Noah jumped back and ducked. Hugh’s fist missed his face by maybe an inch.
“Don’t make me call security.” Noah quickly and swiftly moved around Hugh, stepping in front of Ziggy. “I understand you’re upset, and I would be too,” Noah said softly, holding out his arms out as if to shield her. “But there are things at play you don’t understand.”
Hugh held his fist in the palm of his other hand. “Right,” he said quietly. "You're fucking unbelievable." He turned and walked out, the door slamming hard enough to make Ziggy grabbed Noah..
Noah turned. “Are you okay?”
“He didn’t take a swing at me,” Ziggy said. “Not sure I’ve ever seen you move that fast.”
He chuckled. “I was more impressed he had it in him.”
“Of course you were.” Ziggy rolled her shoulders. "I can’t wait for this day to be over."
Noah brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “I can’t wait for us to be able to start our lives together.”
17
Noah did his best to ignore the room’s rigidity as one of his techs clipped the microphone to his sportscoat.
He glanced around at the four cinderblock walls, painted the color of old bone. It was the kind of gray that had never been white and reminded him of death.
Two chairs had been placed in the center of the room with a small table between them. The chairs had been orange once, maybe, and had cracked around the edges. The linoleum underneath was a combination of scuff marks and a pale yellow.
The light, from fluorescent tubes behind wire cages mounted to the ceiling, flattened everything it touched.
They buzzed at a frequency just low enough that Noah had stopped hearing it after a while, which was its own kind of cruelty—the sound his brain eventually accepted as silence.
This was the best the warden could mange for a well-known newscaster and his serial killer father.
The room was chilly, but it was the kind of institutional cold that clung to the concrete and never quite let go. Everything unnecessary had been removed and everything necessary had been bolted down, leaving behind a space that didn’t invite conversation—let alone confessions.
However, there was nowhere in this room to hide. As far as Noah was concerned, that was a good thing.
“That should do it," the tech said.
“Is it on?”
“Not yet.”
“Give me a minute with Ziggy before we do a sound check, okay?”
“You’re the boss.” The tech stepped back. “Wave to me when you’re ready.”
“Let me take a look.” Ziggy moved in. Her fingers tugged at his sportscoat, and she adjusted the mic as she did before every show, but this time she seemed to do it with less focus and more a need to do something with her hands.
“Stop moving,” she muttered.
“I’m standing still.”
“Are not.” She flattened her hand briefly against his chest, steadying him. “You’re vibrating.”
His heart pushed irrationally against her hand, as if it wanted to jump out of his chest and be held. He couldn’t blame it. She was the kindest, gentlest, most loving person he knew. And this was all taking a toll on her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, because he couldn’t concentrate on himself. If he did that, he’d go down a rabbit hole he couldn’t navigate. Tonight, he needed to be more on than he’d ever been before. He had to not only direct his father but also direct himself, and that was going to take some effort.
She looked up at him and smiled. It wasn’t wide, and it wasn’t even quite genuine, but it was Ziggy. “I’m doing surprisingly well,” she said. “Claire’s been overly helpful.”
Noah’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Helpful how?”