Page 28 of Finding Noah

“Hey,” I whispered, surprised by the shakiness in my voice.

I laid my hand against his soft, furry belly and tried to mimicked the timing of his deep breaths with my own. In and out, in and out, until I was sure I was okay—at least for the moment.

Then I leaned forward and grabbed the TV remote and Nintendo Switch from the coffee table.

***

My eyes were glued to the screen, my mind focused on steering Mario through winding roads, when a tall, looming form emerged from the hallway. I jumped with a gasp, nearly dropping the Switch controllers, until I quickly realized it was Soldier, and a nervous laugh burst from my lips.

“You couldn't sleep either, huh?” he asked as he walked toward the couch and dropped beside me.

“I don't like the thunder,” I muttered stupidly. It was true; I didn't. But I felt like a baby, admitting it to him.

“I didn't know you were scared of thunderstorms.”

“I'm not scared,” I said, quickly defending myself. “I just don't like them.”

Because they're loud. Because they remind me of things.

“Yeah, I get that. I used to hate the snow ‘cause it reminded me of the night my friend died. It didn't scare me or anything. It just … you know, brought back bad memories.”

This was why I liked—loved—Soldier so much. He knew how to talk to me without making me feel like a silly little kid.

“Thunder makes me think of yelling,” I muttered. And other things.

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

Another boom of thunder cracked through the night, and instinctively, I leaned into Soldier's enormous body, only to quickly move away. I was so dumb and babyish. So weak.

That's why I couldn't stop Dad.

Because I'm too small.

Soldier cleared his throat and asked, “What are you playing?”

“Mario Kart,” I mumbled.

“And you didn't ask if I wanted to play? What the hell, man?!”

I smiled then—I couldn’t help it. And with a deep, cleansing breath, I got up to grab the other controller.

***

I coasted down Rainbow Road when a low rumbling sounded from somewhere in the near distance. Slowly, I lowered the controller to my lap, focusing my attention on the sound.

“Gonna beat your ass,” Soldier muttered triumphantly, a smirk on his face.

Is it thunder?

No. It's not thunder. It's …

“Do you hear that?” I asked, searching for Soldier's eyes.

He paused the game, even though I'd already unintentionally driven my kart right off the road. I didn't care about the game. I cared about that sound and the deep, gross, sick feeling brewing in my belly as the sound came closer and closer.

“Do I hear wha—”

Soldier's expression morphed instantly from disinterest to concern.