Damn you, drugged up Noah. Nine little words, like nine little bullets. I burst into tears, thank you hormones.
“Well, if I was dead I wouldn’t make you cry,” Noah says.
“It’s okay,” I hiccup. “Are you hurting?”
“I’ve been hurting since you said goodbye.”
I can’t handle that right now. Or ever. “Come here,” I say and heft myself off the couch. “Let me see.”
“Okay,” he says softly and follows me into the kitchen. I have him sit on a barstool so I can inspect his wounds. I don’t take care of people, but stitches are stitches. He has five stitches on his left arm. The skin around it is in bad shape from road rash, and I can see bruises all over the left side of his body.
Colin summed it up perfectly: Noah is beat to hell but will be okay. I believed my brother, but seeing it first hand offers relief. Noah and I might not be together, but I didn’t stop caring about him. I don’t think I’ll ever stop caring.
“They look good,” I say, putting the gauze back over the cut on his arm. “Make sure you keep it clean and dry.”
“I will.”
“Do you have anything to take for pain later?” I can’t look at him when I talk.
“I do. Lauren…thanks for coming over.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes I do.”
I turn and he catches my wrist. His skin against mine causes a ripple in my soul.
“Lauren.”
“Noah, I can’t.” Tears are running down my face.
He gives my arm a gentle tug. “I miss you.”
I pull my arm back, breaking his grasp. “You need to rest, Noah.”
He nods, and through my blurry vision, I see the heartbreak on his face. He stays there for another few seconds, looking at me, before going back into his room.
I cry myself to sleep.
My alarm goes off too soon. I wake up tired. This is going to be a great fucking day. I stiffly sit up; sleeping on the couch with a pregnant belly is not comfortable. Sasha is on the floor near me and Vader is nowhere to be seen. He must be in with Noah.
After using the bathroom, I duck into Noah’s room. Vader is snuggled up with him, head pressed against Noah’s chest. It’s sad and it’s sweet and if I keep staring, I’m going to start crying again. So I turn and get ready for work. I make a sandwich for Noah and put it in the fridge. I know he’ll be hungry when he wakes up and won’t want to cook anything. He came home with extra dressings for his wounds. I go through the discharge instructions, rewriting it in simpler, easy-to-follow steps, and lay out what he’ll need to keep his stitches from getting infected on the counter.
I’m dressed and ready to get the dogs and leave. Yet here I am, sitting in the kitchen. When I walk out that door, I won’t ever come back here. At least not in a way that’s enjoyable. I hug my stomach, thinking of the little girl who’s inside.
It’s for you, baby.
I don’t try to hold back the tears. They will come eventually anyway. I am sad. I am broken hearted. And that’s okay. What’s not okay is giving in and letting myself get hurt again.
I get up, and go into Noah’s room, stopping in the doorway. My heart aches as I gaze upon him. I miss him so much.
“Goodbye, Noah,” I whisper.
I’m sobbing when I get into my Jeep. I want to rush back in, hold Noah, and never let go.
Chapter 24
NOAH