“No.”
His eye found mine.
Wild.
Wet.
Filled with something that had not been there a moment before.
“No,” he said again. “I remember.”
Chapter 25
REID
“I remember.”
The words barely sounded human.
They tore out of Noah, thin and raw, and then his legs folded beneath him.
I caught him before his knees struck the concrete.
His cane hit the floor and skittered beneath a workbench. Behind us, Owen silenced the radio. The song died in the middle of the chorus, leaving only the workshop’s mechanical hum, rain tapping the high windows, and Noah dragging air into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe.
“Look at me.”
He couldn’t.
His fingers twisted into the front of my shirt. He had clamped his right eye shut, and the muscles around it fluttered violently. Sweat shone across his brow despite the cold draft moving through the open service bay.
Caleb shoved a padded shop stool toward us.
“Get him down.”
I lowered Noah onto it.
He sagged against me, tried to force his spine straight, then folded again with one hand pressed over the scar at his temple.
“What came back?” I asked.
“Road.”
His breath hitched.
“Rain. The song.”
Owen stood several feet away, drained of color.
I cupped Noah’s cheek.
“Can you open your eye?”
“No.”
“Because it hurts, or because you can’t?”
“Hurts.”
