Noah nodded once. “I know.”
Elias looked at the brace supporting Noah’s left arm, the healing scar near his hairline, the careful elevation of his legs, the pillows arranged to protect his pelvis.
His eyes filled immediately.
“I’ve practiced what I was going to say,” he said. “Every night since they told me you survived. It all sounded important in my kitchen. None of it does now.”
Noah watched him for a moment.
“You can sit down.”
Elias lowered himself into the visitor’s chair.
I stayed at Noah’s right side with our joined hands resting over the blanket. I could feel each uneven beat of his pulse through his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Elias said.
The apology was not elaborate.
It was not defensive.
It shook so badly it nearly broke apart before reaching us.
“I know the investigators explained the mechanical failure. I checked the restraints before leaving the depot. I struck every lock with a hammer. I inspected the chains again at the weigh station.”
He pressed his lips together.
“I still hear the first one snap.”
Noah’s face tightened.
Elias saw it at once.
“I can stop.”
“No.” Noah’s voice was quiet but steady. “Finish.”
Elias rubbed his palms over his pants.
“The trailer began to slide. I tried to straighten it, but the road was slick and the weight had already shifted. Once the load moved, the whole rig stopped responding the way it should have.”
His breath caught.
“Then I saw your van coming uphill.”
Noah swallowed.
“What did you think?”
“That there wasn’t enough road for both of us.”
The room seemed to contract.
Noah’s thumb moved once against my knuckle.
“Did you see me?”
“Yes.”
