Peyton & Noah: A Beaumont Novella, page 1
PEYTON & NOAH
HEIDI MCLAUGHLIN
© 2018
* * *
The right of Heidi McLaughlin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
COVER DESIGN: Sarah Hansen: OkayCreations.
EDITING: My Brother’s Editor
EDITING: Ultra Editing Co.
Created with Vellum
To all those who are living their fairytale
Contents
1. Peyton
2. Noah
3. Peyton
4. Noah
5. Peyton
6. Noah
7. Peyton
8. Noah
9. Peyton
10. Noah
11. Peyton
12. Noah
13. Peyton
14. Noah
15. Peyton
16. Noah
17. Peyton
18. Noah
19. Peyton
About Heidi McLaughlin
Also by Heidi McLaughlin
1
Peyton
My college diploma sits on top of the mantle. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here, staring at it, or how many times I stood in front of it so my fingers could rub over the embossed letters in my name. I’m not sure it’s sunk in yet, the fact that I’ve graduated or the idea that I have job offers waiting to be accepted. It’s also one of the last things I have yet to pack for my move to Portland. It’s not that I don’t want to move, it’s that I’m afraid if I box this tangible piece of victory up, the feeling will go away. I achieved another milestone, another win, when doctors all but gave up on me after the accident.
My soon-to-be husband, my lover, my best friend, walks into the living room, carrying two tumblers. Even without tasting the amber colored liquid I know it’s my favorite maple crème liqueur from a winery we found while driving through Vermont. The trip to the Northeast was a surprise during spring break. Somehow, Noah knew I needed to get away, that I needed a reprieve from everything that was coming toward me. Finals, graduation, job offers, and the wedding. I smile as he hands me the glass and bring it to my lips. Before taking a sip, I inhale, letting the sweet smell wash over me. Finally, I tip the glass back and close my eyes, letting the flavor bask over my tongue.
“Still gets you every time?” he asks, sitting down next to me.
“I was never a fan of maple until we found that little winery.”
“Me neither.” Noah reaches for my hand, locking our fingers together. We’re never close enough, and yet sometimes we’re worlds apart, even when we’re sitting right next to each other. Big decisions are weighing heavily on me, on us. Even though he’s proposed a Christmas Day wedding, if I take any one of the jobs offered, I’ll be asked to work. Being the newbie means I’m one of the lowest employees on the totem pole. They’re not going to understand how a quarterback and his sideline reporting fiancée are getting married in the winter. Most of the time I don’t understand it, but it’s what I want. It’s the wedding I envisioned.
We sit in silence, sipping our drinks, while I continue to stare at my degree, and Noah… well, he’s just present. Always my constant, my biggest cheerleader, my confidante. He’s my reason for being, and deep down I know I came back from the brink of death because of him.
I’ve never asked what he said to me, but I know he spoke. That much I remember. I tried telling my therapist about my experience, telling her I saw my dad, my grandma and watched my family weep over my body as it lay there, dying. I told her I felt Noah. I felt it every time he touched my leg, my arm or ran his fingers over my bruised cheek. I was there when he cried, when he begged me to stay.
She hasn’t come out and told me that I’m making it up or that what I’m describing is only a figment of my imagination, but I sense that’s what she thinks. I understand. Death is an unknown. You don’t die and come back, at least not often. And those who do, often keep their thoughts to themselves because it’s such an odd and unexplainable experience.
The support group I’m in, for people like me, they get it though, and they’re helping me come to terms with the memories I have. They’ve experienced something similar, and most say they altered their path because of it. I didn’t, and sometimes I question if I should’ve. If I had, I wouldn’t have to work so hard to avoid the elephant following me around on a daily basis. The amount of pressure I feel to follow my dreams; to be a wife, to become a mother, to be the best friend who helps her guy battle on-the-field demons, wouldn’t be weighing me down so much that I want to give up. I wouldn’t want to throw my career away before it even starts just so I could be on the sidelines and watch Noah play because I’m so afraid of missing something. Right now, that’s the dream I have. To be his constant, his best friend, and his cheerleader. To stand there and cheer my man on. The day I’m asked to critique his game… well, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to. Noah expects it. He doesn’t want any mercy, and deep down, I don’t think I’d show him any but what kind of wife will that make me? What will people say about our relationship? The fact that someone will judge me, judge us by what I say, is bothersome.
Noah nuzzles my neck and I lean into him, sighing. He makes everything better, and yet, more complicated. He knows about my memories from when I was in a coma. We spoke at length about me seeing my father and how I wanted to give up. How I wanted to spend just a little more time with him. In my father’s world, there is no pain, and in that moment, I was suffering.
