Noah's Adventure - 7. Chapter 7 The Rooftop

We sat in silence for a while, the night pressing cool and quiet around us. The stars above were perfectly still — the exact opposite of what my head felt like.

“You okay?” Shiloh finally asked, voice soft. There was no pressure in the question — just concern.

I took a breath. “Yeah. Things just… suck right now.” Understatement of the year.

He nodded like he understood more than he was letting on. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“So,” he said, changing the subject carefully, “any big summer plans?”

I huffed a laugh. “Honestly? I planned on doing nothing. Just hiding here. But with my mom back in the picture…” I rolled my eyes. “Drama seems to be her main hobby.”

“Sounds familiar,” he muttered, gaze dropping. A tear slipped free before he could swipe it away.

Without even thinking, I reached over and brushed it from his cheek. His breath caught — surprise flickering in his eyes — but he gave me a tiny smile.

“What about you?” I asked gently. “Weren’t you and your brothers supposed to start college?”

He hesitated. “That was the plan. But now… I don’t know.” His voice splintered, raw. “It’s a long story. One I’m not ready to share yet.”

“When you are,” I said, firm and certain, “I’ll be here.”

He nodded — not a thank you, but something deeper.

A beat passed. Then he tilted his head, studying me with a half-teasing curiosity. “How did you not know your grandparents were loaded?”

I snorted. “Look around. This place screams normal. They’ve lived here forever, drive regular cars… yeah, we take nice trips, but I still have chores like a medieval farm boy.” I smirked. “And I’m allergic to grass, so that’s a perk.”

He blinked. “Why is an allergy a perk?”

“Have you ever mowed a lawn in July? I’ll take hives over heat stroke.”

Shiloh laughed — really laughed — and I felt it warm something inside me.

The window behind us slid open. Grandpa poked his head out.

“You two good out here?”

“Yes,” we said together — which made him grin like that told him everything.

“You’re just like your father, you know,” he said to me. “This was his thinking spot too. Now come in before your grandma realizes you’ve escaped and organizes a rescue mission.”

That made both of us crack up. We climbed back inside.

Grandpa’s eyes fell to the blanket on my bed. “I see Matt gave you the gift.” His voice softened. “One of the best ways to sleep through the hard stuff.” Then he winked. “Don’t stay up too late,” and disappeared down the hall.

Shiloh picked up the blanket reverently, tracing one of the stitched jersey patches. “A virtual hug,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said. “Exactly.”

We stayed up talking — everything and nothing — until the weight of the day dragged us into sleep.

Someone jolted us awake.

“Found him,” Uncle Nathan said triumphantly, phone in hand like he’d tracked Bigfoot. Uncle Luca peered over his shoulder.

It took me a second to realize why they were smirking — Shiloh was still asleep, head on my shoulder. He blinked awake and smiled at me, slow and soft. My chest did a stupid fluttery thing.

“You two — breakfast,” Nathan ordered, dragging Luca away before he could tease further.

Once they were gone, Shiloh sat up, cheeks flushed. “Uh… thanks. For last night.”

“You’re welcome.” I tried to play it cool and probably failed. “I’m glad you stayed.”

The pink in his cheeks deepened. “Normally, I don’t open up like that. People… aren’t safe. But you—” He cut himself off with a shy shake of his head.

“Is that why they call you Shi?” I asked, needing to shift the energy before I combusted.

He groaned. “They think they’re comedians. Like the endless Shawn/Shaun/Sean joke.”

“I can call you Shiloh,” I offered. “Or…”

He glanced at me from beneath his lashes. “I don’t mind if you call me Shi.”

Something in my chest flipped. “Okay then, Shi.”

His smile was tiny but dazzling.

We both got ready — shorts, t-shirts, and the smell of bacon pulling us downstairs like gravity.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Grandma greeted, kissing my cheek. She wore her CEO face today — polished, calm, eyes calculating.

“I took a few days off,” she said as she poured coffee. “Grayson’s coming tonight. We need to discuss some… family legal matters. And hire an attorney in California.”

“We’re going to need one,” I muttered.

Grandpa snorted. “Hey, maybe your mother will surprise us.”

We both laughed — the idea too ridiculous to imagine.

But the news on the TV stole my attention. A banner scrolled across the bottom:

Dr. Matthew Jacobs, M.D. appointed new Director of the National Institute of Mental Health

My breath caught.

Uncle Matt.

My family — quiet, loving, normal — had become something so much bigger overnight.

I wasn’t sure whether to be proud…

…or terrified.