Chapter 11 #5
The harbor murmured through the cracked window. Marlowe sighed at our feet. Green light from the hallway painted a dim shape across the ceiling.
Noah stared upward.
“Did we talk in bed?”
“Sometimes.”
“About what?”
“Work. Our families. Things we wanted.”
“What did we want?”
“A larger haul-out bay. A trip to Nova Scotia. You wanted another dog.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“Marlowe would hate that.”
“Marlowe hates all change.”
“Like you.”
“I adapt.”
“You slept on an office couch rather than ask whether I wanted you here.”
“That was restraint.”
“That was stupidity.”
I smiled in the dark.
“What did you want?” he asked.
“You.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I already had you,” I added. “So frequently, I wanted more sleep.”
The blanket shifted.
“Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
His right hand found my forearm.
He traced upward over my sleeve, slowly enough that every inch of contact became distinct. His palm settled on my shoulder.
“You’re real.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds foolish.”
“It doesn’t.”
“The photographs make everything seem invented. You don’t.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m here.”
He moved closer by an inch.
Then another.
His head rested against my shoulder.
“Is this how we slept?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did you do?”
I waited.
“With your arm,” he clarified.
“You usually stole my pillow.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“What did you do with your arm, Reid?”
I lifted it slowly.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
I placed my arm around him.
Noah exhaled, long and unsteady.
His body softened against my side. The fit was not the same. The brace changed the angle of his shoulder. His healing hip kept him from settling as closely as he once had.
It was still him.
Still us, though neither of us knew what shape that word would take now.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
His right hand gripped the front of my shirt.
“I’m not promising anything.”
“I know.”
“I might wake up frightened.”
“I know.”
“I could ask you to leave.”
“I will.”
He was silent.
“Would it hurt you?”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened.
“But I would still go.”
“Why do you always tell me the truth?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“Before?”
“Now.”
His breathing began to slow.
“Good night, Reid.”
“Good night.”
Several minutes passed.
“Our date,” he whispered.
“Tomorrow.”
“Don’t sing.”
“I refuse to commit.”
He made a sleepy sound of disgust.
Then he fell asleep.
I stayed awake, listening.
His head rested against my shoulder. His palm lay over my heart. The distance between us during the previous weeks felt enormous and yet thin enough to tear with one careless movement.
For the first time since the accident, I allowed myself to imagine waking beside him.
Not restored.
Not healed.
Not returned to what we had been.
Only here.
Sometime after midnight, exhaustion took me.
The scream came from the deepest part of the night.
Noah tore himself away from me with a sound of absolute terror.
I woke instantly.
The bedroom was dark except for the green lamp burning in the hall. Marlowe barked and launched himself from the mattress.
Noah struck the headboard with his right hand as he scrambled backward. The wall stopped him.
“Noah.”
He did not see me.
His eye was wide and unrecognizing. Air entered his lungs in broken gasps.
“Don’t touch me.”
I froze.
“All right.”
He clutched his injured arm to his chest.
“Where—”
“You’re in the apartment.”
“No.”
“Above Callahan Marine Works.”
“No, no. It’s falling.”
“Nothing is falling.”
The building creaked as wind pressed against the harbor side.
Noah flinched violently.
“The green light,” he whispered.
“It’s the navigation lamp in the hall.”
His gaze snapped toward it.
“The roof.”
“The roof is safe.”
“Reid?”
“I’m here.”
He looked at me then.
Recognition struck.
His face collapsed.
“Reid.”
I moved only when he reached for me.
His hand caught my shirt and pulled.
I crossed the mattress.
Noah pressed himself against me, shaking so hard his teeth clicked. I wrapped one arm around him and kept the other clear of his injuries.
“I’ve got you.”
“It came down.”
“Not here.”
“I couldn’t get out.”
“You did get out.”
“The light disappeared.”
“It came back.”
A sob broke from him.
I held the back of his neck.
“It came back, Noah. Aaron came back for you. They brought you out.”
“I thought I died.”
“You didn’t.”
“I couldn’t find you.”
“I’m here.”
His fingers dug into my shoulder.
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
“Please.”
“I’m staying.”
He buried his face against my chest.
Every ragged breath moved through me. Every tremor. Every desperate attempt his body made to escape a danger that had ended weeks ago.
Marlowe climbed back onto the bed and pressed his body against Noah’s legs, whining.
Noah reached blindly until his hand found the dog’s fur.
I kept speaking.
Not promises of recovery.
Not assurances I could not make.
Only facts.
The mattress beneath us.
The harbor outside.
The green lamp shining in the hall.
My arm around him.
His heart beating against my ribs.
Mine answering.
“You’re home,” I whispered.
Noah shook his head against my chest, crying without restraint.
“I don’t know where that is.”
“Then stay with me until you do.”
His grip tightened.
I held him through the dark.