What's Your Damage?

Chapter 5

Chloe

As volatile as his reputation paints him, I feel safer, clutching to Noah Brook's chest, than I have felt in a very long time.

I should be drowning in embarrassment for clinging to him like this, and I know that shame will hit me hard once this exchange is over. But for now, all I can muster is a shell-shocked sense of relief, knowing he is here and Matt is gone.

I live in a perpetual state of fear because of Matt, and while he's inflicted pain on me before, this time felt different. I genuinely believe he wouldn't have stopped. If Noah hadn't been there, I'd be dead.

Noah's comforting gestures linger as I ease out of his lap and onto the couch beside him. In the corner of my eye, I catch a fleeting motion of his hand, as if he's tempted to draw me back, but he opts to rake his fingers through his hair instead.

I dab at my eyes and clear my throat, which is raspy and sore. My fingers trace the imprint left by Matt's hand on my skin, already sensing the deep bruise forming beneath.

Taking a moment to compose myself seems like a luxury I can't afford right now. Instead of tending to my blotchy, tear-stained face, I head straight for the front door. Noah's gaze follows my every move, his emerald eyes silently probing, though he doesn't voice his confusion.

With a firm hand, I lock the front door, testing the knob to ensure its security. Noah rises to his feet, shadowing me as I move toward the kitchen. I continue my inspection, checking the locks on the back door before proceeding to scrutinize each window on the first floor. Every latch clicked into place feels like a shield against the outside world, a barrier between me and Matt Hunter.

I ascend the stairs, my footsteps determined but heavy with unspoken anxiety. I repeat the process with the second-story windows, ensuring every one of them is firmly secured. If Matt comes back, I want to make it as difficult as possible for him to get in. That'll at least buy me some precious moments to run.

When I descend the stairs, I find Noah rummaging through the freezer. He holds up an ice pack as I approach.

"We need to get some ice on that," he mumbles, nodding toward my neck.

"I just need to check one more thing," I stutter, veering toward a small window I'd overlooked in the downstairs bathroom.

His hand lands on my arm, and I instinctively flinch away from his touch. He quickly retreats, palms facing me in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't think. Look, you need to sit down and ice your neck."

I cast a desperate glance between the downstairs bathroom and Noah. I need to check the windows to make sure Matt can't get in. Noah's gaze softens, but beneath the surface, I sense a steely resolve. He massages his temples thoughtfully before making a suggestion.

"How about this? You lie down and ice your neck. I'll double-check all the windows and doors. Deal?"

I hesitate for a moment. "You really don't have to do that, Noah," I start to protest.