Page 98 of Healing the Heart

With the arrival of more voices, he left to take care of that, too.

When he was gone, Fiona insisted, “I told you he didn’t do what you’re thinking.”

“I believe you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t relive this nightmare, at night and during waking hours. You already had an issue after the first time with him. This might make it worse, and it would probably be better to be proactive than reactive. Don’t you think?”

Finally, her face came out of his neck. She looked at him through spiky lashes wet with tears, but with much more color in her cheeks. “Are you always right about everything?”

“I screw up like everyone else, which is why I want to be extra cautious with you on this.”

“There is one thing. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep in that bed again.”

“I don’t think I’ll sleep again. Period.”

With a look of concern for him, despite everything she’d just been through, she gently stroked his cheek and along his bearded jaw. “Maybe you need a referral, too.”

He didn’t agree or disagree, only closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

Chapter 25

Bloodthirsty is a New Side of You

FIONA SPENT THE NEXTtwelve hours in the ER, getting poked, prodded, stitched up, and probed—the last, not physically but with questions during a psych consult. Like Noah, they were concerned Jordan had done more than she was telling them. But they left, recommending trauma counseling, which she assured them was being scheduled.

As expected, they gave her IV antibiotics to prevent infection in her wounds and lungs, two bags of fluids for dehydration, and administered multiple nebulizer treatments to ease her persistent cough and wheezing. Noah stayed by her side the entire time.

After her discharge, they checked into a hotel since his condo was a crime scene and neither of them could bear the thought of going back there anyway. She slept for twenty-four hours, Noah waking her twice for her meds and to drink something before she passed out again.

The next morning, which was two days after, or maybe it was three, it all seemed like a blur. He insisted she get some food into her body. He made her an omelet then put her in the shower.

“What about my stitches?” she asked, standing naked in his bathroom while he adjusted the temperature of the spray.

He dried his hands and held up a long yellow box of Press’n Seal plastic wrap. The sticky stuff adhered to her skin and kept her wounds dry while she washed. Noah had to help her with her hair when she ran out of energy and because the stitches in her shoulder pulled if she raised her arms. He stripped down and got in with her to do so.

She leaned against him and let him soap her all over. The brief activity zapping her strength. Afterward, she was ready for bed again, but he made her dress and stay up, plopping her down in a ray of sunshine in the seating area of their deluxe suite for a while.

That’s when the parade of detectives and Rossi men started. And she thought the ER staff asked a lot of questions.

Noah stuck by her, cutting it off after two hours, when she visibly sagged with fatigue. After a nap, he made her dinner and encouraged her to stay up for a few hours. But she fell asleep within minutes of snuggling up against him on the couch. She woke briefly to ask what time it was when he carried her to bed at seven o’clock.

“Why am I so sleepy?” she asked him as he tucked her in.

“It’s likely a trauma response. Studies have shown it can actually be therapeutic. Too much sleep has the opposite effect, so I’ll keep an eye on it—and you.”

“You know everything,” she said around a yawn.

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