Page 19 of North’s Claim

By the time I get home, it’s past midnight. Everything’s still. Quiet. My boots echo through the house as I drag my ass toward the fridge. I pop a beer, down half in one go, and peer around.

It’s spotless. Not a damn thing out of place. That woman must’ve cleaned everything with her bare hands.

Then I hear it. A voice. Sharp, panicked. Broken.

My gut knots, and I bolt for the bedroom. She’s curled up in the armchair, the one I use to toss my cut and gear, twisting in her sleep. Breathing ragged, fists clenched, legs trembling like she’s fighting ghosts. Fucking nightmares.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, finish the rest of the beer, and leave the empty bottle in the sink. Then I strip down and head for the shower. Need to clear my head before I do something I regret.

Later, stretched out on the couch, I find I can’t sleep. There’s no silence in this house anymore. I can hear her breathing across the house: slow, shallow. Then it speeds. Then stops and starts again. It’s like my brain synced with hers, waiting for the next breath to fall.

Footsteps echo, soft and bare. She whispers my name, and I pretend not to hear.

Then her hand lands on my arm, feather light. “North?”

My jaw ticks. I keep my eyes closed.

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” she asks.

I crack an eye. “You weren’t in the bed either.”

She flinches at my tone. I didn’t mean it harshly. I just… don’t know how to speak softly sometimes.

“I thought—” she starts.

“You thought what?”

“That you didn’t want to share space with me in here.”

I stay silent.

“Please go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”

That’s when I close my eyes tight, trying to kill the fury that bubbles up again. I hear her shifting. Quiet as hell. I’m about to leave out a breath when I feel her move.

My eyes snap open. The fuck? She’s lying on the damn carpet.

“What the hell are you doing?” I bark.

“Since you don’t want to share a room with me, I’ll sleep here.” Her voice is small.

I sit up and rub my face. Jesus fucking Christ.

“It doesn’t bother me to share a room or a bed with you,” I grit out. “What bothers me is you sleeping on a fucking armchair or the goddamn floor.”

She blinks at me, like she’s still trying to process the fact that I’m not screaming, or swinging, or shoving her back into silence.

“Get up,” I growl. “Let’s go.”

She scrambles up, following me without a word.

We get to the bedroom, and I jerk my chin toward the left side of the bed. “You ain’t staying near the window.”

She crosses her arms, voice low but firm. “I’m not gonna escape.”

I arch a brow. “Didn’t say you would.”

Her jaw clenches. “Then why can’t I sleep there?”