Swallowing the questions, she kissed the side of his temple. “Finish drinking your coffee.”
“Enough.” He put down the nearly empty cup. “I’m jumpy.” A yawn cracked his mouth, but he kept his eyes open. “Pretty Hallucination Kit.”
Not lucid, she realized, just a touch more coherent. “Pretty Drunk Noah.”
He started laughing as if that was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. “Not drunk,” he said at last, a heavy scowl on his face. “Sleeping pills. Hate sleeping pills.”
“I know. I’m sorry I made you take them.” She hadn’t understood, hadn’t realized the terrors that haunted him. “I won’t do it again.”
He patted her forearm. “’S okay.” Another yawn. “I want to sleep.”
Kit went to tell him to stay awake, but a glance at the phone she’d dropped nearby told her it was nearly dawn. Maybe he could sleep now? “Will the bad dreams come?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t inadvertently crossing a line.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But need sleep.”
Kit eased him down. “Okay, but I’m going to dump ice water on you if you won’t wake up when I shake you.”
“’Kay.” A frown, lines between his eyes. “Alone.”
It took her a second. “Okay.” She picked up the sleeping bag and put it over him, then went into the bedroom. If Noah needed to be alone to get rest, then she’d give him solitude—but she’d still keep a careful eye on him.
Noah woke with cotton wool in his mouth and a bladder that was about to burst. Stumbling to the toilet, he shut the door and did what needed to be done, then turned to the sink and threw water on his face. The shock of cold brought a few of his senses back to him.
That was when he noted the bruise on his left cheekbone.
Opening the door, he said, “Kit?”
She poked her head out of the bedroom. “You’re awake.” A brilliant smile, her gorgeous hair tumbling over the vivid blue of her robe.
“Did I fall flat on my face?” He indicated the bruise.
“No.” She winced. “You kind of ran into Fox’s hand.”
Fuck. He’d taken the fucking pills. “How bad?”
“You wouldn’t wake up, but once you did, you were quite funny.” A crooked smile. “You called me Mean Hallucination Kit.”
He felt his gut turn to lead. “What else did I say?”
“Nothing, except for telling me what you thought of certain bands and how you hated sleeping pills.” Her eyes, bleak and dark, went to the bruise on his face. “I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t know the pills would lock you into a nightmare.”
The lead grew heavier. “You saw my nightmare?”
She nodded.
“What did I say?”
“Nothing.” She held his eyes. “I didn’t ask you and you didn’t say.”
He finally took a breath. “Thank you.”
Kit shook her head. “Don’t thank me. I pushed you into this.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked slightly on her feet. “You can’t go on like this, not for three more weeks or however long it takes.”
“We’ve had this argument.” He grabbed her wrist. “I can do it.” He couldn’t have her give up on him.
“I know you can.” Tugging at her wrist, she tried to extricate it, but when he refused to let go, she stopped attempting to pull away. “I want you to move in with me.”
He stared at her. “What?” Having his own space, his own bolt-hole, had always been critical.
“You’ve slept over before,” she pointed out. “You might’ve been blind drunk the last time, but the other times you were sober.”
He’d snuck out and run for hours each of those nights, fallen asleep out of exhaustion. It had only been for a fitful few hours, but he had slept. “Why do you want me to move in with you?” He had to know what she expected, because there were things he simply couldn’t give her.
She touched his bruised cheek, her fingers featherlight. “You asked me to be with you.”
His entire world trembled.
He knew he should call back that request. It was beyond selfish. But his throat, it wouldn’t work.
“If we’re going to make a relationship work in any way,” she said, “we have to figure this out.”
“I’m almost twenty-eight years old, Kit. If I could figure it out, I would have by now.” He turned into the tender warmth of her hand.
“I bet you’ve always tried to do it alone, haven’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “We do it together this time.”
Noah wanted to say she was wrong, that it wouldn’t work, but he hadn’t ever tried to figure this out with someone else. Even with Fox, they’d only discussed it that one time when he’d been a scared seven-year-old boy. Never again.
And there lay the crux of it. “How can you fix something if you don’t even know why it’s broken?” Because he wouldn’t tell her. The idea of Kit knowing? It savaged him.
“I know something really bad happened to you,” she whispered. “Bad enough that one of the toughest men I know is still haunted by it.”
He flinched. “I’m not tough.” If he had been, he would’ve gotten over this long ago.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Her wrist still in his hand, she said, “Will you come home with me?”
“Yes,” he said, a desolate nothingness inside him.
This would fail. When it did, so would all the hope inside him that one day he might be normal, might have the right to love Kit.
Chapter 26
Late afternoon the next day, Kit smiled and flirted with the cameras as she and Noah drove through the gates of her home in Noah’s convertible. He’d be returning to his place later to grab clothes and other things, but given the situation with Abe and Sarah—and since this media circus was inevitable—they’d decided to handle it together.
The funny thing, Kit thought as Noah laughed at something one of the photographers had yelled out, was that she no longer cared about either the movie or the cosmetics deal. Her career was important to her, but the most important thing in her life was in the driver’s seat, and he was badly, badly hurt inside. Kit didn’t think she was a magician, didn’t believe she could heal him, but she could love him.
Maybe it would help a little.
Maybe it might even be enough to stop him from continuing on the self-destructive path he’d been walking to this point.
“Kathleen! Give us a smile!”
She gave the photographer what he wanted, wondering why anyone cared what she was doing and who she was doing it with. She knew it was good that they did, that it helped her make a living doing the work she loved, but today she just wanted to be alone with Noah.
However, it took them another five minutes to get through the gates. Reaching the house not long afterward, the two of them got out in silence. Kit glanced reflexively into the backseat of the convertible. “Noah, did you leave that gift in there?”
“No.” Frowning, he went to pick up the card stuck to the package, which was wrapped in gold paper.
“Wait.” She took off the thin, colorful silk scarf she was wearing and passed it to him. “In case there are fingerprints.” She was probably being paranoid, the gift something a fan had managed to drop in during the media fracas outside, but she had to be sure.
Using the scarf to pick up the card, Noah opened it with care. The dangerous ice in his expression answered her silent question. When she went around to his side, he wrapped his arm around her while holding the card out of reach. “You don’t need to see this. It’s the same ugly bullshit.”
“I have to see it. I have to know what’s in his sick head so I can protect myself.”
A muscle jumped in Noah’s jaw, but he brought the card close enough that she could read it. As usual, the message wasn’t handwritten but made up of words and letters cut out of magazines and newspapers.