“I’m not moving.”
His weight settled into me.
Not a collapse.
A surrender.
I widened my stance and held him securely, keeping pressure away from his injured hip and arm. His breath touched the side of my throat.
The instinct to pull him closer nearly overwhelmed me.
I waited instead.
Noah’s fist tightened in my shirt.
“The room moved.”
“It’s stopping.”
“I hate this body.”
My heart broke cleanly.
“It is working very hard to keep you alive.”
“It betrayed me.”
“It survived for you.”
He made a small, furious sound.
I moved my palm once between his shoulder blades.
His muscles softened gradually beneath my hand.
“I’m here,” I said.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to stay upright by yourself.”
“I want to.”
“I know.”
His breath steadied.
“But not right now,” he whispered.
“No. Not right now.”
He allowed more of his weight to rest against me.
I closed my eyes.
His body had changed. The shape of his ribs beneath my hand was sharper. He held his injured side differently. His balance was no longer automatic.
The feeling of him against me had not changed at all.
