Noah's POV
There's a knock on the door.
"Noah?"
I jolt, the sound slicing through my spiraling thoughts like a blade.
Kieran.
Shit.
My fingers scramble, shoving the photo back into the diary, slamming it closed, then tossing it into the box with the rest of my mother's life. The phone nearly slips out of my hand as I stuff it on top. I can't afford for him to see this.
I don't know why I can't afford for him to see this. He delivered the box, he'd be nothing but kind and supportive. But this anger… this rage I feel at that man. My father. Nate. I want to keep this feeling to myself. I don't want Kieran to know I'm capable of so much bitterness.
I slide the box into the narrow space behind the couch—hidden, for now—then wipe my hands down my shorts and hurry toward the door, trying to slow my racing heart.
