“Bad.”
I stood near the kitchen cabinet, rearranging mugs that did not need rearranging.
“Pain?”
“Headache. Nightmares.”
“Confusion when you woke?”
“Yes.”
“How long did it take to recognize the room?”
Noah looked at me before answering. “A minute. Maybe less.”
“What helped?”
“He came in.”
Maeve followed his gaze toward me. “Did you call him?”
“No.”
“I heard the chair moving,” I said.
Noah frowned. “You were awake?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come out?”
“You were in the bathroom. You told me you wanted to handle that alone.”
His expression tightened.
Maeve removed the blood-pressure cuff and folded it neatly.
“This is exactly the sort of thing the two of you need to negotiate,” she said. “Privacy still matters. So does communication.”
“I didn’t know he was listening,” Noah said.
“Reid cannot predict what you need unless you tell him.”
“He makes an impressive attempt.”
Maeve smiled. “Then help him fail less often. What would you like him to do if he hears you awake during the night?”
Noah considered.
“Ask.”
“From the hall?”
“Yes.”
“What should he ask?”
“Whether I need him.”
