Because he had chosen to now.
His gaze remained fixed on our joined hands.
“Anything?” I asked, and immediately regretted it.
He shook his head.
“No memory.”
“That’s all right.”
“But it doesn’t feel bad.”
I could not speak.
Noah loosened his fingers but did not pull away completely.
On the table, the white paper bag stood open beside the unfinished wooden boat. Rain softened the view beyond the window, turning the hills into shadows.
I sat beside him in the hospital quiet, his hand resting lightly in mine.
It was not a return.
It was not forgiveness, or recognition, or proof that love survived every injury unchanged.
It was one choice.
Small enough to miss if I held it too tightly.
So I did not tighten my grip.
I let him decide the pressure.
And when his thumb moved once across my skin, uncertain but deliberate, I breathed with him and stayed exactly where I was.
Chapter 5
REID
Eleven days after the collision, Leah came back to Greyhaven.
Her first visit had lasted less than forty-eight hours, squeezed between canceled shifts, a borrowed car, and the brittle arrangements of a woman whose life did not pause simply because her brother’s had broken open. She had returned to Idaho with the promise that she would come again as soon as she could arrange care for her daughters.
On Saturday morning, I found her outside the hospital entrance with a canvas overnight bag at her feet and a paper cup held between both hands.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Not physically. Leah had Noah’s height, his straight-backed way of standing, and the same sharp line through her cheekbones. But exhaustion had reduced her somehow. There were gray shadows beneath her eyes, and her hair had been twisted into a knot that was already coming loose.
When she saw me, relief moved across her face so quickly it nearly undid me.
She set down the coffee and hugged me.
“How is he?” she asked against my shoulder.
“Better than when you left.”
“That could mean almost anything.”
