Noah hesitated outside the door to a private room.
The nurse touched his arm. “Matilda might not remember your words after this visit, but she’ll remember how you make her feel just by being there. That’s often enough.” She bustled ahead of him into the room and briskly pulled aside the privacy curtain around the hospital bed.
Dawn hadn’t yet poked its gray fingers through the night sky, and Noah’s gaze was drawn to Tilly’s reflection in the darkened hospital window. His heart stuttered at the sight of her, small and still and pale against the white sheets. Her features were a ghostly outline surrounded by the soft waves of her hair.
A ghost.
He could’ve lost her. The power of that loss reverberated through his bones and shook his soul.
“You have a visitor.” The nurse smoothed blankets and fussed with the pillows, being careful not to bump the dressings covering Tilly’s shoulder. “Your fiancé, I believe.”
Blood galloped around Noah’s body and pounded a sick, drumming rhythm in his ears. He somehow made it around the bed to the visitor’s chair and collapsed more than sat into it. He reached for Tilly’s hand, but a monitor was clipped to her finger, so he rubbed her forearm instead. Her hair rustled on the pillowslip as she turned her face toward him, an angelically beautiful smile on her lips.
She stared at him a moment then rolled her head toward the nurse. “I call ’m Officer Hottie.” She giggled, then caught her full lower lip in her teeth and shot him a flirtatious glance.
“He’s been very worried about you.” The nurse gave the pillow one more fluff. “Is her mother flying down from Auckland?” She directed the comment at Noah. “She’s been asking.”
“One of my brothers is picking her up at the airport. She’s arriving on the 7:00 a.m.”
“Good. Ten minutes with her now, then she needs to rest.”
The nurse removed the finger monitor and left, pulling the privacy curtain back in place. Now it was just him, and Tilly, and the elephant crouched on the end of the hospital bed with them. She smiled at him again, her gaze wandering over his face.
“You’re pretty,” she said.
High as a kite. He managed a weak smile in return. “Thanks.”
“Sooo pretty that I wanna lick your face.”
Not a ghost. She was his Tilly. His smile grew a little wider. “Do you now?” He rose to his feet and leaned over her. “How about I kiss you instead?”
She stuck out her tongue and waggled it at him. “Pretty please?”
Noah dipped his head, pressing his lips to her forehead. He drank in the scent of her that was still detectable, even beneath the astringent medical smell. She smelled like heaven, and he gently cupped her jaw, stroking her soft skin. He kissed her then, as if she were made of spun sugar and fairy dust. His throat ached with the strain of holding back, of keeping his lips gentle on hers instead of ravishing the sweetness of her mouth like a man dying of thirst. He pulled back and met her dazed eyes.
“God, Til. I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should’ve been there.”
Her dreamy smile vanished like the sun behind rainclouds. “The man—that man with the knife—he was at the store.”
“I know, honey. He’s been picked up and the police’ll have the other two in custody soon enough.”
Her brow collapsed into soft wrinkles. “One of them had a gun. A big gun. He shot me.” Her eyes widened and her mouth parted. “The little girl—there was a little girl, Noah. Is she okay?”
Noah stroked her hair back from her face. “I spoke to the detective in charge. The girl’s fine. She and her mother are both fine, thanks to you.” His hand stilled on the silky strands. “The night clerk and the mother both say you stepped in front of the girl just before the gun discharged.”
“Did I? I don’t remember.” Her nose scrunched up. “I remember ice cream and the little girl coughing and crying, and teeny tiny feathers floating in the air…and you weren’t there with me.”
His gut clenched and tremors iced their way down his spine. “I hate that I wasn’t able to protect you, or reassure you that you were going to be okay.”
“Eh.” She flipped her hand up and down on the bed. “I wasn’t worried about dying so much as I was scared that the last person I’d see on earth wouldn’t be you, but some pimply convenience store clerk.”
She wanted him to be the last person she saw before she closed her eyes for the last time? He lowered his forehead to rest against hers. “You don’t have to be afraid of that anymore. I’m not leaving your side.”
“Yeah, you will. Call of nature and all that.”
He felt the soft drift of her fingers loosely encircle his wrist, and he swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “I’m in love with you, Matilda Montgomery.”
“Sure you are,” she said, sleepiness threading through her voice. “And don’t call me Matilda.”
He drew back, ready to convince her that this time he wasn’t joking around. But her eyes had already fluttered shut, her mouth curving into a small smile. Maybe she believed him after all.
“Wanna ride your rocket ship, Lieutenant Spencer,” Tilly muttered.
Or maybe not.
Chapter 21
For the past three days before she was discharged from hospital, Noah was her first visitor to arrive and the last one to leave. He found vases for the flower shop of delivered bouquets, strong-armed her into eating all her hospital-grade meals, did the daily crossword and quiz from the paper with her, and talked more than a game show host on speed.
Basically, he hovered.
And while Tilly appreciated his attentiveness, she couldn’t shake the niggling suspicion that his presence there was born more out of guilt and duty than truly wanting to be with her.
