Page 84 of Almost Ravaged

Not long before she died, she offered to help me lay out a gallery wall in my condo. I’ve had art and pictures sitting around since I moved in two years ago.

I have no plans to do anything with them now. I can’t stand the idea of hanging up any of the frames without her.

We had so many plans. They had their own plans, too. Plans that will never see the light of day. Plans that died the day she did, leaving nothing but hollowed-out hope in their place.

I pause at the top of the stairs, my gut telling me to go left.

The primary bedroom is to the right, but Noah doesn’t let himself sleep in there very often.

As I round the corner and peer into a dark bedroom, finding an unmoving mass in the center of the queen mattress, my suspicion is confirmed.

“Hey.” I navigate through the dark, unbuttoning my shirt as I go. I drop my bag to the floor and drape the Oxford over the back of the desk chair before I ease onto the edge of the bed and peel my socks off.

Once I’m stripped down to my underwear, I dig my portable charger from my bag and locate my phone and AirPods. Then I climb onto the bed and settle against the headboard.

I wait like that for one breath, then another. Beside me, his back rises and falls steadily, but from this angle I can’t tell whether he’s asleep.

“Noah. I’m here,” I whisper. Just in case he’s awake. Just in case he needs me.

Slowly, I place my hand on the side of his torso. He shudders, then stills. A breath passes. Then again.

Eventually, he covers my hand with his.

There’s nothing to say. Nothing that can ease the burden of grief or quell the self-loathing I’m sure he’s drowning in.

I lower myself onto the bed without releasing him and pop an AirPod into one ear, then cue up a podcast.

Tomorrow, I’ll handle all things orchard-related. I’ll pick up where Noah left off today.

But tonight, my job is to be here.

I can’t fix this. I can’t change the past or change the size and shape of his grief. But I can be here and remind him that he’s not alone, even when he’s lost in his own darkness, unable to find his way back to the light.

I’ll wait. I’ll stay. I’ll lie here all weekend if it’s what he needs. Longer, even. Whatever it takes, for however long he needs, to make sure he knows he’s not alone.

Chapter thirty

Sawyer

According to Cam, the drive from the ice arena to the Ledges is about thirty minutes.

And for the last twenty-five, I’ve been pressed between the window and Tytus’s thigh.

Tytus’s massive, muscular thigh.

A massive, muscular, gorgeous thigh that’s on prominent display thanks to the way his shorts have ridden up.

Wait. Can thighs be gorgeous?

Because his really, really is.

It’s also bigger than I remember. Thick. Covered in dark hair with distinct muscle definition, even when he’s sitting.

I honestly can’t get over how big he is. I can’t recall the last time I had such an up-close-and-personal encounter with Ty’s upper thigh, but it’s definitely bigger than what I remember.

Good grief. I need to get a grip.

“This must be it,” Tytus murmurs as Bryant pulls into a spot in a mostly empty parking lot.