Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
N oah held his breath as Paul carefully removed the pressure monitor from Ruth’s skull. The past forty-eight hours had been an agonizing watch-and-wait game, but her intracranial pressure had remained stable. Her incision looked good, her pupils were reactive, and there were no external signs of swelling. Yet, her vision remained absent.
Noah’s heart twisted in his chest as he tucked a loose strand of Ruth’s hair behind her ear. She was exhausted, her body drained from the trauma and the relentless fight to heal. Even as he whispered reassuring words, promising her rest, recovery, and a future where she’d be okay, he wasn’t sure she believed it. He wasn’t sure he believed it.
As soon as Ruth slipped back into sleep, Noah grabbed Paul by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen. He then turned on the loud exhaust fan above the stovetop. His pulse pounded, his hands trembling as he turned to his brother, desperation thick in his voice. “How is she— really ? I need the truth, Paul. Please.”
Paul exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Noah, you know I’m not a neurosurgeon. But I can tell you this—she’s getting the best care possible, even if we’re in a house instead of a hospital.”
“That’s not good enough.” Noah’s voice was sharp, almost a growl. He needed certainty, not comfort.
Paul nodded, conceding. “The swelling’s gone down. She’s exhausted but lucid. Her memory’s mostly intact, and there aren’t any other neurological deficits.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “But…”
Noah felt that single word press into his chest. But.
“She still can’t see,” Paul admitted finally. “And something about that isn’t right.”
Noah clenched his fists. “Duh, Paul. I know that much.” His voice was dripping with frustration, but beneath it was raw fear.
Paul shook his head. “No, I mean something’s really wrong. She needs a CT scan.”
Noah’s stomach lurched. He already knew that, but hearing it spoken out loud made it worse. “What do you think it is?”
Paul hesitated, his expression darkening. “Either there’s more damage than we initially caught, or…” he trailed off.
“Or what, Paul?” Noah’s patience was razor-thin.
Paul met his eyes. “Or it’s psychological.”
Noah’s stomach dropped. “Psychological?” he repeated, almost incredulously.
“You keep saying she saw something before the injury. She mentioned an envelope, possibly with the drive in it. Who had access to her office?”
Noah ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “Technically, her bosses: Dylan Grant, Blake Ellison, and Matt Brandt. And her secretary, Melanie.”
Paul leaned forward. “What if she saw something so horrific, so traumatizing, that her mind refuses to let her see at all? What if this isn’t just a physical injury, Noah? What if it’s something else—something she can’t bear to face?”
Noah swallowed hard, his heart hammering. He wanted to deny it. Wanted to argue. Wanted to believe there was a simple medical explanation for all of this. But the fear clawing at his gut whispered otherwise. What did Ruth see? And was she strong enough to remember?
Noah exhaled sharply, his mind racing. He pressed his hands against the counter, steadying himself before turning back to Paul. “I need a few more days,” he said, his voice resolute. “Based on the files we’ve opened, I need time to put the case together. Once it’s solid, I’ll get on the ham radio and notify Brad and Alex that we’re heading home. We can hide at the Blackwell Institute—it’s secure, and Ruth can finally be around family. She needs that.”
Paul crossed his arms but didn’t interrupt.
“Tristan and James can take over her care,” Noah continued. “She’ll be safe there, and we can figure out our next move. Once we’re in position, I’ll take down Fairchild for extortion, bribery, conspiracy to commit murder—and then we can go after everyone he paid off. Once that threat is gone, maybe—hopefully—Ruth will remember.”
Paul’s expression darkened, and he took a step forward. “Didn’t you hear me?” His voice was quieter now but thick with warning. “She may not tolerate remembering.”
Noah clenched his jaw. He knew what Paul was saying. He knew this wasn’t as simple as just waiting for Ruth’s sight to return. If her blindness was psychological, then remembering could come at a cost. A cost they might not be prepared for.
But what choice did they have?
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “She deserves the truth, Paul. And so do we.”
Paul hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just be ready for what that truth might do to her.”
Noah’s stomach twisted, but he forced himself to nod.
He wasn’t ready. But he had to be.
* * *
A week later, Ruth sat at the small kitchen table, listening to the rhythmic clinking of utensils as Noah moved around. She could hear him opening cabinets, the quiet rustle of food packaging, the faint scrape of a knife against a cutting board. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of something warm and light—broth, maybe, with a hint of herbs.
Three weeks had passed since she last saw anything. The darkness no longer startled her, but it still left her feeling hollow, as if she had been locked away inside herself with no way out.
“You’re quiet,” Noah said gently, setting something in front of her.
She managed a small smile. “I’m listening. Smelling. Trying to guess what you made.”
Noah let out a soft chuckle. “Simple soup. I didn’t think you’d have the energy for anything heavy.”
She reached forward, and before she could fumble, Noah guided her hand to the spoon. His touch was warm, grounding.
“You okay?” he asked, softer now.
Ruth nodded, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “Just tired.”
“Then eat,” he said. “You need your strength.”
She lifted the spoon to her lips, letting the warmth soothe her. It wasn’t just the soup. It was him. His presence, his voice, the quiet way he took care of her without making her feel like a burden.
They ate in near silence, only the occasional clink of silverware between them. When she finally set the spoon down, her exhaustion was bone-deep.
Paul had been strict about what she could and couldn’t do, but after some convincing, he allowed Noah to help her to the bathroom. The idea of him helping her shower should have embarrassed her, but it didn’t. Maybe because it was Noah . Because she trusted him in a way that went beyond words.
The warm water cascaded over her skin, soothing, grounding—but not enough to chase away the static in her mind. Noah’s hands were steady as he guided her, never hesitant, never awkward. His touch was always careful, never lingering too long, never making her feel small.
But something flickered.
A memory. A ghost of sensation.
The press of his body against hers. Heat. A whispered name—her name— Rae. Her breath hitched, fingers gripping his arm just a little too tightly.
Noah froze, instinctively steadying her. “Rae?”
She swallowed hard, the memory slipping just out of reach, like trying to hold on to mist. Was it real? Or just something her mind desperately wanted to be true?
Noah’s hands were gentle, guiding her out of the shower, wrapping her in a soft towel. She should have been cold, but she wasn’t—not with him this close. He led her back to bed, his movements careful, protective, helping her dress, tucking the blankets around her like she was something fragile. Something precious.
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words. The memories weren’t whole. They weren’t solid. But she felt them. She felt him. And somehow, deep down, she knew. She hadn’t just trusted Noah with her life. She had trusted him with all of her.
She reached out, catching his hand before he could step away. “Noah,” she whispered. “Read to me?”
She heard his soft exhale, the brief pause before he answered, “Of course.”
She felt him settle onto the chair beside the bed, the familiar crackle of pages as he opened a book. His voice, steady and low, filled the room, carrying the story, but it was his presence that steadied her, not the words.
Ruth shifted beneath the blankets, her grip tightening around his fingers. “Stay,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. “Please, just stay beside me.”
Another pause. A hesitation.
Then he squeezed her hand once before letting go. “I’ll be right back.”
The emptiness he left behind felt immediate, even though she knew he wasn’t truly leaving. She waited, listening for the distant sound of water running. When he finally returned, the scent of clean soap clung to him, and the bed dipped as he lay down beside her.
He was warm. Solid. Within moments, his breathing evened out, and she knew he had fallen asleep.
Ruth turned toward him, pressing closer, letting her fingers drift over his face—his jaw, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. She traced him carefully, committing every contour to memory.
She needed to remember him this way. Needed to hold on to something real in the darkness. With a soft sigh, she nestled her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Safe.
Finally, she let herself slip into sleep.