The Billionaire’s Fight For Redemption (Noah and Sierra) novel Chapter 330

NOAH.

I shouldn’t be here.

I knew that before I even got in the car. Knew it when I buckled the twins in. Knew it the entire drive over and I definitely know it now… standing in front of her door like I still have any right to be.

My hand hovers over the doorbell for a second, hesitation filling every fiber of my body.

Usually I park by the curb, the twins get out and I watch as they ring the bell. She opens, they wave and me before entering her house, then I leave… No lingering. No forced conversation. No, nothing… That’s the routine. That’s what we silently agreed on.

My jaw tightens.

I should stick to that. I should press the bell, hand them over, and walk away like I’ve done every other time; instead, I just stand here because today isn’t like the other days. Today I want to talk to her. Today I want to ask for her forgiveness. Today I want her to know just how sorry I am.

I called her a few times, but she ignored every one of my calls, and who can blame her? After all that I have done to her over the years, my head should be served to her on a silver fucking plate, because clearly my stupid brain is what got me in this mess in the first place.

A small hand tugs at mine and I look down at Nolan

“Are we going in?” he asks. “You’ve been staring at the door like it’s your enemy.”

I swallow, forcing my fingers to move.

“Yeah,” I mutter and before I can think too much about it, I press the bell.

The second the door opens, everything in me locks up. I stand there stupidly, staring at Sierra and the first time in a long time, I allow myself to admit just how gorgeous she is.

Her eyes move over me once before dropping to the twins and just like that, her expression softens.

“Hey, you two,” she says, as she pulls them into a hug.

I watch it happen like I’m not part of the scene. Like I don’t belong anywhere near it and looking at the three of them, you’d think they’re a family.

The words hit clean, leaving no room to twist them into something else.

“I’m not…” I start, the reflex to defend myself rising fast, but it dies just as quickly because what am I supposed to say? That it’s not true?

My jaw clenches, and I don’t finish the sentence.

“Didn’t ignoring your calls make it clear that I don’t want to talk to you?” she asks, folding her hands over her bump.

I lower my head answering, “It did."

“Then why are you here?” she asks, straightening.

The question hits harder than it should because I don’t have a good answer.

Not one that would make sense to her. Not one that would justify me standing here like I still belong anywhere near her life.