Chapter 33 #2
I crossed the distance.
“Noah.”
He looked at me, but the recognition came slowly.
“Cal.”
“I’m here.”
His knees began to fold.
I caught him beneath the arms.
Diane moved toward us.
“Noah, stop being dramatic.”
Caleb stepped between her and the table.
“That’s enough.”
“This is my son.”
“This is private property,” Caleb said. “You’re leaving.”
“You can’t—”
Owen opened the exterior door.
“Now.”
Diane clutched her handbag.
Her gaze fixed on Noah as he sagged against me.
“You’ll regret treating your mother this way.”
Noah’s mouth moved.
No sound came.
I felt his body go loose.
“Get her out.”
I barely recognized my own voice.
Caleb and Owen escorted her through the workshop. She continued talking—about lawyers, family rights, the article, how ungrateful Noah had always been.
The roller door swallowed most of it.
I lowered Noah into a chair.
His skin was cold and wet beneath my hands.
“Look at me.”
His right hand pressed against his temple.
“Pain?”
He nodded once.
“What number?”
No answer.
“Can you speak?”
His lips parted.
Nothing.
Fear cut through rage.
I placed my hand at the base of his neck.
Two short whistles.
One long.
His eye found mine.
“Home,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Need home.”
“I’ve got you.”
He made no protest when I lifted him.
His arms did not automatically circle my neck.
That terrified me.
I carried him through the stairwell.
At the landing, his head fell against my shoulder. His breathing remained shallow, but regular.
Inside the apartment, Marlowe rose from the rug and followed us into the bedroom.
I lowered Noah onto the mattress.
He curled immediately onto his side.
“Medication.”
His hand remained against his head.
I brought the prescribed breakthrough dose and water. He tried to hold the glass, but his fingers did not close properly around it.
I supported him while he swallowed.
“Did you take anything else today?”
A slow head shake.
“Vision?”
He closed both eyes.
“Noah.”
“Bright.”
I drew the curtains and left the green lamp on in the hall.
His body tightened beneath the quilt.
I touched his shoulder.
“Do you want me here?”
He did not answer.
I waited.
Finally, his hand moved across the sheet until it found my wrist.
“Stay.”
I lay beside him fully clothed.
Marlowe pressed against the backs of his legs.
Noah’s breathing gradually slowed.
The medication pulled him toward sleep, but the tension did not entirely leave his face.
“My money,” he murmured.
“Safe.”
“For later.”
“Yes.”
“When I…”
His words failed.
“When what?”
His throat moved.
“When I don’t know you.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
He opened his eye.
“Care.”
“We talked about this.”
“Don’t want you trapped.”
“I am not trapped.”
His eyelid lowered.
“Money makes it easier.”
“Noah.”
But sleep had already taken him.
I stayed until his breathing deepened.
Then I went downstairs because rage had returned and I needed distance from anything breakable.
Diane’s car was gone.
Caleb stood outside the office while Owen swept the shattered mug from the break-room floor.
“How is he?” Caleb asked.
“Asleep.”
“Headache?”
“Bad.”
“Doctor?”
“Not yet. I’m watching.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“I recorded part of it.”
I looked at him.
“The security system has audio near the break room. Not all of it, but enough.”
“Keep it.”
“I already saved a copy.”
Owen leaned the broom against the wall.
“I photographed her plate.”
“Good.”
“If she returns,” Caleb said, “she does not enter the gate.”
“She will not get near him again.”
My promise came out too forcefully.
Caleb studied me.
“You cannot stop every person from causing stress.”
“I can stop her.”
“Yes.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
“But you also need to stop yourself from believing protection means controlling every door.”
I wanted to reject that.
I couldn’t.
“I nearly lost it.”
“You didn’t.”
“I stood up.”
“You stopped.”
“Not because I chose to.”
“Choice can arrive with help.”
Owen emptied the broken ceramic into the trash.
“She wanted you angry,” he said. “Made it easier to call you dangerous.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
“I gave her what she wanted.”
“No,” Caleb said. “Noah told her no. That’s what she’ll remember.”
“He shut down.”
“That is what his brain did after she attacked every vulnerable part of his life.”
I ran both hands over my face.
“He thinks the settlement is for a care facility.”
Neither man spoke.
“He thinks he’s saving me from him.”
Owen’s expression changed.
“That article.”
“Yes.”
Caleb exhaled slowly.
“You need to tell Dr. Whitcomb.”
“I will.”
The yard remained open because three boats needed to leave by evening and because work was the only thing keeping me from going upstairs every thirty seconds.
I went every hour instead.
At noon, Noah had not moved.
At one, he rolled onto his back but did not wake.
At two, he opened his eye when I touched his shoulder.
“Cal?”
“Yes.”
“Gone?”
“She’s gone.”
His eye closed.
“Good.”
At three, he drank half a glass of water and immediately returned to sleep.
At five, Caleb and Owen locked the yard and refused to let me check the doors behind them.
I went upstairs.
Noah woke long enough to eat three spoonfuls of soup.
He did not ask what happened downstairs.
Did not mention his mother.
When I climbed into bed later, he stayed turned away from me.
Usually, even asleep, he found contact.
A hand over my chest.
A knee against my thigh.
His foot seeking warmth beneath my leg.
That night he curled around himself with Marlowe pressed to his back.
I lay awake listening.
At dawn, I touched his shoulder.
“Noah.”
He opened his eye.
The focus was wrong.
Not absent.
Delayed.
“Morning.”
He stared past me.
“Can you look at me?”
His gaze moved slowly.
His right eyelid drooped.
Cold spread through me.
“Smile.”
Nothing.
“Noah, show me your teeth.”
His mouth parted slightly.
No response.
I sat up.
“Can you lift both hands?”
He did not move.
Every fear I had been holding back surged forward at once.
I called emergency services before I had time to negotiate with myself.