The Billionaire’s Fight For Redemption (Noah and Sierra) novel Chapter 118

Chapter 118

At the sink, I pause and stare at my reflection while washing one hand, careful not to wet the one in the cast.

My honey–blonde hair is a tangled mess. Someone tried to braid it, but it didn’t help much. It looks like a bird’s nest. There’s a deep cut on the side of my forehead, stitches glinting under the hospital lights. A few bruises shadow my left eye and cheek. Tired eyes stare back at me. Before I can think much about them, there is a knock at the door

“Sierra? Are you okay in there?”

My heart kicks up instantly, panic rippling through me.

“Yeah,” I call back, though my voice trembles.

Part of me is tempted to stay here because I don’t want to face him, but I know I can’t. I can’t hide in the washroom like a coward. Better to get this over and done with.

Taking a steadying breath, I grab the IV stand and turn toward the door. The moment I open it, I collide with a wall of muscle.

“What the hell, Noah?” I mutter, rubbing my nose.

A groan slips past my lips when the jolt sends a flash of memory through me of that night. The one I’ve been trying to bury for months.

“What is it? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” His words come fast, sharp with worry.

Why does he sound concerned? Something’s seriously off. Either I’m still dreaming, or I woke up in a parallel universe.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I grit out. “I just need you to move out of my way so I can get back to bed.”

And preferably out of my room. I can’t think straight and it’s just too weird having him here.

He steps aside and I shuffle past him, every movement heavy and awkward. When I reach the bed and start to climb up, his hands suddenly slide around my waist.

Every nerve in my body goes haywire. His touch burns straight through the thin hospital gown, igniting sparks that race through me like wildfire.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, my voice trembling more than I want it to. “Let go of me, Noah.”

“I was trying to help,” he shoots back, defensive.

Jeez. What has gotten into him?

“I don’t need your fucking help!”

He releases me immediately, his jaw tightening as he backs off. I struggle a little but manage to get myself onto the bed. My chest rises and falls faster than it should as I lean back into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, trying to calm down.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice maddeningly casual, “how was your stretch?”

My eyes snap open. He’s smirking–actually smirking at me. And damn it, there’s actual humor in his eyes. It’s so strange.

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Chapter 118

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“I swear,” I mutter, glaring at him, “if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face, I’m going to haul this monitor at your head.”

He chuckles softly, the sound deep and unfamiliar in this sterile room. “Are you always this violent?”

“Noah…” I warn, his name slipping out like a threat. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

I can’t make sense of this strange version of him sitting in front of me. The man who once told me to get rid of our child is now acting so out of character. Why?

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