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“Something you forget to mention this morning?” Noah seethes.
“No,” I snap, setting my things down at my side.
He stands. “No? So you didn’t forget to tell me that you’re practically homeless?”
I am homeless.
“I didn’t forget, Noah. It’s none—”
“How could you not tell me? How could you not call me? You’re somewhat of an intelligent human being, how could you not say to yourself; hmm, this doesn’t sound right, I better call a lawyer to tell me my rights.”
“Are you on crack?” I shout.
“Are you?” he counters and it’s the first time I’ve heard him scream at me. At anyone.
“I’m not your problem. I’m nothing to you, Noah.”
“Stop it,” he mutters with an eye-roll, like I’m a child.
“I’ve got one foot out the door, and now you’re suddenly interested in helping me? How fucking convenient.” I limp over to the desk for support and slide my feet out of my slippers with a hiss.
Before I can blink, Noah’s at my side lifting me off the floor and sitting me on the wooden desk. He drops to my feet, inspecting, all too closely for my comfort. “Christ. What, did you run a marathon in these?”
I manage to wrestle one foot out of his hold and kick his chest with a loud cry. “Owe.”
Noah stands and hovers over me, reaching for the room phone. “Ethan, hey. It’s Noah. I’m in room four-ten, can you bring me a bucket of ice, towels and a first aid kit?” There’s a pause and Noah sighs. “Thanks.”
My heart sinks in despair. This is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know. Least of all him. I swallow the lump in my throat. “I can handle myself. It’s not your—”
“Damn it, Charlie, this isn’t about us.” He runs a hand through his tousled hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “This is about you always finding yourself in trouble and not asking for help.” He swallows and softens his tone, gazing at me with what feels like pity. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Tears burn my eyes and I know it can’t be because I’m about to have an emotional breakdown. It has to be from the physical pain in my feet.
“I don't need your help, Noah.”
He shakes his head, stepping closer but maintaining a cautious distance. “I'm not giving you a choice. You're moving into my house. It's safe, and you won't have—”
I burst out laughing. “You’re delusional. Why would I do that?”
Why would you want me is the real question.
“I just told you why. Because I’m not giving you a choice.”
“That’s called kidnapping. Not helping.”
There’s a knock on the door. With a frustrated sigh, Noah breaks his gaze and pulls it open.
A wave of dizziness washes over me and I press a hand to my forehead, feeling burning heat.
I jerk when I feel myself nearly passing out.
Jesus, I must be tired.
“Here you go, Noah.” I hear someone say. “Um, if there’s anything else I can get Ms. Whitley, let me know.”
Noah’s response is muffled and I struggle to keep my eyes open.
Shutting the door, Noah drops to my feet again with the bucket of ice and a red box. I suck in a breath and jerk my feet back. “What are you doing?”
