My yes is desperate. I’d consider letting him taze me right now if I thought it would help. I drop my hands from my head and sit back against the couch, resting my head on it.
His starched gray uniform creases as he reaches over and presses his fingertips to the sides of my head. He massages small circles against my temples, and almost immediately the contact soothes me, and I feel my muscles loosen. I sigh as the pain slowly dissipates, his touch some kind of magical painkiller that has my entire body melting like a popsicle on a midsummer afternoon.
“Where are you from?” he asks casually, probably to keep me distracted and focused on something else other than the ache his fingers have already chased away.
If only he knew how distracted I already feel.
Now that the pain has calmed down, I’m very aware of how close we are on the couch. Our thighs are pressed together, and he looms over me as he rubs relief into my temples. His hands slowly press into my hair, massaging a point above my ear that has me swallowing down a moan. I clear my throat in hopes it will dislodge any inappropriate noises that want to sneak out, and focus on his question.
“Most recently I was living in Paterson, New Jersey. Do not recommend. Great farmer’s market, mostly friendly people, but my car was broken into every other month,” I ramble.
“Good to know,” he tells me, his hands moving to the base of my skull. “Is that where you grew up?”
“No, I grew up all over Michigan. I moved a lot as a teenager, and I guess it’s kind of become a habit as an adult too. Although Ashwood Springs will be my first foray into a small town. Any advice?”
“We’re not that small. With the outskirts, Howling Rapids is pushing just over twenty thousand.”
I wolf-whistle. “I think that’s how many people were in my graduating class in high school.”
“I said twenty thousand, not two.”
“I know,” I mock with a grin. “You’re still in bumpkin territory compared to what I grew up around.”
He laughs and the sound explodes like warm sparks through me. Holy shit, that laugh needs to go on the nuclear warning list. Code orange, or whatever the dangerous one is. That chuckle could take out an entire town, wipe out a city. I feel my chest warm up and grow velvety soft in response to the sound bursting through the air. That laugh might literally be melting my bones.
A loud knock sounds at the door, and I look up, expecting to see the deputy I first spoke to who was just in here. Instead, I find an older man decked out in jeans and a green buffalo-plaid flannel, who bears a striking resemblance to the sheriff, or what the sheriff might look like in another twenty-five years. This man’s hair is darker and has a few prominent streaks of gray in it. His blue eyes are a little less bright than Sheriff Arcan’s, but there’s no mistaking the resemblance.
He scans the room, expression drawn tight. When his gaze lands on us on the couch and he does a quick scan of me from head to toe, everything about his posture softens and a distinct twinkle of excitement enters his expression.
The sheriff drops his hands from my head and stands up. I look down at the now empty cushion next to me and note the loss of warmth and comfort his closeness seemed to offer.
“Ellery,” the older man greets the sheriff. There’s a soft strength in his eyes, the lines etched in his cheeks hint he smiles a lot, and somehow a sense of safety radiates from him.
Ellery? Why do I know that name?
“Hey, Dad,” the sheriff answers, striding over to what I assumed was a filing cabinet. He opens it and I realize it’s a mini fridge when he pulls out a few waters.
“Noah, this is my dad, Morgan Arcan. Dad, this is Noah—who I just learned is a naif.”
Morgan Arcan’s smile drops from his face so fast I almost look for it on the ground. His shocked gaze darts from his son to me and then back again as though he’s trying to understand what Ellery just said.
Unfortunately, I’m in the same boat because I have no idea what a nay-f is. Maybe it’s cop lingo?
Ellery hands me a bottle of water, and I stop caring about whatever he just called me because I realize I haven’t had anything to drink since coffee last night. I open it and take a deep pull and then desperately drain the whole thing in four large gulps. So good.
Damn, I guess I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.
Swiping at my lower lip with my hand, I remove any remaining water droplets. Ellery smiles and hands me the other bottle he’s holding, the one I assumed was for his dad.
I stare at him in awe for a moment, as though he’s proposed instead of simply offering hydration. Then I force myself to blink and look away before I blurt out something utterly inane, like “I’ll have your babies” or “Is that a water bottle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
“Well, this definitely isn’t Fading. Not sure what it is though.” Morgan addresses the first part of his statement to Ellery before looking right at me. “Have you had anything to eat or drink since you woke up?”
I shake my head as I drain bottle number two.
My brow furrows and I watch the sheriff’s dad more pointedly. He could have just been showing fatherly concern, but something about the question seems odd. I am relieved that someone here doesn’t think I’m on death’s doorstep though.
“Thank fuck it’s not the Fade.” Ellery gives a sigh of relief. “Noah, does your leg hurt?”
Before I can answer, the door unexpectedly swings open again.
I jump to my feet in alarm and then gape when a drop-dead gorgeous man strides in with purpose. His T-shirt and jeans hug every decadent inch of his tall, well-built frame. The light gray color of his shirt matches the hue of the man’s eyes perfectly and complements his warm skin tone and dark brown hair. He moves toward me but stops when the sheriff steps forward and blocks his path. They stare at each other for a moment, but I’m distracted by the fact that the man who just strolled in here isn’t wearing any shoes.
Dove gray eyes find mine over the sheriff’s shoulder. Strangely, they’re swimming with relief, and I suddenly find it hard to breathe as I dumbly stare back at him.
“You’re okay?” he asks, somehow sounding both stricken and grateful.
He smiles at me when I continue to just stare, and holy shit, that smile is nothing short of resplendent. It’s the rays of sun breaching the darkest clouds, warming and illuminating the world despite the storm.
Ellery clears his throat, and the gray-eyed god’s stare flashes from me to the sheriff. The new man’s smile dims and then drops completely.
I practically watch him build a wall, brick by brick, and shutter his reactions behind it.
A strange part of me protests the loss, as though something vital and precious was just stolen from me and hidden away under lock and key. I don’t understand what just happened or my reaction to it, but I want to take a sledgehammer to this man’s defenses and crawl through the cracks to find him again. I feel like I need to.
“Noah, this is Gannon. He’s…had some experience with what you’re going through, and he’s going to help us explain some things,” the sheriff tells me, gesturing to his father and then to himself.
I look back to the barefoot guy and find his expression is now glacial. A shiver runs down my spine as I fit the name Ellery just gave me with the man’s face.