Out of My League

Chapter 24 (Noah)

I wake to the sound of birds chirping outside, of a lawn mower starting. 

Groggily, I open my eyes, squinting against the sun pouring in through the blinds, to glance down at Bella. 

She's asleep, thank God, and seems to not only be sleeping, but sleeping well. 

There's times, in the middle of the night, where I'll wake up and glance over, meaning to get a simple, innocent look at her, but sometimes, most times, she looks like she's in pain. 

I don't even know if she remembers it when she wakes up, but I'll never forget the mental pictures my brain forces me to take: the clenched eyelids, the semi-clenched fists, and tiny, quiet whimpering. 

I never want to wake her up in fear of her getting embarrassed that her nightmares are that obvious to me, but I always do my best to silently help her. 

Take her hand. Tuck her head under my chin. Put my arm around her shoulders. Pull her closer to me. 

Last night, though, came out of nowhere, without warning. 

I'd been sleeping peacefully when I heard her trying-to-be-quiet retches and had bounced immediately out of bed to help. 

I can only hope she wasn't alone for too long. 

Alone in reality, sure, but I meant in worse terms: alone with her thoughts, with her nightmares, with her feelings. 

That would be far worse for her. 

She probably thinks I'm completely grossed out or, knowing her, thinks I'll never want to look her in the eyes again, but the truth is, none of it had bothered me. 

I guess it's a good thing that I'd taken a lot of health-related classes back in high school; I'd seen stuff far more grotesque than some vomit. 

Though my arms had fallen down while I'd been asleep, she's still cuddled right next to my chest, her lips parted slightly and her hair half-obscuring her face from my view. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I push it back and tuck it behind her ear, planting a gentle kiss on her temple. 

The kiss was so soft it was more like a flutter, my mouth barely grazing her skin, but it was enough, apparently, to wake her up. 

Guilt stirring in my gut for interrupting her sleep, it immediately subsides when she squints her bright blue eyes at me and smiles a sleepy, half-awake smile that makes the butterflies in my stomach go crazy. 

"Hi," she says and then, as if remembering the event that had taken place a few hours before, she frowns and opens her mouth, I'm sure, to apologize. 

I don't give her the chance, effectively cutting off her unnecessary apology with the words, "Good morning, sleepy head." 

She smiles again, nestling further into my shirt, breathing in deeply like she's trying to permanently implant my scent into her brain. 

"Do you want some breakfast?" 

She nods, but then squints up at me and asks, "Don't you have practice?" 

I don't have my watch or my phone, so I have no idea what time it is, but it doesn't really matter to me. 

I've been planning, since the events of last night transpired, to stay home and take care of her; I can guarantee she needs me more than Russell does right now. 

"I'm skipping today," I say, "Coach always tells us that family comes first." 

She looks, curiously, up at me, "We're not family."