Noah did guilt and duty better than anyone she knew.
Tilly cracked open an eye from her faux nap and stared at the walls of her Auckland apartment. She’d kinda hoped Noah would’ve taken the opportunity to go for a walk or grab a coffee from a nearby café. But then again, when she and Noah went out either for a short walk or a drive to her physio appointment, the man looked as if he were sucking on lemons. He hadn’t complained—he’d even made light about the awful Auckland traffic—but she didn’t need psychic ability to tell he was as tense as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Pardon the cliché.
So they’d spent most of the past six days since she and Noah had flown into Auckland trapped together in her tiny apartment.
Tilly rolled her head to the side. Yup. Noah was sprawled in her armchair, chin resting on his chest, his breathing deep and slow. She took this opportunity to study him. Even asleep, he looked exhausted. One rustle on the couch from her, and he’d be instantly awake.
She swallowed hard, pain fisting around her heart—a deeper hurt than her shoulder wound—and aching like an utter bastard. Her memory of being shot, of the ambulance ride, of the chaos and flashing lights and doctors and swimming up into consciousness, was still pretty muddled.
But she remembered Noah had been there soon after she opened her eyes.
She’d no idea what they’d talked about, other than him telling her later she’d called him pretty. She’d laughed with him, though a flutter of a memory she couldn’t quite grasp long enough to examine quivered in her stomach. She could have sworn he said he loved her.
Probably the drugs screwing with her mind.
Noah’s eyes popped open, unerringly meeting hers. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” She wriggled to an upright position.
“Good nap?” He stretched his arms up above his head.
Tilly’s gaze was pulled to the flex of muscles beneath his T-shirt. Lord, he was fine—even rumpled and unshaven.
“I am the queen of naps.” And the queen of dancing around the issues. Their issues. She pressed her dry lips together and swiped her tongue along them.
Noah immediately dropped his arms and reached for the water jug on her coffee table. “Thirsty?”
He handed her the glass and she sipped the cool water, watching a battle of emotions play over Noah’s face.
“You weren’t dreaming.”
He’d said the L-word? A mixture of elation, doubt, and fear churned in her belly. “Guess I gave you quite a scare, huh?”
“You did.” He crooked an eyebrow at her half-drunk water. “Finished with that?”
When she nodded, he plucked the glass from her hand, put it back on the coffee table, and eased down into the armchair again.
“You must’ve known I wasn’t going to die.”
“A common misconception is that shoulder wounds aren’t serious,” he said. “There are a lot of blood vessels and an important nerve cluster there that could have left you with a permanent disability.”
“Thanks, Dr Noah,” she said dryly. “I’m aware of how lucky I am, and that physio exercises are a small price to pay to help me heal.”
“I’ll be making sure you do them.”
Her own personal trainer/enforcer. Super. And he was a taskmaster—making sure she ate, slept, drank, and rested enough. Not that she wasn’t grateful he cared, but she had a mother who cared and nagged her like crazy to complete every one of her physical therapy sessions. She didn’t want another caregiver. Was that all Noah was offering?
“Back to your hospital bed confession. Do you wanna recap for me since I was obviously drug impaired during that conversation?”
“I think you got the gist of it.”
“Humor me,” she said.
Because, dammit, well over a week since the incident she still didn’t have a clue how Noah felt. It was as if he’d ripped off the heart he’d briefly worn on his sleeve and sewn it back inside himself with neat little stitches. She’d watched him like a hawk as he chatted to her mother and his family when they’d visited, but he never let on he’d experienced anything more than a high degree of worry over her injuries. There was no mention of heart-rending terror, or of a eureka moment when he realized he loved her and couldn’t live without her.
“Has something changed now I’m not lying on my deathbed?”
Her stomach flip-flopped at the tightening of muscles around his mouth. Oh God, had it really only been a spur-of-the-moment thing? A something to say when you thought someone was going to die admission? Could you call backsies on an I love you?
“Nothing has changed. I meant what I said.”
The words should have triggered an explosion of happy endorphins, taking away her shoulder pain and making her float like helium balloons to the ceiling. The teenage girl inside her want to flap her hands and squeal, “Oh my gawd, I love you, too.” But the adult woman felt kind of deflated. As if she’d had to twist his arm to pry the verbalized emotion out of him. Of all the times a guy should be able to express the depth of his feelings, surely this was the occasion when it should be the easiest?
“So you…love me?” she asked.
Her heart gave a little kick, anticipating the final boilover leading into the can’t live without you; you’re the one I’ve waited for all my life speech.
He came and sat next to her on the couch, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah.”
Apparently not even a near-death experience—okay, a little exaggeration—was enough to cause a seismic shift in their relationship. A prickle of tears stung the corners of her eyes. Perhaps she was being unreasonable and ungrateful. Maybe she should take the offered crumbs, like she’d always done before. Make excuses for him because of his gender, his upbringing, and his alpha nature. She didn’t require poetry, but she wanted the passion she knew ran through his veins.