“I love you,” he whispers against the curve of my neck. Does he know I’m struggling? Can he sense my hesitation? Of course, he can. He’s always been in tune with my feelings.
“Am I making a mistake?”
Noah sits up, taking the glass away from my grasp and sets mine and his on the table. Just like that, his mood has changed. He angles himself on the sofa so he can look at me. Brushing my hair behind my ear, his fingers touch one of my scars. It tingles, almost to the point of hurting me. I have dead zones all over, spots where the nerves never reconnected to my system, making them useless and annoying. It’s the worst when we’re together and I flinch because the man I love touched my side. It scares Noah, breaks his heart. I can see it in his eyes when it happens. He’s sorry, and sometimes he’s afraid. And I hate it.
“Babe, that’s a loaded question. Are you making a mistake by moving to Portland? Getting married? Wanting to start a family? Taking a job? What’s on your mind?” he asks, cupping my cheek. “Talk to me. I can’t help if you keep it bottled up.”
When he’s like this, it’s hard. I’m so in love with him, I just want to curl up and let him take away all my pain, but he’s too strong-willed for that. He wants me, no, he demands that I stand on my own two feet, that I be independent, that I strive for greatness. Noah refuses to hold me back, and because of that, I love him unconditionally.
“Marrying you will never be a mistake, Noah Westbury.”
He smiles softly. “Thank God because I was starting to worry.”
It’s me who’s now touching his face, running my fingers over his stubble. “You’re the love of my life,” I tell him, even though he already knows this.
“Doesn’t mean getting married is the right thing to do.”
His words shock me. I lean back and look at him questioningly. Is he having second thoughts? Is there doubt in his mind that we’re making a mistake? I know I’m young, but I’m ready.
Noah reaches for me, pulling me to his lap, wrapping me in his arms in such a way that I have no choice but to look into his eyes. “I can see the gears spinning, the thoughts cranking away. I know you, Peyton, so I want you to stop. Don’t ever question my love for you or look for a hidden message in my words. Your parents aren’t married, it works for them. Our wedding date is months away, and we’ve yet to decide on the simplest things, like a color theme or the flowers. I’m hoping you’re doing that with your mom, with Elle, and maybe with my mom and Paige, but if you’re not, and this date doesn’t work for us, tell me. I’ll marry you right now, tomorrow, next year, the year after that, if that’s what you want.”
“What did I do to deserve a man like you?”
“I ask myself the same question every day about you because you are the love of my life, and I hate that we wasted so many years.”
“We needed to grow up.”
He laughs. “No, I needed to grow up. You’ve always been the mature one. Now tell me what’s going on?”
I sigh and snuggle into him. If it weren’t so hot outside, I’d ask him to build a fire. It’s one of the best things about this apartment, the fireplace. When he was able to be here during the season, we often sat here, watching the red, orange, and yellow flames until they flicked out and only embers were left. Noah joked once that we needed a bear skin rug to lay in front of it, so we could make love on it. I laughed, it was a full belly laugh with aching sides, only he wasn’t joking. He said men have fantasies too, that don
“What if working isn’t the right path for me?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
I shrug against his chest. “I feel like I’ve lost so much, even though I haven’t, and I don’t know if being a career woman is more important than starting a family. What if I take a job and they’re not supportive of me taking a week off at Christmas? Still, to this day, the locker room chatter is that wives know better during the season.”
“Do you care about what others think?”
“I care about what they say about you. I care about how they’ll see me as a professional. It’s hard enough for women in this field, and for me to come in and ask for a week off so I can get married…?” I pause and shake my head. “I don’t know how that’ll go over.”
“Who says you have to start this season?”
“No one, but the offers are here now. What if they don’t want me next year?”
Noah adjusts the way we’re sitting so he can really look at me. His eyes are gentle, almost as if they’re pleading with me to let him in. He’s in, even if he’s having a hard time navigating my thoughts.
“I have a feeling you’ll be wanted. You graduated number one in your class. You’ve had job offers since last summer, they’ve waited for you for over a year and a half. They can wait a bit longer if you’re unsure. And if they can’t, then they don’t deserve to work with you. Why don’t you start after the first of the year? This will give you the freedom to plan our wedding, be with your mom and sister when you need to be.”
“And be on the sideline for your games?”
“Babe, I expect you to kick my ass after every game.”
I work my body around so that I can straddle Noah. His hands go to my hips. I bear down on him, hoping to feel his need through the flimsy material of my shorts. “What if I tell you that I want to start a family before we’re married?”
“I’d carry you to our bedroom and see what I could do about making that happen.”
