Chapter 9
The microscope.
In their rush to get to safety, Hannah had nearly left it in the car. Given that the vehicle might float away, she needed to bring it inside with them.
It felt like she was carrying the ghost of her husband, an image of Marley’s chains popping into her mind unbidden. The expensive lenses symbolized her doubt, her unwillingness to accept Joe’s death all these months later, and it weighed her down, heavy in her arms.
The winds were so strong she and Noah had to lock elbows to get from her car into the shelter of Lizzie’s condo, Brady wrapped tightly against Noah’s chest. Without Noah she knew she’d never be able to walk in this at all, his mass and strength anchoring them to the ground and pulling her forward.
Debris was flying through the air—a stop sign, a bent gutter—so that Hannah finally realized how dangerous the situation really was. She prayed Brady wouldn’t be injured as they fought against the wind, barely inching toward the condo doors.
It was Noah who was pulling her, Noah who was taking care of them both. The man had been shot today—for goodness sake—but still he was the strong one leading her tiny family. What would have happened if she was weathering this storm without him?
She shuddered at the thought.
Something blunt and heavy knocked her in the head. She cried out.
“Are you okay?” asked Noah.
The pain was sharp and throbbing. “Yes. Just keep walking.”
They reached the front doors, Noah opening one and ushering her inside. Brady looked like a koala bear on his chest, holding on for dear life. He lifted his head, his eyes going wide when he saw his mother. “You’re bleeding.”
She touched her injury, finding it gooey with more blood than she would have thought possible. “I’m okay.”
“I’ll stitch it up for you when we get upstairs,” said Noah, putting the boy down. “This way.”
Hannah followed him to the stairwell, Brady’s hand now fisted tightly in her own. Her little boy was dragging, every step taking a Herculean effort from him. It was just past midnight.
She remembered how tired she’d been when she left the hospital, and that was easily four hours ago, maybe more. She was running on fumes and adrenaline. Any moment now she would crash.
Noah had to be exhausted, too. The spot of blood on the back of his thigh showed his wound didn’t care for the amount of physical activity he was doing, and she was grateful the finish line was in sight for them all.
“I’m tired, Mommy.”
“I know, pumpkin.”
Brady clutched her leg while they waited for Noah to find the key. She hoped there would be comfortable sleeping arrangements, but honestly at this point she could sleep standing up with her eyes open.
Hell, maybe she already was.
He pushed open the door to a familiar scene.
The windows had broken, tiny cubes of tempered glass covering the floor, curtains blowing violently in the hurricane winds.
She squeezed her eyes shut, reminding herself she was lucky to be someplace safe.
She shot a sideways glance at Noah. His muscles were bulging from use, sweat light on his brow.
“The worst of the storm is approaching,” he said. “We have to hurry. I’ll put up the plywood. You sweep and vacuum up the glass.”
“I can’t believe you still have power,” she said.
He smiled, the transformation of his face from frighteningly powerful to sublimely handsome. “Now you jinxed us.”
“Right, because if the power goes out in hundred-and-sixty-mile-an-hour winds, it’s just because I said that.” She turned away from him, more than a little unnerved by her reaction to this man, and settled Brady at the table.
“You’re right about the power. I’d vacuum first, if I were you. Then we need to take a look at your cut,” he said.
“It’s fine.”
“You can’t even see it.” He crossed to her.
He was standing in her personal space now, and she bent her head so he could take a look.
The angle left her staring at his wet shirt sticking to his muscled chest and abdomen, and she imagined touching him there with eager hands, the heat of his skin seeping into her palms.
Oh my God, I need to go to sleep.
“It doesn’t look too deep,” he said. “But some stitches would help it stay closed. It can wait, though. I think we should batten down the hatches first, before Oscar walks right in here and sits down, asking for a drink.”
“Agreed.” She found a vacuum, broom, and dustpan in a closet, glass crunching under her shoes with every step.
The task of cleaning up so much spread over such a large area seemed overwhelming in her current state, so she simply went from one task to the next, Brady’s favorite Disney movie in her mind as she went.
Just keep swimming.
At one point she looked over and found Brady with his cheek resting on the table, asleep despite Noah hammering up the plywood. She was more than a little jealous.
“You okay?” Noah asked.
“Just tired. I’m sure you are, too. How’s your leg?”
“It’s all right. Just a little achy.”
“I’ll take a look at it when we’re through.”
