What the hell? Noah's brows clashed together over his eyes as Seth moved to stand between him and Macy, as if Noah was about to go bananas and start attacking her. As if Seth was protecting her from him. He spit on the ground and dropped his still-burning cigarette. He looked at Macy, her little brown head popping around the figure between them.
He could have kissed her - not just for her words, but for her defiance in the face of Seth's overbearing over-protectiveness. But, instead, he turned his attention to the annoyance at hand. Noah's suspicions - some of them. The superficial ones - had diminished. They fled. He'd seen Seth holding Macy's hand. He still didn't know why she was here, really, or what had happened, or anything - but her body language towards Seth was as it should be.
After all, Macy was a decidedly nice girl. Surely, no matter who it was, if they asked her to accompany them to their father's funeral - or even their cat's - she'd go. She might even hold their creepy, fucking hand, too, if they asked. That didn't, however, Noah reminded himself, mean she was fucking them.
His anger fell away a bit. His sleep-deprived mind was struggling to capture and assess the information flooding in, but Noah knew - from the look on Macy's face - that something was okay. "I would ask you not to treat her as if she needs someone to speak for her, you fucking moron."