Last night was a waking nightmare, but not the one I was used to having.

As I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the thoughts running through my head had nothing to do with Afghanistan or Riggs. No, all I saw in that pitch-black darkness was Noah's flushed face, his swollen lips, his beautiful eyes. Nothing I did drowned out the sound of his soft moans, or the heat of his body as he'd been pressed against me, underneath me.

And my cock sure as hell wouldn't let me forget.

For hours I fought with myself, caught between going back over to his place and finishing what we'd started, and stroking one out in the privacy of my own apartment while feeling like a fucking coward and a hypocrite. I wanted him. No doubt about that. I'd wanted him for a long time, but in a harmless way I'd mostly been able to ignore. Now, though...

Now I'd had a taste, and it spurred a craving in me that was undeniable.

In the end, I didn't choose either option. I just lay there, tossing and turning all night until dawn started to creep through my window. Then I'd gotten up, went hard on the coffee, and headed to the gym to go even harder on myself.

I got the call while I was in the middle of my fourth set of rotations at the leg press.

My muscles were exhausted, sweat dripped from my body, and I had to strain just to reach my phone. That adorably stupid picture Noah had taken of us flashed across my screen, and I damn near dropped the thing in my rush to answer. "Hey."

But it wasn't Noah's flirty, teasing voice that answered back.

"Is this Cam? Noah's boyfriend?"

It took me a few moments to recognize Liz's voice, but as soon as I did, I nearly flung myself out of the weight machine. "What's wrong? Where's Noah?"

My heart dropped when she confirmed my worst fears.

"He's in the hospital. He was going to get us breakfast and... someone just attacked him... I didn't..." Liz was in tears, all while my rage was reaching a boiling point.

Somebody had hurt Noah. Somebody has taken advantage of him; taken advantage of his huge heart and his ability to see good in absolutely everyone. It didn't matter if it was a client or just a random asshole. They were going to pay for what they did. As soon as I made sure Noah was okay.

"Which hospital?" I asked, a sharp sense of worry wrestling with the anger in my mind.

There was something else, too. Even as she told me the hospital, one thought played across my mind:

This wouldn't have happened if you'd stayed.

It wasn't the first time I'd had to face that reality, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. I'd be damned if I was going to let Noah suffer the same fate as Riggs, though. Grabbing my duffel and barely managing to throw on a clean shirt in the middle of the gym floor, I broke into a run, not caring who I knocked into as I made a beeline for my truck.

I had to get to Noah. He had to be okay.

* * *

The hospital was a maze, and just getting to the ER bay to meet Liz ended up being an ordeal. I ended up parking in a place I'm pretty sure wasn't an actual parking spot just to get there faster. I'd deal with the ticket later. Right now the only thing that mattered was Noah, and I followed the light of the emergency room sign to get to where I needed to go.

Liz was waiting outside, that pink cardigan like a beacon. She had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and she was swaying from foot to foot until she spotted me.

"Where is he?" I asked, my voice half-crazed.

"They took him back twenty minutes ago. They wouldn't let me go with him, since I wasn't family."

She looked more nervous than usual, and even in my single-track haze, I realized why. This was a public place, and there was every chance someone in the hospital would recognize her. She had no way to make a hasty retreat if that happened. She'd just be trapped here until her dad came to claim her.

Pushing back my own worries, I turned my focus on Liz. "It was good of you to wait with him. I know it's a risk."

I tried to keep my voice soft, and it seemed to work well enough. Liz visibly relaxed, and when she looked up at me, it wasn't in fear. "I couldn't just leave him."

"If you need to go now, he'll understand. I can text you once I know anything," I offered.

She considered that for a moment, glancing around the ambulance bay. A man in scrubs stood a good distance away, taking a drag on a cigarette. The sound of a distant siren cut through the morning traffic.

"I'll stay," she said, "at least until he's awake."

"Then let's get inside."

I didn't waste any time. As soon as I got inside the ER, I went to the desk to ask about Noah.

"Are you a relation?" the woman asked.

I had a split second to choose between boyfriend or more, and since I wasn't sure boyfriend would be accepted, I went for more. A whole lot more. "Husband."

The woman's gaze flicked up from her computer screen. I stared back at her, and eventually she turned that questioning look on to Liz.

"This is our daughter," I motioned to Liz, who--for her part--managed not to react in surprise. When the woman behind the glass sent a skeptical look my way, I decided to up the stakes. "You want to see the adoption papers? How about my marriage license? I can show you my birth certificate, too, if that'll help me see my fucking husband."