“And I’ll get your room set up next.”
“I want to sleep with Brady.”
“Sure thing.”
She’d gotten in the habit of sleeping in her son’s bed after Joe died, and never stopped. There were days where cuddling against his warm little body was the only good thing in her entire world, and while she knew she should stop, she also knew she wasn’t going to any time soon.
Noah finished the plywood and moved on to what she hoped was one of at least two bedrooms. She stood in the center of the condo and crossed her arms over her weary chest. When she stood still, she could feel the building moving from side to side—a sickening sensation she tried to put out of her mind.
Something heavy flew into the plywood with a crack, making her jump.
“You okay?” he called.
“I think you got that plywood up just in time.”
The room went dark, the electric hum of appliances and lights suddenly stopping. The hurricane’s winds seemed louder now, swirling around her in every direction, and the hair on her arms stood on end. Footsteps sounded behind her, muffled by the carpet. “I need to find my go bag,” he said.
“I think it was by the door.” She turned to help him find it. The darkness was complete and she held out her hands in front of her as she walked—straight into Noah. His hands went to her arms. “Sorry,” she said, jerking away and changing direction as if she’d been burned. “Over here somewhere.”
The sound of a zipper opening several feet away stopped her. “Got it,” he said.
“Why do you call it a go bag?”
“Because it’s ready to go at a moment’s notice, with everything I need.” As if to illustrate his point, a small cracking noise preceded the illumination of a blue six-inch stick. “Ta-da.”
She couldn’t help her smile. “Glow sticks?”
He smiled back. “We prefer to call them ChemLights.”
“Either way, Brady’s going to be all over those. You’d better hide them.”
There was an intimacy in the moment, the two of them grinning in the glow from the ChemLight, and Hannah wondered if extreme sleep deprivation was an aphrodisiac.
She was suddenly looking at Noah as a man instead of a threat or a question mark.
A big, strong brute of a man who had done more to take care of her in a few hours than anyone else had done in what seemed like forever.
She took a big breath in. “I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours.”
He stood. “Let’s get you settled, then.” He handed her the glowing light, cracking another one for himself before scooping Brady up and heading down a hallway.
She followed, the hardworking, masculine scent of him trailing behind him on the air, and she imagined the smell worked like bread crumbs to lead lonely women to love, or at least some mind-blowing sex. A crazed giggle bubbled up from her belly without permission.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Must be a really good one if you’re not willing to share.”
“I’m just tired. Getting punchy.”
“Punchy?”
“You know.” She shrugged. “Goofy. Silly. Overtired.”
He stopped walking and she nearly ran into him, her eyes flicking from the massive wall of his chest and her sleeping son to his eyes.
Sweet Jiminy Cricket.
His eyes were smoldering and for the briefest moment she let herself pretend she might do something about it. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded dreamy and suggestive, and she licked her lips, not knowing if she was serious or out of her mind completely.
He gestured to a doorway next to them. “You’re in here.”
She held up her ChemLight, illuminating the space. There was a king-sized bed, a dresser, a comfortable-looking chair, and a small desk. It was clearly the master. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“There’s another bedroom across the hall.” He moved to the far side of the bed, pulled the covers back, and tucked the sleeping Brady into bed.
Her fatigue was back, pulling her down like ankle weights in water. She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got to go to sleep.”
“I’ll get my suturing supplies.”
She wanted to tell him to forget it, that she’d rather just bleed out as long as she could close her eyes, but she just sat there waiting for him to get back, her shoulders slumped forward.
“Hannah, wake up.”
Her eyes snapped open. “I’m awake.”
“Lean back. I’ll stitch it while you sleep.”
She blew out air. How could anyone get stitches without waking up? She leaned back on the pillow, unable to stop herself.
The next thing she knew her eyes were closed, the smell of shampoo in the air.
A warm, wet cloth gently caressed her head and she moaned softly with pleasure.
Noah was washing her hair, cleaning away the blood, and it felt so good to be touched, even like this.
She could smell him again, and the scent had the subtle pulse of desire gently beating in her veins.
“You’re going to feel the lidocaine,” he said quietly.
She furrowed her brow, her eyes still closed. “You didn’t have any painkillers.”
“I was saving it in case I needed it later.”
The piercing of the needle was painful and she was instantly grateful she wouldn’t need to feel any more after it. She was fast asleep before he began stitching.