The other moved slowly between his shoulder blades.
No questions.
No explanations that required him to understand too much.
Only the solid things.
“The window is behind you,” I murmured. “The harbor is outside. Marlowe is touching your legs. The mattress is beneath us. My hand is on your neck. I’m here.”
His grip tightened painfully.
“The roof fell.”
“Not this one.”
“I couldn’t move.”
“You don’t need to move now.”
“The light went out.”
“It came back.”
His breath hitched.
I felt the nightmare reach for him again.
His entire body went rigid in my arms, every muscle locking as though steel were about to crash through the ceiling. I tightened my hold enough to give him pressure without restraining him.
“Aaron returned,” I said near his ear. “The rescue crew found you. They cut you free. They carried you out of the ravine. You survived the road. You survived the van. You survived every surgery.”
His breathing came in sharp, wounded bursts.
“You’re in our bed.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Our.
I waited for him to recoil from the claim.
He didn’t.
His forehead pressed more firmly against my collarbone.
“Don’t go.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I’m staying.”
The promise reached him where reason had failed.
His breaths did not become normal. Not immediately. But the jagged pauses between them began to shorten. The desperate rise and fall of his chest eased by degrees.
Marlowe shoved his muzzle beneath Noah’s right hand.
