Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

MEMPHIS

Noah sat there on the side of the bathtub, trying not to panic or make any noises at the sight of the bullet wound in his leg in the fluorescent lighting. His jeans were grimy and beyond repair, and the wound was dark, almost looking gelatinous with the blood congealing mixed with sand, dirt, and who knows what else.

"Can we say ‘infection' boys and girls?" he muttered under his breath, trying to pull off his pants gingerly… and whimpering. Yup. The wound was sticking to the material of his jeans – painfully so.

"I'm not a wimp… I'm not a wimp… I'm not a wimp… It's just like a Band-Aid, tough guy… you got this…"

And groaned out a curse word as he pulled back the material in one move, yanking fibers, leg hairs, and dried blood from the gaping hole in his thigh – bracing himself quickly against the wall beside the tub because he might pass out .

"Are you okay in there?" a voice said loudly at the door, knocking urgently. "Noah? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine…" and his voice was thready as spots danced before his eyes, shaking his head. "I just need… a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, if you are wanting to see a lightheaded grown man about to faint like some offended southern belle while sitting in his tighty-whities stenciled with his name, then by all means… c'mon in."

"That bad?"

"I'm not at my best… no."

"Are you decent?"

"Mentally, physically, or emotionally?" he retorted, sagging his head weakly as he stood up and the room spun. "I'm fine, just really lightheaded."

"I've got tea steeping now, and I'm making something to eat. Are you sure that you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm getting in the shower, and you might hear me say something because I'm sure the water is gonna feel great on my leg…"

Noah moved to stand in the tub, slightly wobbling as he turned on the water… only to hear the bathroom door open on the other side of the curtain. He peered around, stunned, to see Madeline's form looking away from him, craning her neck in the other direction – and carrying a chair with her.

"I thought you could use this to lean on if you need it… you could even sit down if you feel like you are going to pass out."

"There's a commode for that."

"Oh, um, I suppose there is…"

"Were you trying to get a peek at me?" he taunted lightly, feeling a smile touch his lips. Man, he couldn't do anything, even if they both wanted to go much further right now. He was so close to collapsing it wasn't funny – and desperately wished that they'd met in other circumstances right now. Running for your life, afraid, threatened, and wounded, those feelings did not make for the best foundation of any relationship or friendship.

"No," she croaked, looking completely flustered as her face turned bright red. Within seconds, she was out of the bathroom. The door opened again, and she blindly flung a pair of gray sweatpants on the tiny pedestal sink.

Noah chuckled, shook his head, and drew in a deep breath as he turned on the shower and grabbed the chair she'd put in the tiny bathroom for him. Pain radiated at the water cascading over the open wound as he bit his tongue to keep from screaming at the wildfire of pain racing up his leg.

That had to be the shortest, longest, most welcome, most dreaded, painful shower of Noah's entire life – all crammed into one.

He wasn't gritty anymore, and if his blasted leg wasn't throbbing so badly, he'd almost say that he felt better… sorta. His actual shower was short because he was afraid that he'd pass out from the pain, but it took forever because he'd collapsed onto the chair beside the tub.

He simply sat there with his leg under the water and his head leaned back, lolling in and out of consciousness as waves of horrifying discomfort rolled over him. He knew the wound needed to be cleaned, and they wouldn't be very gentle in the ship's clinic either – with a whole lot more questions asked of him .

Instead of putting on the gray sweatpants and ruining them because he was bleeding, Noah donned his underwear and wrapped a towel around his hips before opening the bathroom door. He jerked his T-shirt over his head and hoped this made him presentable because he really needed to address his leg with a few bandages so it didn't stick to whatever he wore next.

"Uh, Madeline?"

And saw her head peer around the corner. Her eyes got huge as she looked at him standing there, looking him up and down.

"Did… Don't they fit?" she strangled out, pointing at the pants in his hands.

"I haven't tried yet. I'm bleeding and wanted to see if you had bandages?"

"A few."

"Perfect. I'll try them," Noah said simply, limping his way into the living room/kitchen space and seeing the variety of packages laying on the tiny folding table nearby. He sat down gingerly in a chair and hesitated, looking up to see her standing there, staring at his leg and the growing spot on the towel appearing. "I'm sorry. I'll replace the towel – along with your watch and necklace."

"It's fine," she said distractedly, and before he could utter a word, Madeline was kneeling beside him. Reaching up, she grabbed the cotton swabs and peroxide without hesitation and touched the towel on his leg. Noah quickly grabbed her wrist, surprising himself and her as he met her shocked gaze. "I'm just going to see if I can help."

"Sorry," Noah uttered tightly, fighting the feelings in him at seeing her there. He had known she was beautiful, but seeing her there like this was more than he could have ever imagined .

