NOAH
"I… I really should go," I whispered, my voice barely louder than the soft hum of the air conditioning. My cheeks were already burning.
"You need rest, Cassian. You're still healing and I've been hovering for weeks and—"
"Noah."
Just my name, soft but weighted with that quiet authority that always turned my knees to water.
He sat down on the edge of the large bed, thighs spread, and looked at me steadily.
The towel parted slightly with the movement. "Come here."
My stomach did a nervous flip. I stood there for a second longer, coat still clutched in my sweaty hand, heart pounding so loudly I was sure the whole house could hear it.
Ten days after the hospital and he still looked like someone who had walked through fire, those pink, raised gunshot scars standing out against his skin.
One cut across his left pec, another lower on his abdomen near his hip. He was supposed to be resting, not… whatever this was.
