Chapter Twenty

Micah

I get Faith set up on the couch with plenty of pillows, though not once has she taken me up on my offer to nest.

If she were my patient, that's where I'd start, my psychiatric training nags.

I shove it down. Faith is not my patient. Good psychiatrists do not sleep with their patients.

I bring her some snacks to eat in front of the TV. God, she looks cute—draped in a fuzzy blanket, hair still damp from the bath, soft and blushing in all the right places. Her blue eyes glow, absently watching a sitcom.

I'd give anything to see her laugh. To just see her smile.

"Clothes feel okay?" I ask. "Not too boxy?" I had to dress her in one of my shirts—everything Jaxon bought is in the wash.

Faith nods, resting her head on my shoulder.

My inner alpha warms. I hope she falls asleep like this. I hope she never leaves.

Maybe she can sense my desperation, because after a few moments she sluggishly pulls away, reaching for her notepad.

"Here." I pass it over. "Let me help you with that."

She uncaps the marker, writing slowly: SORRY ABOUT YOUR FACE.

I frown, absently feeling my jaw, recalling where she hit me. It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since then—I wasn't even sure she remembered. "Don't worry about it, angel. It wasn't your fault."

She huffs. I PUNCHED YOU .

"Well, yeah." I smile. "You did. But I shouldn't have grabbed you the way I did, especially that close to your heat."

She hesitates, the marker hovering, before writing, YOU WERE SCARED.

So she does remember. Not only that, but she remembers far more than I've given her credit for.

"Yes." I swallow dryly. "I was."

THAT'S WHY YOU SHARE A ROOM. RIGHT ?

Not for the first time, the bluntness of her words on the page takes me aback. I force myself to check Faith's expression—her soft gaze, her tilted head—so I know she means no harm.

"It was Caleb's idea," I say at last, quietly. "I wasn't getting much sleep. Kept waking up the den." I blush. "Nightmares. Luckily they stopped pretty soon after we started sharing a room, plus it brought all three of us closer together as a pack, so we just decided to stick with it."

Faith considers this. NIGHTMARES ABOUT THE WINDOW ?

I bristle. "Not exactly."

Her marker doesn't move, like she's not sure what else to ask.

I supply, "There was ... an incident, with one of my cases at the RDF. Someone I was treating—well, the treatment didn't pan out." I purse my lips. "Caleb suggested I take a leave of absence, get some rest, and come back to work when I'm ready."

I decide not to mention this ‘leave of absence' begun over a year ago. She probably thinks I'm pathetic enough as it is.

Faith turns back to the TV, her brow pinched in thought. Finally she writes, SO THAT'S WHY YOU'RE MY PUPSITTER.

I can't help it—laughter bursts out of me. "Your what?"

She circles the word— PUPSITTER .

Once again I have to check her face, only to find a rare sparkle in her eyes. Not a smile, not a laugh, but maybe as close to it as I've ever gotten.

"Who said that?" I tease. "Jaxon?"

She shrugs, putting the notepad down.

This time, when her head falls against my shoulder, I tentatively wrap my arm around her, drawing her closer.

And closer.