Her hazel eyes were stunning and cut right through him. He'd dated girls with hazel eyes and never really noticed them before, but with Madeline, he was paying attention. Brilliant flecks of gold danced in that strange mix of blues, greens, and amber that watched him with intelligence. Her hair was golden brown with a slight wave to it, and though she had it pulled back severely from her face – it only seemed to accentuate those incredible eyes.

Her eyes held his, waiting before he finally released her wrist.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she breathed.

"I hope not…" he began and hesitated. "I'm not going to hurt you either."

"I'm not wounded," she smiled slightly, causing Noah to flinch. He was such a dork sometimes when it came to picking up girls, which was part of the reason his buddies, Orion and Trophy, would occasionally drag him out to the bars – so he could ‘practice' saying hello to women.

"You know what I meant… right?" and hissed slightly as she pulled back the towel, revealing the wound. It looked red, angry, and raw – but was not matted with dirt like it had been. She gingerly dabbed at the skin around it with a cool cotton pad that felt like an ice cube on the inflamed skin.

"Oh, Noah," she whispered quietly. "Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital? I mean, you might need antibiotics or stitches. This looks really bad and..."

"I'll see the clinic on the ship when I check in – and I probably need to do that soon so they don't think I'm missing."

"When are you due back?"

Noah had to think for a moment. He'd put in for three days, and it wasn't unusual for a bunch of the guys to shack up in one hotel room in town to save money. He really wouldn't be missed until that third day.

"I have two days."

"I see."

He winced again and breathed several times through his nose as she sprinkled peroxide and sprayed a bit of Bactine on the wound. Fanning and blowing on his leg were not helping the pain.

It was only giving him other ideas that he should not be focusing on. The way her lips were pursed together, remembering how she tasted when he kissed her…

Oh, man…

"Stop," he strangled out – afraid that his line of thinking would just lead to his body reacting in a way that would be hard to hide. "Stop blowing on it. It hurts but blowing on it won't do anything but possibly cause an infection. I mean, not that I'm some clean-freak, but the mouth is full of germs, right?"

Madeline leaned back and he let out a breath of relief, adjusting his seat slightly to hide what was already happening with him. Did she not have any throw pillows nearby?

"I'm just trying to help."

"I know you are – and I appreciate it."

"You don't think it's going to get infected because of me, do you?"

"No. I think if it gets infected, it's going to be because of the sand, dirt, and water filtration in the area, not you," he offered, trying to soften the tightness of her expressive face. She looked almost offended right now as she stood up, pushed a few large bandages toward him with a package of gauze, moving to the kitchen.

"If you want to put the bandages on, maybe you'll be better at it than I am," Madeline began, and Noah felt like a heel. He'd obviously insulted her or hurt her feelings, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted. He just didn't think sitting there in his underwear, a towel, and a T-shirt, waving around a ‘magic glow wand' in his britches was going to be anything either of them was ready to talk about.

"Something smells good…" he began hesitantly and reached for the bandages. Obviously, she'd needed them at some point to have them just waiting in her tiny apartment. "What is that?"

"Leftovers."

Her curt voice made him wince again.

"Madeline, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be rude."

"I was just trying to help you."

"And you were – but you are also very distracting, and I'm a guy," he blurted out, hoping she understood what he wasn't saying aloud. She sighed, and her shoulders sagged as she scooped up something, putting it on a plate nearby silently. Yeah, she understood what he'd been alluding to and didn't look happy about it either. "I'm trying to be polite and friendly for you."

"Friendly," she repeated, but the word sounded flat. Before he could say anything else, she cleared her throat and glanced at him. "Leftovers are a few skewers of kofta that I made on a grill on my small balcony yesterday evening and some koshari from the other day. I thought you might need the iron from the kofta steak kabobs and the koshari is full of everything else – rice, lentils, tomato, chickpeas, onions, macaroni. You name it, it goes in koshari , or so it seems."

"It sounds delicious," and Noah was starving. It could have been that darn camel that bit him leaving a horrific set of bruises on his knee just below the bullet wound.

If he wasn't so preoccupied with it, he would have been plotting the animal's forced visit to some glue factory – maybe – if that's what you did with camels. He didn't know, but it sure sounded appealing after being bitten and spit at repeatedly.

"It's nothing," Madeline mumbled as she set down a plate in front of him before hesitating. "Do you want to sit over there? It might be more comfortable for you."

And Noah hesitated, seeing the small divan that looked like a wide twin bed on the wall. Pillows were thrown on it, along with several blankets of varying colors and sizes. This was where she obviously slept in the apartment that didn't hold much furniture.

"I don't want to mess up your nice things."

"Two problems with that statement – first, they aren't nice," she began, cracking a smile and meeting his eyes. "Second, this was a furnished apartment I rented, and you've got bandages on your leg, remember?"

"I remember."

