Caleb retrieved the cane.
Owen opened the stairwell door.
“I can bring up the chair,” Caleb said.
“Leave it.”
“Need anything else?”
“Lock the radio controls.”
Owen nodded immediately.
“That song never plays here again.”
“No.”
Noah’s voice was barely audible.
I looked down at him.
“No?”
“Not forever.”
Each word came slowly.
“Just not today.”
“All right.”
I carried him upstairs.
Every step sounded too loud.
His fingers curled into the fabric over my shoulder. He kept his eye closed, and by the time we reached the apartment his breathing had grown heavy.
In the bedroom, I lowered him carefully onto the mattress.
I drew the curtains until darkness filled the room, leaving only the muted green glow of the navigation lamp beneath the partially open door.
“No light?” I asked.
“Leave the green.”
I did.
He swallowed the medication with water, then turned onto his side. I placed the cold cap over his temple and set a basin beside the bed.
Marlowe climbed onto the mattress with exaggerated care, circled twice, and settled against Noah’s calves.
“Stay,” Noah whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“No. Here.”
I lay beside him fully dressed and curved one arm around his waist.
