The Billionaire’s Fight For Redemption

I walk slowly towards Noah. No one needs to tell me it’s him. Even after six years, I can still tell him apart from millions of people.

I literally feel like my heart is lodged in my throat. Like someone is squeezing my lungs. Stealing the very air, I am trying to push into them. I clench my hands in an effort to stop them from shaking, but it is no use.

His black hair is as I remember. What is different, though, is his build. His shoulders are broader; he has a more solid frame. He also seems bigger, more imposing. Then again, the last time I saw him, he was twenty. He is now a twenty-six-year-old man. Of course I couldn’t expect him to stay the same.

I continue slowly, feeling as if my feet are made of lead. The wind brushes against me, as if whispering secrets I can't understand. The chill vanishes just as quickly, leaving behind a heat that makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin

Finally, after what feels like a millennium, I reach where he is seated.

I stand behind him. Inhaling slowly. Trying to calm myself. Trying to think of what I should say. I’d been so focused on finding him that I hadn’t thought about what would come next. Now here I am, frozen and mute, standing behind him like some sort of serial killer creep.

I was just about to call his name when his deep voice broke the silence.

“What are you doing here, Sierra?”

I stand rooted, with my mouth slightly open. How did he know it was me? I shake my head at the stupid question. He hates me, so of course he would know it was me. Know thy enemy, type of thing, right?

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, stepping from behind him.

That’s when I see them—bottles scattered at his feet. But it isn’t the bottles that have me worried. It’s the rolled-up papers.

He doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring out at the city below. No wonder they loved this place. The view is breathtaking.

“I came here to remember,” he murmurs. “I’ve been forgetting lately. Her smell, her voice, her laugh, her smile. I just wanted to remember her.”

“Noah”

I can’t help the tremble in my voice, just like I can’t ignore the raw pain in his voice. He is hurting and missing her with every fiber of his being.

I drop to my knees beside him and rest a hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort I can. His body trembles, as if the pain and grief inside him are fighting for release. Fighting to be let out, while he does everything he can to keep them buried.

I look at him—really look at him for the first time in six years. He isn’t anywhere near the man he was on his wedding day. His eyes are hollow. Empty. It’s like the Noah I knew died the day she died.

Today is Chloe’s death anniversary.

She passed away two years ago from stage four brain cancer. No one knew she was sick. Not even Chloe herself. By the time she was diagnosed, it was already too late. There was nothing they could have done to save her.

They had given her a maximum of one year to live, but Chloe died four months after the cancer was diagnosed.

"I miss her so much," he whispers, voice hoarse. "Why did it have to be her? Why did she have to die? How are the twins supposed to survive without her? How am I supposed to live without her?"

The questions tumble from him, one after another. I can’t answer them. I have no answers. Just silence and sympathy.

I questioned what I was about to do, but it was killing me witnessing his pain. It was killing me seeing him hurting this way. I hesitate for a second—then move closer and wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to me.

To my surprise, he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t fight me. He doesn’t insult me or push me away. He simply clings to me, holding on to me like I am a lifeline, like his life depends on it. His grip hurt a little, but I let him. I let him, even though I knew I probably shouldn’t.

"Make it stop, Sierra. Please make the pain go away."

"I wish I could, Noah."

His shoulders shake silently. He doesn’t make a sound, but I know he is crying—for Chloe. For the love he lost. For everything that would never be.

"I want her to come back," his voice breaks. "I want all this to be nothing but a terrible dream. I miss her so much and It's getting harder to live each day that I am here without her."

His words scare me because they sound like the words of someone who has given up all hope. Maybe I should have a talk with Aunt Ava and see whether she can get him to see a therapist.

Since there is nothing else I could do for now, I hold him tighter, wishing I could absorb even a fraction of his pain. No matter what happened between us in the past. No matter how terrible he was to me, no one deserved this kind of grief. No one should go through the pain of losing a loved one.

