unexpected smile. “See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

We spent the next fifteen minutes practicing after that, and to my surprise, I started to improve. Noah’s calm demeanor made it hard not to relax, and before long, I was laughing at my own mistakes instead of stressing over them. By the time I managed to land a serve squarely in the service box, I couldn’t help but cheer.

“Look at that! A perfect serve,” Noah said. “Told you you’d get it. Wanna try your backhand now?”

I nodded and, just like before, Noah moved behind me. His body gently hovered mere inches behind mine, his fingers wrapping around the racquet.

“It’s like this,” he said, slowly arcing my arms through the swing and across my chest. “Follow through until the racquet’s almost behind your head… Perfect.”

I was about to try it on my own when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw that Nicholas had returned. But something was different.

He was standing at the edge of the court, his expression dark and unreadable. His amber eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment before shifting to Noah, still standing directly behind me, and the tension in the air became almost palpable.

Noah barely had time to step away from me before Nicholas was striding purposefully across the court.

“Time to go,” he said abruptly.

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. “What? Why so soon?”

“Now, Kayla,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He reached out and took my hand, and before I could argue, he was suddenly pulling me away.