Chapter 28 #2
“But I can’t remember deciding any of it.”
“No.”
“I need to decide again.”
“Then we start over.”
His thumb moved once against the side of my hand.
“I think we should both get tested.”
Relief loosened something in my chest.
“Absolutely.”
“You aren’t insulted?”
“Why would I be?”
“Because you already know you’ve been faithful.”
“I know what I’ve done. You’re entitled to current information about both our bodies.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Could we go tomorrow?”
“We have Dr. Whitcomb at nine, and the settlement meeting at ten thirty.”
He blinked. “Settlement meeting?”
“The call from Felicity.”
Recognition arrived a beat late.
“Oh. Right.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Something about money.”
“How much money?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You knew yesterday.”
He lowered his gaze.
“Four hundred and something.”
My pulse shifted.
“Four hundred thousand?”
“Possibly.”
“Noah.”
“I was exhausted.”
I waited.
He stared at the flashlight as though it might rescue him.
“Four hundred twelve thousand five hundred.”
The room seemed to lose sound.
I looked at him, but his expression did not mirror my shock. He appeared detached from the figure, as if it belonged to an account held by strangers.
“That is…” I began.
“A number.”
“A very large number.”
“It doesn’t feel real.”
I could think of bills. Repairs. Debt. Months of lost work. The future we had stopped daring to imagine.
But Noah’s face warned me not to turn his suffering into arithmetic.
“We’ll deal with it at the meeting,” I said.
“Good.”
“And when we’re done, we’ll go to the clinic.”
His shoulders eased.
“Good.”
I raised his hand and pressed my mouth to his knuckles.
“This belongs to you.”
“The testing?”
“Every decision we make from here.”
His gaze drifted toward the bottle in the open drawer.
“When we eventually…” He stopped.
I waited without supplying the word.
“When we have sex,” he tried again, quieter, “I want it to feel close.”
My body reacted with an immediacy I could neither prevent nor hide entirely.
“What does close mean to you?”
“No barrier.”
I held his gaze.
“After the results. And only if that is still what you want.”
“It will be.”
“It might be.”
I watched irritation gather in his face.
“I hate when you leave room for me to change my mind.”
“I love that you’re allowed to.”
The irritation softened.
“What was it like?” he asked.
“Between us?”
He nodded.
I considered every possible answer and found them all inadequate.
“Intimate.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It wasn’t only physical.”
“What was it, then?”
“Trust made tangible.”
His eyes remained fixed on mine.
“We had already shared almost everything two people could share,” I said. “But making that decision together felt like crossing another threshold. There was nowhere left to hide, and neither of us wanted to.”
His throat worked.
“And afterward?”
“I held you.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
Color deepened across his cheeks.
“Did you stay close to me? All the way?”
Heat tightened low in my body.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Usually?”
“Usually.”
His breathing changed.
I brushed my thumb across his knuckles.
“Is this too much?”
“No.”
He opened his eyes, and the desire there was no longer theoretical.
“It’s arousing,” he said.
“Thinking about it?”
“Knowing I chose it before.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Knowing I wanted you that much.”
“What do you want now?”
“The tests.”
“Good.”
“And afterward…”
“We talk again.”
His expression sharpened. “Reid.”
“Cal.”
The private name in his voice stripped away the distance between us.
I touched the line of his jaw.
“When the results come back, if your body is ready and your mind is ready, we won’t try to recreate anything you can’t remember. We’ll make something that belongs to who we are now.”
His lips parted.
“Will you be careful with me?”
“Yes.”
“What if I don’t want careful forever?”
“Then you tell me what you do want.”
“And you’ll listen?”
“Every time.”
I kissed him.
He answered without hesitation, gripping the front of my shirt and drawing me closer. The kiss deepened quickly, his mouth warm and eager, carrying the faint sweetness of the pear yogurt Maeve had left on the coffee table.
I let him set the pace.
His hand slid to my neck. Mine settled at his waist, careful of the healing hip. The heat between us built until the open drawer and the bottle beside our knees began to feel like a promise neither of us had agreed to keep today.
I ended the kiss.
Noah leaned his forehead against mine, breathing hard.
“You always stop.”
“When we haven’t decided to continue.”
“It’s infuriating.”
“It’s safe.”
He considered that.
“Both things can be true.”
Together, we restored order to the drawer. Neither of us could remember where the flashlight belonged, so we left it on top.
Noah came downstairs for the final hours of the workday.
He did not overreach. He relabeled bins at the clean bench, entered inventory from the afternoon delivery, and swept metal filings from the far bay with slow, methodical strokes.
Work returned something to him.
