Chapter 3: Sweet Dreams, Assholes
Erin's POV
The house went quiet around midnight. I waited another hour, letting them settle into deep sleep, before making my move.
Their bedroom door was cracked open. I pushed it wider, inch by inch, until I could see them clearly.
There they were. Claire's blonde hair fanned across the pillow like she was posing for a fucking magazine shoot. Noah's arm wrapped around her waist, his face peaceful in sleep.
I stood there for a full five minutes, just watching.
Noah stirred first, some sixth sense kicking in. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused in the darkness. Then he saw me.
"Jesus Christ!" He bolted upright, nearly launching Claire off the bed. "Erin? What the hell—"
Claire jerked awake, hair wild. "What? What's wrong?"
"I—" Noah stared at me, chest heaving. "There's... Erin's here."
Claire squinted through the darkness, finally spotting me. "Erin? What are you doing?"
I wrapped my arms around myself, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I just..." My voice cracked perfectly. "I keep having these terrible nightmares. I can't sleep alone."
The change in their expressions was fucking priceless. Noah's panic melted into guilt, while Claire's face went through about ten different emotions before settling on thinly veiled irritation.
"That's..." Noah started, then stopped, clearly torn between concern and the awkwardness of the situation.
"I know it's weird to ask," I said, looking directly at Claire with wide, helpless eyes. "But could I maybe sleep with you, Claire? Just for tonight? I can't ask Noah to comfort me—that wouldn't be fair to you."
Claire's jaw tightened, but what could she say? No, you can't sleep here because I'm threatened by a brain-damaged woman? She'd look like a complete psychopath.
"Of course," she forced out. "Of course you can stay."
"Thank you so much." I rushed to the far side of the bed, slipping under the covers like a grateful child. "You're such a good friend, Claire. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Noah looked like he'd rather be anywhere else on the planet. "I'll, uh... I'll take the couch."
"Fine," Claire said through gritted teeth.
I settled in with a contented sigh, feeling her entire body go rigid beside me.
The silence stretched on, thick with tension. I could practically hear Claire's internal screaming.
I woke to the sound of voices.
"—can't keep doing this!" Claire's voice, sharp with exhaustion. "I can't fucking take it anymore, Noah!"
"Keep your voice down," he hissed back. "She'll hear you."
"I don't care if she hears me! I'm losing my goddamn mind. She needs to get the hell out of here the second she's discharged."
I crept to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood.
"Claire, she's still sick. The doctors said she needs observation—"
"Then she can get observed somewhere else! A nursing home, her own apartment, I don't give a shit where. But not here."
"She has nowhere else to go."
"Did you see last night?" Claire's laugh was borderline hysterical. "The way she was all over me, touching my hand, pressed up against me like some kind of—"
"She was scared. It's not her fault her brain got scrambled."
"Her brain got scrambled, but her ability to manipulate people seems perfectly fucking intact!"
Ooh. Claire was smarter than I gave her credit for.
"That's a terrible thing to say," Noah said quietly. "She almost died, Claire."
"And I'm starting to think that might've been for the best."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"These are perfect," I said weakly, holding up the soft cashmere sweater Noah had brought me. "Claire has such good taste."
He sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, looking like he'd aged five years overnight. Dark circles under his eyes, hair uncombed, shirt wrinkled.
"She wanted to come with me," he lied smoothly. "But she's swamped at work."
"Poor thing. She works so hard." I folded the sweater carefully. "I feel terrible taking up so much of your time too. You must be exhausted, running back and forth between here and home."
"It's fine," he said quickly. "You're more important right now."
Such a good boy, saying all the right things. Even if we both knew he was full of shit.
"That's so sweet." I reached for his hand, letting my fingers trace over his knuckles. "You know, bits and pieces are starting to come back to me."
He stiffened. "Oh?"
"Little things. Like..." I tilted my head thoughtfully. "I remember helping Claire try on wedding dresses. But we never did, did we? Something happened."
His face went white. "You... you remember that?"
"Fragments. Something about falling down stairs?" I touched the bandage on my head. "Was that when I got hurt?"
"I..." He swallowed hard. "Yeah. You fell at home."
"How scary. When's the wedding again?"
"We haven't... we're still planning."
"Well, don't wait too long because of me," I said earnestly. "I'd hate to think I delayed your happiness. Life's so short, isn't it?"
The irony wasn't lost on either of us.
"Noah?" I kept my voice gentle, concerned. "You look troubled. Is everything okay between you and Claire?"
"Everything's fine."
"Good. Because you know what I've realized, lying here with all this time to think?" I sat up straighter, gripping his hand. "Loyalty is everything in a relationship. Trust. Faithfulness. You can't build a life with someone if you're not completely honest with them."
He tried to pull away, but I held on.
"I mean it," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "Being the man Claire deserves. The husband she needs."
"Erin—"
"Promise me," I said urgently. "Promise me you won't hurt her. That you'll be faithful and true and give her everything she deserves."
The guilt radiating off him was almost tangible. He looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
"I promise," he whispered.
"Good." I smiled brightly, releasing his hand. "That makes me so happy. You two are perfect together."
He left soon after, mumbling something about work calls. I watched him walk down the hallway, shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world.
"You know," Dr. Grant said, closing my chart with a soft snap, "your vitals are excellent. Cognitive function seems normal. No signs of intracranial pressure or ongoing complications."
I blinked innocently from my hospital bed. "That's good news, right?"
"It is." He studied me with those sharp gray eyes. "Which makes me wonder... why haven't you gone home yet?"
"Home?" I laughed softly. "I don't really have one right now. My friends are letting me stay with them, but I don't want to be a burden."
"Mmm." He moved closer, "Erin. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You don't really have amnesia, do you?"
