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They’re the words of a broken man. One staring down a dark, unfamiliar road with no idea how to get back home. I want to help guide him, but I just don’t know the way either. He has to meet me halfway. Then I’ll help.
“That’s a good start.”
He stares at me, and I meet his eyes with a bravery I dredge up amongst the hurt and worry swirling in my stomach. After a few seconds, he dips his chin and breaks contact. I watch him round the bed and pause at the foot of it.
“I’m glad he has you, Tinsley.”
“I’m glad I have him too.”
He smiles at that before slipping back out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I close my eyes and drop my head to Noah’s forearm, whispering, “Please wake up before I have to have another awkward conversation like that with your dad, you douchebag.”
* * *
My neck acheswhen I wake. A tight pinch screams in my shoulder.
I blink the sleep from my eyes and find the room dark, the lights having been turned off. As I shift, I feel a blanket fall down my arm. Head foggy with sleep and confusion, I almost miss the stretch of Noah’s fingers beneath my palm.
I ignore the pain in my body and whip my head up to find him awake. His eyes sear into mine, even in the dark, and a shudder racks through me as my chest grows tight with emotion.
“Come here,” he croaks, the words rough and scratchy.
My lips part, but no words follow.
He watches me with an intensity that makes my heart lurch. “Come. Here.”
Finally, I shake my surprise and leap into action. The pitcher of water on the small rolling table is full and waiting. I push out of my chair and rush toward it, quickly pouring some into a plastic cup and dropping a straw into it. When I hold it out to him, he opens his mouth and lets me guide the straw inside.
“You’re awake,” I whisper in disbelief.
The intensity of his stare doesn’t waver as he gulps down the water. Even in this fucked-up situation we’re in right now, my stomach flaps and sings beneath of weight of his attention.
“When did you wake up?”
He finishes drinking, and I set the cup back on the tray. “I’ll tell you when you get in this bed with me.”
Pulling back, I drop my gaze to his shirtless torso and the white bandage wrapping around his side. It’s the first time I’ve seen what’s been hiding beneath the blanket they tucked him in when they finished surgery. The faint dark marks ruining the perfect white have me in a state of panic. It’s blood.
“Did they just change these?” My fingers graze the tape along the edges of the covering. He grabs my hand, holding it tight. My eyes flick up to his.
“Get in bed with me, Golden Girl.”
Hearing the nickname fall from his lips is too much. I almost break, ready to give in to his every want and desire. Instead, I force myself to say, “The bed is small. I don’t want you in any more pain than you already are.”
“Not having you beside me is painful.”
“Do you want me to call your parents? Or the nurse?”
“No,” he grits out before softening his tone. “Not yet.”
“Fine. But you have to move over. Slowly. Don’t pop a stitch or—”
“Stop worrying.”
Yeah fucking right.I nod meekly as he shifts, the crease in his forehead the only sign that he’s in pain. It takes me a couple of minutes to climb on the bed, but once I’m curled up beside him, the heaviness in my gut starts to ebb.
We’re positioned awkwardly on the small bed. One of my arms is beneath me while the other lies along my side because I don’t want to risk touching his wound. He’s on his back with his bicep beneath my neck and his hand curled over my shoulder. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.