I thought she might call for security, but the woman just hit the button beside her desk and the automated doors opened slowly. "Curtain thirteen."

Liz and I moved through the door, and I was instantly hit by the smell of hospital. Antiseptic, mainly. That sharp smell that clung to your clothes and hair and never seemed to wash out. It'd been the same even in medic tents overseas. That same sickening smell, and the endless beep of monitors as some men lay peacefully--spared from the horror of what had happened to them for at least a little while--and others slipped away.

Numbers flew by, and as we reached thirteen, I felt my anxiety ratchet up. That suffocating panic almost threatened to strangle me, and my heart pounded fiercely in my chest. Still I kept going, determined to see Noah. The curtain was drawn back, and I had full view of him lying in that bed, his face bruised and swollen, his form pale and almost lifeless but for the rise and fall of his chest.

They'd hooked him up to an IV, the tube for it taped to his right hand, and smaller tubes were feeding him oxygen through his nostrils. A device clipped to his finger monitored his pulse, while a blood pressure cuff periodically squeezed his upper arm. It was a lot more hands-off than what I'd seen in Afghanistan, but it still brought me back to that place.

I was standing over a cot, sweat drenching through my undershirt and staining my fatigues. Riggs lay there, unmoving, his beautiful copper skin almost ashen. He moaned in pain, and when his dark eyes finally opened and met mine, I could see the inevitable. I could feel it, like a dagger embedded in my heart.

That memory washed over me like a cold fog, leaving my skin clammy and my pulse still racing. My eyes were wide as I approached Noah's bedside, and it took everything in me not to shake him awake--not to prove to myself that his eyes didn't hold the same promise of death that Riggs' had. Liz approached his bedside, taking his hand in hers. That small gesture of affection broke me out of my trance, and I walked to the other side of the gurney, brushing back a few fallen strands of Noah's hair.

"What happened?" I asked Liz quietly, unsure I wanted to know the answer.

"I heard a lot of noise coming from the alley, so I stepped out onto the fire escape to see what it was. Noah was down there, and there was a man beating him. I don't know if he was a mugger, or someone Noah knew..."

My jaw tightened. "What'd he look like?"

"Tall, I guess? Short brown hair. He was dressed nicely, like he'd been on his way to work or something."

Nobody I'd ever seen before, and from Liz's description, he obviously wasn't someone she knew, either. The fact that he was dressed nicely meant he was probably one of Noah's clients, and that thought had me seeing red. It was bad enough those men thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted to him just because they forked over a grand, but this man had apparently decided Noah was the perfect outlet for whatever pent-up bullshit he was holding onto.

A soft sound pulled me from the checklist I'd been making--the one where I intended to let Grizz know what was going on, then track this bastard down with or without his permission. I looked over to see Noah's beautiful eyes flutter open, that dark blue a bit dimmer, but still full of life. A breath escaped my lips; the smallest sigh of relief as Noah's unfocused gaze finally settled on me.

"Who died?" he asked, his voice strained.

Talking must have aggravated the bruise that colored his cheek--or maybe the small cut there that had a butterfly bandage over it--because he winced. Fingers lifted to his face, and I was so tempted to keep him from touching the wound. I didn't want him to know what had happened. I wanted to protect him from the memory of it, even if I hadn't been able to protect him from the actual event.

But Noah touched the bruise anyway, hissing in pain as he did.

"Take it easy," I said, lifting the thin blanket that covered him as if that was going to help at all.

"Does it hurt?" Liz prompted, earning Noah's attention as he turned to face her. "Maybe we should call for a nurse."

"I've dealt with a lot worse pain than this." He tried to wink, but again that only seemed to aggravate the wound. "How did I get here?"

"I called for an ambulance," Liz said hesitantly. "I didn't know if..."

I cut her off before Noah had the chance to answer. "You did the right thing."

He smiled at her, squeezing the hand that was still in his. "Thank you."

No false endearment. No tease. This was earnest gratitude from him, and Liz recognized it, too. I even saw tears springing to her green eyes.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she said.

There was a little more chatter before the doctor came in. She was short--though only a little shorter than me--and had the look of somebody who was in the middle of a thirty-six-hour shift. Tired eyes surveyed Noah's digital chart before she glanced to Liz and I.

"You must be the husband? Mister...?"

"McCabe," I said, ignoring the way Noah's brows shot up to his hairline, and the smug grin that followed.

