“It already belonged to me.”
“You’re learning.”
He fell asleep with the phone resting over the photograph of our bedroom and his fingers curled securely around mine.
Chapter 9
REID
On Saturday morning, Noah looked like himself.
Not entirely.
The scar at his temple remained pale and severe. His left arm was supported in a fitted brace beneath the sleeve of his gray sweater. He had lost weight, and exhaustion still lived beneath his skin.
But he wore dark pants instead of hospital clothes.
His hair had been washed.
His own shoes waited beside the bed.
For one startled second after I entered, my body expected him to stand, cross the room, and kiss me.
Then I saw the powered chair positioned near the wall and remembered the distance between expectation and reality.
“Morning,” I said.
Noah smiled.
“You’re late.”
“It’s six forty-five.”
“You said before breakfast.”
“Breakfast arrives at seven.”
“I’ve been awake since six.”
“That sounds like poor planning.”
He held out his right hand for the coffee.
I passed it over.
His fingers were steady enough to manage the cup.
“Today,” he said after the first drink.
“Today.”
His smile faded.
“How are you feeling?”
“Nervous.”
“Me too.”
