Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

A nnabelle and Noah had fallen into a comfortable bedtime routine. She’d get ready first, sticking to her Wonder Woman pajamas, seeing as the building was full of people. Once she was secure in the panic room, Noah would get ready. He dressed for bed in a T-shirt and sweatpants so he could be up and running instantly if needed. And he kept a worn pair of boots by his bed, ready to slam his feet into and run. His gun sat on the nightstand, next to an iPad showing the security cameras’ video feeds.

Every night, he checked the windows in her apartment, making sure they were well covered and locked before ensuring the other door to the panic room was secured too. After that, he’d call whoever was on guard duty for a security update on the rest of the building. When satisfied that everyone was doing their job and the warehouse was locked up tight, he’d ask her if she needed anything.

It was becoming increasingly difficult not to reply, “You.”

Yeah, her hero worship had morphed into a full-blown crush. Her therapist would probably tell her she was mistaking feelings of gratitude for attraction. Or that she’d developed an unhealthy bond with the man because he was her protector. Annabelle had been through enough therapy to know the routine, and she didn’t require a professional to help analyze her feelings. For that, she had the internet, and according to the many search engines she’d consulted, Noah was suffering from “White Knight Syndrome” while she was craving a “Rescue Romance.”

The internet sucked.

The truth was, Noah Merchant fascinated her. There was nothing else to it. He wasn’t the best-looking guy in the building, or the tallest, or the youngest, but he was… solid, confident, capable, and caring. She loved the way he interacted with his kids and the bittersweet look in his eyes whenever he talked about his wife. There were even moments when Annabelle experienced a pang of jealousy over the love and loyalty he’d given Therese. A horrible thing to have to admit. Maybe she did need to talk to her therapist after all.

“You need anything?” Noah asked from the open doorway between their rooms.

Annabelle swallowed the answer on the tip of her tongue. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

She closed the sketchpad, balanced against her legs as she sat with her back to the sofa headboard and the bedding tucked up around her.

“What’re you drawing?” He folded his arms over the faded T-shirt he wore to bed. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his feet were bare.

He took her breath away.

“Just sketching,” she said. “Nothing important.”

“Can I see?” His eyes sparkled, and she knew he suspected she’d been drawing his team.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay,” she said somewhat reluctantly.

Noah came to sit on the edge of the sofa bed beside her and held out a hand for the sketchpad. Like she’d just hand it over. Uh, no. There were drawings in there that nobody should see. Instead, Annabelle opened it and turned to the first drawing, then angled the sketchpad so he could see the image on the paper.

As soon as it registered, he threw back his head and laughed deeply. “I love it,” he said at last.

“Don’t tell the triplets,” Annabelle pleaded.

His eyes sparkled. “That’ll cost you.”

Annabelle tore her eyes from his and considered her drawing. She’d portrayed the triplets as a set of three identical superheroes in tights and flowing capes. They stood in the classic superhero position—hands on hips, chins high, staring into the distance. Written across their chests in bold letters were their hero names: Copy. Paste. Repeat.

“Violet’s gonna love this. So cool how you’ve put Harris and Logan in Scottish blue, but Evan’s in a bright pink and orange suit. Show me more.”

With a mixture of relief, pride, and vulnerability, Annabelle turned the page. This one showed Violet morphing from a tiny cop into an oversized warrior who dwarfed the triplets. Godzilla Violet lifted a foot as though to stomp them out of existence.”

“Perfect.” Noah shook his head in delighted amusement.

She turned another page to reveal Abasi seated in a glass box of a prison while Rochelle stood outside, saying, “You can help us fine from in there.”

Abasi looked relaxed and amused in his signature tailored suit, while Rochelle was clad in full RoboCop armor.

“Hilarious.” Noah grinned at her. “But he needs more guards.”

Annabelle laughed. “I can sort that.”

He pointed at the pad. “Where am I? You’ve drawn the whole team, right?”

She bit her bottom lip while debating whether or not to show him.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “I won’t be offended. Hell, I’m flattered that someone with your skill wants to draw any of us. Show me. Pretty please.”

“You’re pathetic.” She sighed and turned to the page where she’d drawn him.

His face blank, Noah studied it intently. It was impossible to tell what he thought of her drawing. She’d put him in a series of comic book panels, showing him transforming from a ferocious bulldog into a pumped-up avenger, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and toting a gun. Fearless, he confronted a faceless gang while a small family cowered behind him in the background. He was larger than life. Immovable. Their defender. And all his character said to the gang was, “No.”

“That’s…” He seemed at a loss for words. “Amazing,” he finished at last, looking up at Annabelle. There was an intensity in his gaze that she couldn’t decipher. And suddenly, the room seemed a whole lot smaller and way more intimate than when he first walked in.

