He loved the way she cared for people, fierce and gentle all at once.The way her eyes disappeared when she laughed.The way he could tell her anything—wanted to tell her everything.The way she’d just sat here and listened to his worst moment without judgment or platitudes, without trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
He’d been locked away for so long.And she’d been the only person he wanted to open up to, the only person who made him want to try again, to risk his heart one more time.
She laughed at another classic line—one they’d quoted to each other before.Then she turned and locked eyes with him, catching him staring.Her gaze shifted from amused to something deeper.“What?”
“Nothing.”
Everything.
Her cheeks flushed pink.She looked away.But not before he caught the hope flickering there.
Maybe with the illness he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings right now.Or maybe he was just tired of hiding them.Suddenly everything in him wanted to stand, wrap her in his arms, and beg her to forgive him for being such an idiot, for pushing her away.
Only he was sick.And he’d rather do that when he wasn’t about to sneeze or cough all over her.
Meg’s gaze darted to her watch.Then she shot to her feet.“I should let you sleep.I have work to finish.”
She filled his water glass from the kitchen sink, then turned and fled for the door.
“Meg.”
She froze with her hand on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around.
“Thank you.For…” He struggled to find the words through the fever haze.“For being here.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.“Always,” she whispered.
And then she was gone.
Noah lay back against the cushions.His mind spun with fever and revelation.
He’d told her about Mary.About the accident.About the guilt that drove every decision he made, every reckless choice.And she hadn’t run.Hadn’t offered empty comfort or meaningless promises.
She’d just…understood.
Tomorrow, when his head was clear and his words wouldn’t come out slurred, when he could stand without swaying, he’d find her.He’d tell her that he’d been wrong to push her away.That he wanted to try.That he was terrified but willing to take the risk.
But for now, he let his eyes drift closed.The sound of rain against the window was steady and rhythmic.The distant echo of her footsteps faded as sleep finally claimed him.
And for the first time in three years, he wasn’t afraid to let go.
It had been twenty-four hours, and Noah’s fever had finally broken.
Not that Meg had checked on him again.But Teague had—sending updates via text with occasional thumbs-up emojis.She sent back a thumbs-up and set her phone aside.
She’d buried herself in work all evening, chart after chart, and passed the buck off to his friends for the night.But that hadn’t kept her from replaying that look Noah had given her yesterday—fever-glazed but piercing, burning with an intensity that had nothing to do with illness.
She’d seen it twice before.Once before he kissed her, and once before he nearly did.
If he hadn’t been burning up, she had no doubt that look would’ve led to another kiss.
That was probably for the best.Noah had made it clear more than once that although he cared for her, love was off the table.She couldn’t keep trying to fix him or setting herself up for yet another round of hope and heartache.
Meg’s phone buzzed on the clinic desk.
Mom.
She stared at it for two rings, debating.Then she accepted the call.“Hey, Mom.”
