Noah’s fingers released my shirt long enough to sink into the dog’s fur. He anchored himself between us, one hand tangled in Marlowe’s coat, his body held against mine.
Time lost its shape.
Minutes might have passed.
An hour might have.
I measured it only by the changing weight of Noah in my arms.
Eventually, the tension drained from him. His head slipped beneath my chin. His fist loosened against my chest, though he did not let go completely.
“I’m tired,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to dream again.”
“You don’t have to sleep yet.”
His voice grew smaller. “Will you stay awake?”
“Yes.”
“You need sleep.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“You always say that.”
“This time, I mean it.”
A weak breath shivered out of him.
“Lie down with me.”
I moved carefully.
Getting us against the pillows without jarring his injured hip or trapped arm required patience. His brace snagged on the blanket. Pain tightened his mouth as he shifted his pelvis.I stopped twice, waiting until the strain passed before moving again.
When he finally settled, he stayed turned toward me.
His head rested on my shoulder.
His right hand returned to my chest, covering my heart.
I pulled the blanket over both of us.
Marlowe circled three times at the foot of the bed, then collapsed with a groan so dramatic it would have been insulting if I had possessed the energy to be offended.
Noah’s mouth moved against my shirt.
“What did you say?”
“The lamp.”
I looked toward the green light spilling softly through the open doorway.
“Do you want me to switch it off?”