Swallowing hard, she quickly shut her sketchbook, her cheeks burning as if they were on fire. She shouldn’t have shown him the drawing. It gave away far too much. Hell, it was practically an ode to hero worship.

“Can I have it?” Noah’s question surprised her, making her eyes snap back to his. He shrugged, holding her gaze. “I mean, if you don’t plan on doing anything with it.”

“I don’t have any plans. I was just sketching for fun.”

“Well, if you don’t need it, can I have it?”

Annabelle searched his face. “Are you sure you want it?”

His lips quirked into a smile that felt like a caress. “Just give me the drawing, Bella.”

She sucked in a breath. Her aunt was the only one who’d ever called her Bella.

“Sorry,” he said. “I meant Annabelle… but I still want the drawing.”

“Bella’s fine,” she whispered as she carefully ripped the page from the sketchbook and held it out to him.

His fingers brushed against hers, and it felt like an electric current running through her body. She froze, the drawing suspended between them. For a moment, it was as though the air had transformed into fog, making it difficult to breathe and shutting out the world around them. The walls of the room seemed to move closer, the space forming an intimate cocoon.

“Noah?” she whispered.

He wet his lips, his eyes darting between her eyes and her mouth, and for a second, he appeared to move closer. She held her breath as time suspended. And then… he shot to his feet, taking the drawing with him.

“Thank you.” His voice was low and rough. “I can’t wait to show my kids. Good night, Annabelle.”

Without looking back, he strode from the room, leaving Annabelle alone to wonder if the previous few moments had taken place only in her imagination.

“Coward,” Therese said in disgust as Noah strode into the room.

She stood by the window, arms folded over her form-fitting red minidress and balancing on four-inch heels in matching blood red.

“Don’t start,” he muttered to her as he carefully put the drawing on the top shelf of his closet, where it would be safe from damage until he could get it home. He closed the door a little more forcefully than intended before getting into bed.

Therese paced beside the window, a scowl on her face.

“I can’t believe you bailed on her like that.” She jabbed her hand in the direction of the panic room. “You were this close”— she held up her index finger and thumb to show him— ”to a Hollywood movie first kiss,” she finished dramatically. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want to kiss her. I’ve seen that look in your eyes often enough to know what it means.”

Noah turned away from her, pulled the covers up around him, and punched his pillow—a little too enthusiastically—to make it comfortable.

Unfortunately, that left him facing the panic room, and as he watched, the light went off, plunging it into darkness. Annabelle would be curling up to sleep now, her thick hair spread out around her face on the pillow. Her eyes would close slowly, those dark lashes settling like crescents on satin smooth cheeks. And as she fell into a deep sleep, her full lips would open slightly.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the images inside his head.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t close himself off from the voice in his head.

Noah reopened his eyes to find Therese crouched beside the bed, her anger replaced with compassion. A ghostly hand reached out to stroke his cheek, and he almost believed he felt her caress.

“Noah,” she whispered. “You’ve lived like a saint for five years. You need to move on.”

“I don’t know how,” he whispered back. “I don’t know how to let go of you.”

“Silly man.” She smiled sadly. “You can’t let go of me. I’m a huge part of your life, and our boys are a walking, talking reminder of everything we had. I’ll always be here. But you don’t need to let me go to create space in your life for someone else. There’s room enough for both of us.”

Noah’s throat tightened around the words he couldn’t get out. Words about fear. About loss. But he didn’t need to express them; Therese knew what he was thinking.

“My poor darling,” she said. “You can’t control who stays and who leaves, and no matter how many barricades you build, you can’t protect yourself against the future. But if you keep trying to do that, you’ll never really live. You have to be brave, Noah.”

Only Therese and possibly his childhood friends could get away with calling him a coward.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, aching deep to his bones.

“Of course you do.” There were tears in her eyes. “But here’s what I’ve learned: people who love deeply are more likely to love again. You can’t help it. There’s too much of it bottled up inside of you, and it has to go somewhere. Plus, you need to think of our boys, Noah. If you’re afraid to let go, afraid to love again, they’ll grow up thinking that’s normal. And you don’t want them to miss out on what we had. What you could have again. Do you?”

“I don’t miss that you were always smarter than me,” Noah said.

“And always right,” she said. “Don’t forget that part.”

“How can I when you’re always here to remind me?”

“Go to sleep.” Therese leaned in to press a whisper-faint kiss to his brow.

Before he could reply, she’d faded away. Leaving him alone, staring at the door to the panic room. The door that led to the most fascinating woman he’d met since Therese’s death. It was only a few short steps from his bed, yet it felt like a chasm.

Do your job, he told himself. Worry about everything else later.

With those thoughts foremost in his mind, Noah fell into a fitful sleep.