She asked Noah a few questions about how he was feeling, and he answered them cheerily. Apparently he'd already talked to an officer--that'd happened before he'd received any treatment at all, I assumed so the hospital could cover their asses. After that, the nurse tended to him, checking all his vitals and taking care of the worst of his wounds.

They took him for an x-ray to confirm what the doctor thought--that one of Noah's ribs was broken. They also wanted to do a scan to make sure nothing was damaged internally, and my heart leapt into my throat at the thought of that. He looked okay. He was sitting up and talking. Joking, even. But the pain was obvious on his features, and I knew appearances could be deceptive in a life-or-death situation.

The doctor didn't seem worried about it, though, and she told him she'd send him home with a prescription after evening rounds as long as there was nothing else wrong. The relief was obvious on Liz's face, but all I could think about was that police report.

I wasn't a complete asshole about it. I waited until Liz left to talk to Noah. But once she was gone and it was just the two of us, I didn't hold back.

"What'd you tell the police?"

Noah stirred in his bed. They'd doped him up after he came back from x-ray, and he'd been in the middle of watching a cooking show, going on about how orgasmically good everything looked. One more time hearing him say the word orgasmic and I was going to lose my damn mind.

"Enough to keep them from asking any questions about me or what I do for a living." His words were said with a smile, but he gave me a pointed look. "Attempted mugging. When I wouldn't hand over my wallet, he started beating the shit out of me."

Smart. But insanely stupid at the same time. I knew Noah couldn't just say he'd been beaten by a client--which I was now certain was the case. At best the police wouldn't have any sympathy, at worst they'd arrest him for prostitution. As much as I worried about him, it was bullshit. But even worse was the fact that the guy was now out there, with nobody looking for him.

So far.

"What actually happened?" I asked, pulling up the world's most uncomfortable chair beside his bed.

Noah's attention turned back to the TV for a long moment before he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. His lips hooked into a smirk, and he said, "I guess I'm obligated to tell you, since you're my husband now."

I let out a breath through my nose, shaking my head. "They wouldn't have let me back here if I told them anything else."

"Hey, I get it. Dress for the job you want to have." He winked at me, then settled back on the pillows with obvious effort. "It was an old client. Brett. He started to get clingy and possessive, so I cut him off."

"And he decided to corner you in an alley and beat you?" My fingers curled tight around the arm of the chair, my knuckles turning white.

"I may have mouthed off," Noah said with a shrug. "Don't get that righteous look in your eyes, Cammy. I know me mouthing off doesn't give him the right to put a hand on me."

"Good," I grated out, "because it doesn't."

He looked away from me, his attention focused on the show as he continued, "I saw him on the street a couple days ago. I think he was following me." He swallowed briefly. "As soon as he saw me, he launched right into being a jealous bitch. Apparently he saw you leaving last night."

Wait. So not only had this client attacked him, he'd been stalking him for at least a few days? I stared at Noah, my heart caught up in a mix of anger and helplessness. If he was just going to play all of this off, what the fuck could I even do to protect him?

"Why the hell wouldn't you tell me that?" I shot at him.

"Because I knew you'd look at me like that." His dark blue eyes were fixed on me now, his gaze hard. "Like I'm a walking victim because of what I do. Like it was only a matter of time before somebody did this to me."

"That's not what I think," I growled, but Noah barreled on.

"What would you even do about it? Brett's not in his right mind. He's not going to back down just because you pull your short and growly bear routine."

"I can bring it to Grizz," I said before I'd even thought the plan through. "We'll run background checks, have somebody trail him, find a way to put him behind bars."

"Then what? He's got money to burn, Cameron. If he greases the right palms, he'll be out of there in a matter of months, if not sooner."

He was right. Money afforded people the chance to commit any crime they wanted with few repercussions. The charge might stain Brett's record, but he'd be on the streets again in no time. Unless we were able to do something about it. Make it stick somehow. Or just make him think of jail as the better alternative than being outside.

Drawing in a breath, I reached over to take the hand that wasn't hooked up to the IV. I almost felt the moment Noah's breath caught, and that powerful shot of electricity arced through me, traveling up my arm before it made a beeline for my pounding heart.

"Let me talk to Grizz. I won't do it if you're completely against it, but please. Let me do this."

Noah drew in a slow breath, looking down at our joined hands. After a long moment, he finally relented. "Okay."

The next time he passed out, I made the arrangements. And when they discharged him and he was still loopy from the medication, I just had to hope he wouldn’t mind his “husband” taking the reins.