It’s even worse for him because no one saw it coming. No one predicted it. One minute she was okay and the next she was gone. He never had time to prepare. To process her illness or her death. I doubt he ever accepted death.

“You haven’t told me why you are here,” he says as he pushes away from me, seeming to back to his normal self.

I don’t know how long it had been, but I also didn’t care. He now seemed more composed. I could still see the pain in his gray eyes, but he was better. Almost like releasing some of the pain he had been holding had helped a little.

My legs were numb from kneeling, so I shoved aside the scattered bottles and sat next to him.

"Your mom was worried about you," I say quietly.

He lets out a short, mocking laugh. "So, she sent you?"

"Yup."

"Of all people." He sounds genuinely surprised. It’s like he just couldn’t believe that his mom would send me.

"I know, right?" I laugh. "I asked the same thing."

We fall silent. I’m not surprised, though; Noah and I rarely interacted so it not a surprise that we didn’t have anything to talk about.

Then, unexpectedly, he pulled a stash from his pocket. Lit it and then took a slow drag.

"That’s not good for you," I mutter, eyeing him worriedly. "I thought you quit."

Things were hard for him after Chloe’s death. He spiraled. He fell into depression, became an alcoholic and even started doing drugs. His parents had to take him for rehabilitation after he wrecked his car one day driving home while high.

"I did," he says. "But today... I need something to ground me. Something to take the edge off. Something to help me cope with the pain. Alcohol wasn’t doing shit.”

To my surprise, he offers me one. I’ve never smoked before. But against my better judgment, I take it, bring it to my lips and inhale.

I cough violently as my body tries to fight the foreign substance. Tears stinging my eyes as the smoke invades my lungs. It burns like hell.

Noah barely glances at me before turning back to the city view below.

"The twins turned five a few weeks ago," he begins. "She had everything planned for their big five. Down to the last detail. Today just hit hard. She won’t be there to watch them grow up. To see all their milestones. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to grow old together, Sierra. But I lost her. And she’s not coming back."

I want to say something, but what can I say? Nothing I do or say will make things easier or better for him. Instead, I take another drag, this time it’s much easier.

"Does it make me selfish that I wish it had been me who died?" he asks softly “That way I wouldn’t be the one going through this constant pain.”

"It doesn’t make you selfish, Noah," I reply. "It makes you human."

If you had asked me whether I could imagine sitting with Noah, smoking and talking like normal people, I would have said hell no. But here we were. It’s foreign. It’s different… And almost peaceful.

We start talking about Chloe. Our memories of her. They were all mixed. There were happy ones and sad ones. We talk for what seemed like forever. By the time we stop, I feel lightheaded and I am probably high.

The air between us is comfortable, something that has never happened.

Through the haze and foggy mind, I realized that I hadn’t called or texted Aunt Ava to let her know that I had found Noah.

I’d done what I promised. It was time to go home.

I’ve never been this relaxed before. I felt so happy. Sure, everything felt slow and distorted, but who cares when I feel so good?

I stand up and immediately stumble. The world around me is spinning… And why the hell did the distance between me and my car seem longer? Also, what was up with the burst of colors? Why did they seem brighter than they should be?

"Where are you going?" Noah’s voice sounds so far away.

"Home," I reply. "I’ll text Aunt Ava to let her know that I found you."

I don’t look back, just turn to leave, a strange, happy excitement bubbling inside me. I just wanted to get home and cuddle with Blackie.

With that in mind, I take a step forward but then—I am stopped.

Frowning, I turn and find Noah holding my hand.

"Don’t go," he begs, voice rough and vulnerable.

"Noah—"

"Please don’t go, don’t leave me," he pleads. "Just for one night... help me forget. I want to feel alive again. I want to forget the constant ache."

My frown fades when I meet his storm-grey eyes. He looks so lost. So desperate.

I want to help him. But who is going to help me when he decides I no longer have any use?