I raised his hand and pressed it against my chest.
“This kept beating when I thought you might die. The yard did not matter then.”
“It matters now.”
“Yes.”
“So do the people who work there.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
His palm remained over my heart.
“I would make sacrifices for the business,” I said. “I would work nights. Delay plans. Sell equipment. I would not trade your security for a cleaner balance sheet.”
Noah swallowed.
“You make it difficult to argue.”
“You have never found that difficult.”
His mouth moved into a faint smile.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
“When Dr. Whitcomb talked about discharge, I almost chose a rehabilitation apartment.”
I knew.
Hearing it still hurt.
“I thought going home with you would be unfair,” he continued. “You loved someone I couldn’t remember being.”
The wind pushed at his hair.
“I worried every room would ask something from me.”
“Did they?”
“At first.”
I waited.
“But you didn’t.”
His fingers curled against my shirt.
“You made space for me before I understood what space I needed. You moved out of your bed. You asked before touching me. You told me I could leave.”
“You still can.”
“I know.”
