Chapter 389
Guilt gnawed at him as he remembered accusing Hannah of cheating all those months ago. The memory of that night—Hannah slapping him so hard he'd fallen—played on repeat in his mind, vivid despite the passage of time. He could still feel the sting of her palm against his cheek, the unbridled rage in her eyes as he stumbled back.
But he couldn't even be angry about it. Zoe said Hannah was a cold bitch who deserved punishment for hitting the Alpha of Nightcrest, but Noah often wondered if he’d deserved that slap. He'd said awful things that night, and now he knew he'd been wrong. And, if he was being honest, he was somewhat proud of her for hitting him so hard. She was tough, that was for certain.
Zoe would never dare ruin her manicure with such a thing… Noah’s eyes snapped open, realizing his mind had wandered. He shook his head, quickly dispelling negative thoughts about Zoe. No. Zoe was his fiancée, and he loved her. She would be his wife in a few days. She was perfect for him. His eternal moonlight. Wasn’t she?
“Ready or not, here I come!” he called out, pushing away the nagging thoughts. He searched the guest rooms first, making a show of looking under beds and in closets. This time, Adam seemed to have found a better hiding place. “Adam?” he called, his voice echoing in the empty rooms. “Where are you, buddy?”
As he approached the master bedroom, he heard a faint rustling from Zoe’s wardrobe. A smile tugged at his lips. Adam wasn’t very good at being quiet. Noah crept toward the wardrobe, his footsteps light on the plush carpet. He paused, building the suspense, before flinging the doors open. “Found you!”
Adam looked up, startled, a box in his lap and papers scattered around him. His eyes were wide, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Noah furrowed his brow, confusion replacing his triumphant grin. Pictures? He leaned over, curious. “What do you have there, buddy?”
Adam beamed and scooched aside. “I’m playing with Mommy’s favorite pictures! See how pretty this girl is? She’s like a doll!”
“Yes, your mommy is very pr—”
Before he could finish, Noah felt the air leave his lungs. These weren’t pictures of Zoe at all. They were of him and… Hannah. As teenagers.
With shaking fingers, Noah picked up a strip of photo booth pictures. In the first frame, a younger Hannah pointed at the camera, her face alight with laughter. Her golden hair was longer then, falling in waves around her shoulders. Noah was beside her, smiling with his eyes closed, looking more carefree than he could remember feeling in years. But Noah never took pictures like this with Hannah. How was this possible?
The second picture showed Hannah putting bunny ears behind Noah’s head, and he was rolling his eyes, but the affection in his expression was unmistakable. He didn’t remember this… did he?
In the third picture, Hannah sat in Noah’s lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. They looked so happy, so… so in love.
Noah’s throat tightened as he stared at their younger selves. It was certainly him and Hannah, just younger. Much younger; Hannah looked maybe fifteen, and Noah a couple of years older.
And in the final frame… Noah’s heart stopped as he stared at the image of his younger self kissing Hannah’s cheek. Her eyes were closed, a soft smile on her lips. In that moment, Noah remembered.