His shoulders settled. His expression cleared. He moved through the yard not as a patient being entertained but as a man whose judgment mattered.
The change steadied me too.
Near closing, I sat in the office adjusting the following week’s schedule when Noah appeared in the doorway.
“Dinner,” he said.
“Is that a question or a declaration?”
“A question disguised as confidence.”
“What are my choices?”
“We possess ground beef.”
“Encouraging.”
“And the weather is cold.”
“Still true.”
“Meatloaf?”
“Yes.”
“Mashed potatoes?”
“Obviously.”
“Green beans, assuming I remember where we keep them.”
“The refrigerator.”
“That happened once.”
He remained in the doorway.
I lowered the screen of my laptop.
His eyes held mine.
There was heat in them. Not the uncertain curiosity of the past few weeks. This was steadier. Deliberate.
I stood.
He leaned one shoulder against the frame, apparently waiting to see what I would do.
“Are we going upstairs?” I asked.
“Eventually.”
The invitation was unmistakable.
I crossed the office.
The moment I came within reach, he caught my shirt and pulled me into him.
There was no tentative beginning. No polite testing of distance.
His mouth opened beneath mine, hungry and certain. His body pressed against me, and the evidence of his desire sent a hard pulse of need through my entire body.
I put my hands at his waist, supporting without restraining, and kissed him more deeply.
A rough sound escaped him.
His palm traveled down my back and settled low, bold enough to make me break the kiss with a startled laugh.
He looked pleased with himself.
“Hello,” I said.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“I noticed.”
“Far too much.”
“About the clinic?”
“About what comes after.”
I caught his lower lip gently between mine.
His hips moved closer.
“What do you want right now?”
“Your mouth.”
The bluntness stole my breath.
“Where?”
He guided my hand between us.
“Here.”
I searched his face.
“Color?”
“Bright green.”
“Pain level?”
“One.”
“Any dizziness?”
“None.”
“Are you frightened?”
His gaze did not waver.
“Not of you.”
I kissed him once more, then turned and locked the office door.
Caleb and Owen had left, but privacy was not only about the possibility of interruption. It was about allowing Noah to feel contained without being trapped.
The apartment waited one flight above us.
I still did not hurry him there.
He took my hand and led me through the inner door into the sail loft, where the padded worktable stood empty after the ferry project. He sat on its edge, the height allowing his injured hip to remain supported and his left foot to stay firmly on the floor.
“Better than trying anything on concrete,” he said.
“Was this part of Maeve’s medical advice?”
“She recommended support and proper alignment.”
“I doubt she specifically endorsed the workshop loft.”
“She left room for interpretation.”
I moved between his knees.
He unbuttoned my work shirt while I kissed him, concentrating so fiercely that he skipped one button and cursed against my mouth.
I laughed.
He answered by grazing my lower lip with his teeth.
Desire tightened through me.
His hands spread over my chest, learning and remembering at once. When they moved lower, I caught his wrist gently.
“You first.”
His expression darkened with anticipation.
I undressed him slowly, adjusting every movement around the injured leg. He lifted his hips only as much as necessary, trusting my hands to guide the fabric away without twisting him.
When he was bare before me, I stopped.
I had seen him countless times before the accident. Since then, I had seen him during bathing, dressing, examinations, and the cautious explorations we had begun together.
Familiar did not mean ordinary.
Nothing about Noah had ever been ordinary to me.
I bent and kissed the inside of his thigh, then the skin near the scar at his hip.
His breath snagged.
“Pain?”
“No.”
I looked up. “Tell me immediately if that changes.”
“I promise.”
I touched him with my hand, and his eyes fell closed.
“No,” he said.
I stopped at once.
His eyes opened.
“I don’t want to shut you out. I want to watch.”
The words sent heat through me.
I held his gaze as I lowered my head.
The first touch of my mouth made his fingers curl around the edge of the table. A strained, disbelieving sound escaped him.
I kept every movement slow enough for him to follow. Warmth, pressure, the careful rhythm of my hand. I watched his face for pain and found only wonder giving way to pleasure.
His hips shifted.
I steadied his thigh without holding him down.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
I continued.
His breath broke. The self-conscious control in his expression began to dissolve, leaving him open and achingly beautiful.
One of his hands lifted toward my hair and stopped halfway.
“You can touch me,” I said.
His palm settled at the back of my head.
He did not push.
He held me as if he needed the connection more than the control.
I watched trust and pleasure spread across his face together.
“Cal.”
The name emerged rough and intimate.
I answered him without words.
His body tightened.
“I’m close.”
I slowed instinctively.