He made a sleepy sound of disgust.
Then he fell asleep.
I stayed awake, listening.
His head rested against my shoulder. His palm lay over my heart. The distance between us during the previous weeks felt enormous and yet thin enough to tear with one careless movement.
For the first time since the accident, I allowed myself to imagine waking beside him.
Not restored.
Not healed.
Not returned to what we had been.
Only here.
Sometime after midnight, exhaustion took me.
The scream came from the deepest part of the night.
Noah tore himself away from me with a sound of absolute terror.
I woke instantly.
The bedroom was dark except for the green lamp burning in the hall. Marlowe barked and launched himself from the mattress.
Noah struck the headboard with his right hand as he scrambled backward. The wall stopped him.
“Noah.”
He did not see me.
His eye was wide and unrecognizing. Air entered his lungs in broken gasps.
“Don’t touch me.”
I froze.
“All right.”
He clutched his injured arm to his chest.
“Where—”
“You’re in the apartment.”
“No.”
“Above Callahan Marine Works.”
“No, no. It’s falling.”
“Nothing is falling.”
The building creaked as wind pressed against the harbor side.
Noah flinched violently.
