That probably made her a selfish bitch, but she couldn’t help it.
Noah’s phone buzzed on the couch cushion. He marched over to the sofa and picked up his cell. “It's from a third-party phone service.”
"Take it," Jag said. “And put it on speaker."
Noah tapped the green button.
The automated voice of the federal prison system filled her living room on a quiet Sunday afternoon, asking Noah Chase if he was willing to accept a collect call from Matias Salazar.
7
It had been ten years since Noah had heard that voice with the slight Mexican accent.
Ten fucking years. Noah knew the exact number. He'd counted every one of them carefully, from a distance. They were attached to something he couldn't put down and couldn't pick up either—aware of the weight without lifting it. Ten years since he'd driven away from that prison and told himself it was the last time because there was no way to reconcile the two versions of his father.
The automated recording finished its sentence.
Matias Salazar.
Six syllables in his father's own voice, and Noah's entire body registered them before his brain had a chance to intervene.
Noah's thumb sat over the screen as he forced himself to breathe.
He was aware of Ziggy’s living room the way he was aware of the control room during a live broadcast—not looking at any one thing but taking in all of it at once. Ziggy to his left, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her without touching her. Jag stood near the fireplace. Troy was leaning so far forward in the armchair that he'd abandoned any pretense of being relaxed,which was odd for him. Cormac moved along the wall without making a sound. He raised his cell, showing a recording app.
And thanks to the fact that all prison calls from inmates were recorded, it gave the other party implied consent. Noah nodded, Cormac tapped the little green button, and Noah accepted the charges.
“Hello.” It was a single word. Nothing special. Noah had said it a million times. But it didn’t roll off his tongue easily in this moment.
"Is this Noah Chase?" His father’s voice, which was deep and still carried a hint of their heritage, rattled Noah’s chest. "I need to speak with Noah Chase."
His father knew his voice. His father had heard it on television for over a decade. He would know in one syllable that he was talking to his son.
Noah looked up. Jag caught his eye and mouthed two words.Play along.
"This is he,” Noah said.
“Mr. Chase, I’m sure you know who I am.” The words seeped into Noah’s body with a chill, occupying whatever space was available.
“I am,” Noah said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you would be the best person to handle this situation.”
Noah glanced around the room. Troy, Cormac, and Jag hadn’t moved. But Ziggy had managed to get pen and paper. To her, it never mattered if a session was being recorded, she wanted to make notes. She called it pulling out the power words. Or finding the nuggets. And, he had to admit, he was curious about what she was scribbling right now. Or maybe he just needed a distraction. “I’m sorry, Mr. Salazar,” Noah said, following the pretense. “But I don’t understand.”
“The interview with your colleague, Hugh Ender. I didn't agree to it. At least, not like he’s representing it.”
“If that’s true, then why would a respected reporter make that statement in front of the federal prison where you’re currently housed?” Noah asked, doing his best to keep the reporter side of him front and center.
“I don’t know.”
Noah didn’t believe that for one second. “Let me ask you this, did you meet with Hugh? Did you and Hugh have a conversation? And I wouldn’t lie about that because prisons keep those records, and it’s something I could easily find out.” Fuck. Noah shouldn’t taunt his father like that.
Matias chuckled. It was that same low, soft laugh Noah had heard in his youth. The one that normally made him smile. Now it gave him heartburn.
“I did meet with him, but he lied to me, and now he’s manipulating me.”
Noah bit back his own laugh. “Care to explain?”