She heard Noah’s mother’s words in her head. That kind of love will consume you on the nights you spend alone in your bed wondering if your man will come home again in the morning.
That was the kind of consuming love she was beginning to feel for Noah. But she’d already seen his reaction to her fear for him on the job. What would happen to them over the coming years when she fell more in love with him? Would she resent him putting himself on the line? Would he resent her for worrying? Could she fundamentally change who she was and become a woman who sat at home knitting bootees without a care in the world while her husband broke up bar fights and put himself in the middle of a domestic violence situation? No town, no matter how small, was immune to violence. She knew that now.
That was a hell of a sacrifice to make if the man in question only had a toe dipped in the love water. There were I love yous and then there were I love yous. Noah’s love was new enough that he’d rearranged his priorities so he could take care of her when she was physically at her weakest and struggling to take care of herself. She appreciated how he’d put her needs first and arranged for a replacement in Oban while she recovered.
But it was clear Noah was miserable in Auckland, and truthfully, that part Tilly could understand. She, too, missed the cool blue waters of Foveaux Strait and the welcoming birdsong from among the native bush. The peace and simpler life, the lazy pace of the island, and the space to dream.
Could she be happy living on Stewart Island? Yes.
Could she be happy making a life there with Noah? That was up in the air.
“What sort of love are we talking about here? Like you’re a good friend kind of love?” She must’ve been a better actress than she thought since Noah’s shoulders dropped down into a relaxed state, appearing to buy into her slightly teasing tone.
“A little more than that. Closer to a why don’t we skip lunch and go back to bed? kind of love.” He tipped his head, giving her a sideways glance, his mouth turning up at one corner. “If you’re up to it.”
She’d given him an out by being flippant, and he’d taken it. Why did it suddenly leave her feeling so hollow—make his invitation of lovemaking seem so hollow? Because his feelings for her didn’t have roots digging deep in the foundation of his soul the way her feelings for him did. Wetness streaked down her cheek but because he held her right hand she was unable to wipe it away.
His forehead crumpled. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just sore”— heart sore—“and a little overwhelmed.” She pulled her hand from Noah’s and rose awkwardly to her feet, her stomach muscles rigid with the strain of knowing what she must say. “I think you should go back to Stewart Island.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed and the lines on his forehead deepened. “I’ve got two weeks’ leave left and you can’t cope by yourself.”
You can’t cope. Not I can’t bear for us to be apart. “I have friends who can help out and I’ll stay with Mum while I’m still going to physio.” A flat-out lie—her mum had been sweet and attentive over the past week, but living with her would drive them both bonkers. “Oban needs you, not some temporary replacement who doesn’t know how things work there.”
“You need me.”
Not I need you. “I’m almost good as new. I’m thinking of going back to work, at least part time, on Monday.”
“You can’t be serious.” His eyes narrowed, skimming over her sling and her fleece sweatshirt, which he’d had to help her into, down to her stretchy yoga pants—which he’d also helped her into. “You’re not ready.”
She arched her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain. I’m quite capable of going back to work, and in fact, I’m looking forward to it.” Another bald-faced lie.
Noah gave a slow nod and stood. This close he dominated her tiny living room, making her even more aware of how big a presence he was in her life. Now that she’d had him in her space, with all her carefully chosen bits and pieces, her messy wardrobe that somehow always spilled out onto her bedroom floor, her apartment would fee
l like an empty mansion without him.
“I’ll pack my things and get out of your hair.”
“Noah.” She reached out with her good hand and found his forearm, the muscles beneath the skin like steel cables.
He met her gaze with a burning intensity she’d never seen before. “Do you love me at all?”
His question lanced into her heart, because she could see in his eyes the cost of asking it. She loved him with everything she had, with every part of herself, with the depth of her imagination that could see them growing old together. But that same imagination pictured arguments over her concern for his safety, her tears and his stoic refusal to express his deepest emotions, a middle-aged couple who spent their anniversary dinner playing candy games on their phones.
“We’ve only known each other for little over a month,” she said.
“You’re right.”
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” He was shutting down, withdrawing right before her eyes. “We could both use some space to think.”
He huffed out a bitter-edged laugh, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “Well, seven hundred and fifty miles should do the trick.”
He walked out of her living room into the bedroom they’d shared for the past six days. Tilly sank back onto the couch, the sounds of Noah stuffing clothes into his duffel bag raising a painful ridge of goose bumps down her spine. He really was leaving.
A few minutes later his footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. She sank deeper into the couch cushions and squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment the room was terse with silence, and then he sighed.
“Take care of yourself, Matilda Montgomery.”
Her apartment door squeaked open, then clicked shut.
“Don’t call me Matilda,” she whispered, and burst into tears.
Noah’s phone rang while he sat outside the Great Flat White Café freezing his balls off with a takeout coffee. Carson’s name flashed on the screen. He was tempted to let it go to voice mail again, but his mate was persistent enough and a pain in the ass enough to actually show up on his doorstep if he refused to take yet another call.
Bending The Rules: Stewart Island Book 10 Page 26