I look over my shoulder toward the direction of our room. Boxes are stacked on top of one another, taped shut, and ready for the movers who are arriving tomorrow. Noah and I have been living out of our suitcases, which honestly isn’t out of the ordinary for us. We travel everywhere, between Chicago, Portland, Beaumont, and Los Angeles. I’m surprised we don’t just live on a plane. It would make things a hell of a lot easier.
“You don’t want to wait until we’re married?”
“To make love to you? No,” he says, shaking his head wildly and laughing. “To make a baby with you, definitely not because I know how you feel about me, and you know how I feel about you. And someday, whether it’s tomorrow, Christmas Day or next year, we’re going to take our vows in front of our friends and family, and if that means we have a little one there to watch, so be it.”
“You’re too good to me.”
He brushes my hair off my shoulder, drops his hands to pick me up. “I’m good because of you, Peyton. Without you, I am nothing.”
2
Noah
I have never been able to sleep on commercial planes. I don’t know if it’s the rumbling from the engine, the stagnant air, the uncomfortable seats, or that I’ve been spoiled by the fact my family has a private jet at their disposal. Still, I try to find some shut-eye on our flight to Portland. Every so often, I open my eyes to look at Peyton. She’s deep in thought, scribbling on sticky notes and placing them at the top of the page of her magazine.
“That one’s pretty,” I tell her, pointing to the dress on the page. She looks at me, smiles, and turns back to the stack sitting on the tray. She pulls one out from the middle and flips it open.
“I was thinking that maybe you could wear a suit instead of a tuxedo.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone is always dressed up, either for some gala or the Grammy’s, and I thought you, Quinn, the dads, and whoever you ask to stand next to you would like a one-day reprieve.”
Despite the console between us, I pull her to me. Her magazine falls to the floor as our lips crash together. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
She nods and kisses me again. “So much,” she says before pulling away and adjusting the way she’s sitting in her seat.
“Every damn day of my life,” I remind her. “And I love that you’re thinking about our comfort. I like that suit.”
“Me too.”
Look at that, one thing settled for our wedding. Now, if we could pick a date and get the invites sent out, it would be a miracle. Still, I don’t pester her about it. She has a vision of what her perfect day will look like, and unfortunately, my job and her potential job, are clouding that for her. I wish I could help her, ease her mind on these trivial things, but I can’t. She’s right. The industry of professionals we surround ourselves with will not understand why she’s getting married in the winter. Wives and girlfriends know better, according to the old-timers. Some still believe that weddings and babies only happen in the offseason. I don’t necessarily disagree, except my girl wants to be married at Christmas, even if she won’t come out and say it.
“Do you know who you’re picking as your best man?”
I shake my head. “It’s either my dad or Quinn.”
“Not Nick?” she asks.
Again, I tell her no silently. As close as I am with Nick, asking him would hurt my dad’s feelings, and that’s not something I am comfortable doing. My dad would tell me that he understands, but deep down I know he won’t. He’s still, to this day, trying to make up for those ten years we lost.
“I think both would be honored.”
“What about you, have you asked Elle?”
Peyton smiles softly. “Not yet, she’s so busy with her job and trying to build a band that I haven’t wanted to broach the subject with her. What if she says no?”
I lean forward and cup her cheek. My thumb moves back and forth against her soft skin. “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head. This is your sister we’re talking about. Not just any sister, but your twin. You know better than anyone that she’s expecting you to ask her and you also know she’ll drop everything to be by your side.”
“But is it fair, to ask her I mean? She’s trying to build a career.”
What a loaded question. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all trying to build our careers. My showing as a quarterback hasn’t been stellar by any means. Peyton, with offers from major networks, must decide on what she plans to do. Elle is a budding music manager. And Quinn, I think he’s the only one who’s content doing his own thing.
“And so are you, but this is your wedding, your sister will be by your side. I think you know this, but are trying to find excuses as to why we shouldn’t get married this year.”
Her mouth drops open. A good boyfriend, fiancé, and partner would backtrack his comment. While I am good, I’m not taking back what I said. I’ve gotten the feeling from her for a while that the timing is off, and maybe it is, but she needs to know that we don’t have to get married this year or even next. I’m not going anywhere.
I pick up her left hand and kiss the ring I placed on her finger. “I love you, Peyton, with everything that I am, but I get the feeling you’re not ready to get married.”
“I am, Noah.”
“But?”
She takes her hand away and covers her face. The shudder of her shoulders has me pulling her into my arms as much as I can. I’m an idiot for bringing this up on the plane, of all places, where people could hear what we’re saying. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear.
“Don’t be. You’re right to question me. Lately, I’ve felt… off. I can’t explain it.”
“We can wait, Peyton.”
She pulls away and shakes her head as she wipes a few tears from her cheeks. “I don’t want to wait, I want things to make sense.”
