Page 24

I unlock my front door and walk into the silent house, my quads and glutes screaming after my gym session. Every step towards the bathroom is a special kind of torture that makes me feel like I’ve actually achieved something for the day.

I turn on the bath taps, strip off, and lower myself into the hot water, wincing at the heat. After a minute or two, my body adjusts to the temperature, and I sink down so only my chin and knees are showing. I close my eyes, and of course the first thing that pops into my mind is Noah. Everything these past few weeks has been Noah, Noah, Noah.

My muscles twinge as I stretch my legs over the end of the tub. I grab a flannel and soak it in the hot water before laying it across my eyes, running through my workout routines in my head to stop thinking about him. September will be here sooner than I think, and I’ll have to balance training, sobriety, and a strict diet on top of my day job for the eight weeks leading up to the boxing match.

I grin, realising I’m not on the strict diet yet—I’ve still got time before I have to start easing myself into it. I lean over the side of the bathtub and grab my phone, about to open the pizza delivery app, when there’s a bang on the front door. I jump, fumbling my phone, almost dropping it into the bathwater.

“If that’s Isla, I’m going to kill her.”

I hop out of the bath, not at all gracefully, slipping on some water as I pick up a towel from the rack. Leaving wet footprints behind me, I hurry down the stairs, securing the towel, and swing the front door open. “Now’s not the best⁠—”

I almost choke on my words when I see Noah on my doorstep, wearing fluffy baby-pink pyjama bottoms and a loose black crop top.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure …” I peer past him to see if he drove himself, or if Jake dropped him off. Surely he didn’t walk here?

He cocks an eyebrow at me and slides through the small gap I’ve left. I finally move, locking the door behind us. When I turn around, he’s gone.

What the hell is happening?

I find Noah in the front room, sitting cross-legged in the corner of my sofa like he was last night. “Can I help you?” I ask cautiously. One minute he’s telling me to mind my own business and not worry about him, and the next he’s in his PJs, asking to come into my house at—I check my phone—okay, so seven isn’t late, but it’s still weird.

“Yes, I’d like to stay the night. But I have rules.”

“You have rules for staying in my house?” I scoff. He narrows his eyes, and I perch my arse on the edge of the sofa, gripping the towel tightly. “What rules?”

“Bailey’s still gone, and Jake went out again. I can’t be in that cottage on my own.”

“Why can’t you be alone?”

He fiddles with the cuff of his pyjama leg. A moment passes in silence, and I think he’s going to tell me to mind my own business again. Instead, he sighs, his storm-grey eyes locking onto mine. “I have nightmares, and sleeping in the same bed as someone helps when I … when I wake up.”

I am thoroughly underdressed for this conversation.

“By someone … you mean Bailey?” I’m sure I remember Richard mentioning this, how Noah and Bailey were so attached at the hip they shared a bed.

“And Rich, before he went to uni.”

I don’t know what to make of this. I’m pretty sure it’s not good, having nightmares so bad he’s had to share a bed with someone for the past God knows how many years. “What rules?” I ask, curious where this is going.

“If I stay here, can I sleep in your bed?”

I chuckle awkwardly, waiting for him to say he’s kidding, but his face is like stone. “This is the strangest way someone has invited themselves into my bed.”

He glowers at me, holding up a finger. “This is why we need rules. First, don’t touch me. This isn’t a benefits situation, and I don’t cuddle. I just need to know someone’s next to me.”

I nod along. Obviously I’m not going to touch him without his consent.

“Second, don’t tell Richard—or Isla, for that matter.”

“Anything else?”

“No, just don’t touch me,” he repeats. “Especially if I have a nightmare.”

Last night was unexpected, but not necessarily unwanted. Sleeping in the same bed doesn’t mean we’re crossing any lines.

I watch him carefully as he stares at a spot on the sofa between us. I know there’s more he isn’t telling me, but I guess this will have to do. For all his fire and spark, this is the most honest he’s been with me. Like this is the real Noah. I can’t let that go.