He stood up and gingerly walked to the divan, sitting down and stretching his leg before him as he put a few of the pillows behind his back. She handed him one more, pointing to the corner, and he complied. Scooting over slightly against the carved wood frame that looked like the arm of a couch, he hesitated – only to have her hand him a dish that looked like a bowl and a plate for a child. The rim was low and rolled at the top to keep the contents inside, yet the base was wide… and the contents?

Fragrant.

"Oh man," he breathed, inhaling and taking a deep breath. "That smells even better close up." Only to hear her easy laughter from the kitchen area .

"Eat up," Madeline said easily. "That stuff is like the mac and cheese of the area. It's good, filling, and cheap."

While she might be putting down her cooking skills, Noah was in sheer heaven as she took a seat nearby on the divan silently and began eating. It was utterly delicious, with fragrant spices he didn't recognize. The texture was strange. He would bite down and catch something a little larger, like a chickpea or piece of tomato, but then there was rice around it reminding him of paella in Spain and he said so.

"On one deployment, we ended up near Spain, and I booked a trip on a train into the country. This reminds me of paella – but without the shellfish. It's incredible and so good, Madeline. Thank you for this."

"It's nothing," she murmured, chewing, and Noah chanced a look at her, biting off a piece of steak from the skewer. She looked at him and hesitated. "Aren't you worried?"

"About you – yes."

He was worried about her and didn't relish the thought of her being alone here – friend or not. No one deserved to have a threat hanging over their head like this. She was in danger, pure and simple, and the gentleman his mama encouraged them to be protested with every fiber of his being.

"I'll be fine," Madeline began and hesitated. "My spot comes open in New York eventually, and I'll be leaving the country."

"And until then? What's your plan?"

"I'm going to lay low and…"

"No."

Noah interrupted bluntly in a hushed voice. He wasn't going to be able to leave on the ship knowing he'd abandoned someone during a vulnerable moment – much less a friend and sort-of wife.

"What do you mean ‘no'?" she blurted out, looking at him in disbelief. A wry laugh escaped her, and she held out a hand. "Look around, Noah. I'm fitting in just like the people here. I live in a tiny apartment, eat the same foods, use the same currency, and some of them know me. I will have help until I leave here and…"

"You're not safe here."

"I'm probably safer here than New York City."

"Well, that's not very comforting."

"Why do you care anyhow? You're not my boss nor my mother."

"I'm your husband."

"Barely, remember? Besides, we are both sure it won't stand up in a court of law back home. We've already discussed that it's a fake marriage between us that was done during a time of urgency and need. Don't bother bringing that up or using it as an excuse."

"It might not hold up, and it wasn't done before a priest – but that doesn't mean that I would leave my friend here to try to make it on their own… and we're friends, Madeline," Noah stressed, looking at her. "We might not have met under normal circumstances, but we can't ‘un-meet'…"

"That's not a word."

"It fits, though," he retorted, smirking, before softening his voice. "We're friends – so let me help my friend… who happens to be my pseudo-wife."

Madeline's eyes held his as she looked at him. Her mind had to be racing with ideas, protests, and things to say to him in a counter-offensive, yet nothing came forth. He wondered for a moment if she would argue with him, lose her temper and yell, or tell him he was being some pushy, possessive chauvinistic guy, yet she said nothing.

Instead, she turned back to her own plate, scooped up another bite, and chewed silently before leaning forward to get the remote to the television. Turning it on, she handed it to him silently and went back to her eating. It was like she was silently saying, ‘I'm not discussing this' and shutting down their conversation without uttering the words.

"Madeline…"

"No," she interrupted firmly. "I'm thinking, and I need to process this… give me a few minutes."

"Of course."

They both sat there silently – and honestly, he was grateful for the reprieve. He wasn't sure how to help her, and the one thing he could do would certainly open another whole can of worms worse than what he was already in.

As they finished their meals, neither spoke. She just got up and took his plate without so much of a word. He watched her from a distance, giving her the space she'd asked for, as she cleaned both dishes and washed her hands. Returning to the divan where some game show was on the screen, he saw her sit down gingerly.

Her profile was there, staring blankly ahead as he saw her throat work, swallowing. She blindly reached a hand toward him – and he took it, knowing that feeling of being adrift and searching for something recognizable to hang onto.

"I'm scared because Travis knows who I am. He has a vague idea where I live, and what if one of my neighbors talks?"

Those faint words spoken aloud were barely heard over the television, but they were there, nonetheless. He knew it had taken a lot for her to admit it, and he wouldn't push her to do so again. Instead, he clasped her hand, his thumb rubbing slightly across her knuckles, hoping it brought a measure of comfort to her.

"I know," Noah said quietly. "And we'll figure this out together."

Her eyes swung to his, and he felt that same sense of electricity that he'd felt at that first glance when they'd spotted each other forever ago. It had been less than a day, but he already recognized that feeling. There was a peace in that awareness that was comforting, and he saw her swallow again, silent, before she spoke.

"What's your plan?"