The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 21

Elina

Loaded with everything necessary for a reasonably sensible sleep study, I trudge toward the clearing where Noah's house stands. Naturally, he didn't want to stay overnight at the clinic. It took a week of numerous calls to former colleagues to acquire the portable EEG device to record his brain waves while he sleeps, but I succeeded.

Not without pride, I navigate through the densely growing fir trees. As I step onto the clearing, I spot Noah kneeling by the campfire. He's stacking logs and stuffing gaps with newspaper.

I immediately wonder if he's doing this just for me. But despite how close we were on the boat trip last week, to the point where I was on the verge of losing control, I still remind myself that I mustn't entertain such thoughts.

"You're the doctor. He's the patient," I remind myself sternly, yet simultaneously unsure of how much longer this mantra will keep me away from him.

Underneath my newly purchased sneakers, fine branches snap, their crackling betraying my arrival. He only glances up briefly before focusing on igniting the newspaper. The fire flares up but quickly dwindles. Patiently, he holds fine wood shavings to the embers, which eventually catch fire .

"Today, you'll be wired up," I say as I approach him, tapping the bag under my arm. "You'll look like an alien."

He smirks crookedly. "I'm looking forward to it."

Inappropriately, I wink at him. "Even more than I am."

"Do you like sausages?" he asks as if I hadn't just accidentally flirted with him, nodding his head toward the hand-carved sticks with pointed ends, resting on one of the log stools.

Not particularly. I should just say it, but I hesitate. What if he thinks less of me because I barely eat meat? "Yes," I reply, my mind racing to find a solution to my dilemma.

Fortunately, I can rely on my gray matter. "But not as much as marshmallows," I say with a wide grin, pulling out my emergency stash from my handbag. "This is a healthy dinner to my liking."

I had hoped for at least a smile, but he only pokes at the fire with a poker.

I should finally grasp that he's not interested in me. And that it's even for the best. But internally, I just can't stop hoping it could be different. With a long sigh, I let the bag drop to the ground. "Can I help you with anything?"

Skillfully, he blows into the embers, and smoke rises. "The sausages are in the kitchen." The flickering flame reflects in his gaze.

Oh God, how am I going to survive this evening unscathed? Although he probably only sees me as his doctor, I can barely ignore the woman inside me. The one who reminds me in every second that this man is hotter than the fire he just ignited .

"Alright," I reply hastily, spinning on my heel to quickly cool down.

Half an hour later, we sit facing each other at a safe distance. The fire crackles between us, and behind the lake to my right, the sun sets. Filled with anticipation, I pull the first marshmallow out of the flames. "Oh, how delicious. I haven't eaten them like this in ages." I carefully blow over the hot, sticky mass.

"Me neither." His tone holds a wistfulness. And that, even though he has been subsisting solely on sausages so far.

I gaze attentively at him. "I was ten. And you?"

Chewing on his lower lip, he watches the flickering fire. "Twenty-eight."

With anyone else, I'd take it as a joke since I know from his medical records that he turned twenty-nine last January. But something about him makes me suspicious. I cautiously take a bite of my marshmallow and savor the sweet taste spreading on my tongue. "Last summer, then?"

He probably thinks his nod is enough of an answer. But it's not.

"Who was with you?" I ask, risking that it might be his ex-girlfriend whom he still mourns so deeply that he keeps others at arm's length.

With his sneakers, he traces fine lines in the sandy ground before him. "Julian."

So not a woman. I should feel relieved, but Noah's hunched posture, the tense jaw muscles, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest only make it harder for me to swallow.

What if Julian is his son?

What if he lost him? Because his mother took him away. Or because... "He loved marshmallows." Noah's words leave his mouth without a hint of emotion. The crackling of the fire almost swallows them, yet they immediately cause goose bumps to form on my forearms.

And suddenly, I don't know how to react. What do you say to someone who speaks of their son in the past tense and looks as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders?

"I'm incredibly sorry," I whisper.

He sets his wooden stick down beside him. Surely because his stomach is so tight with knots that he can't take another bite.

I should say something comforting or offer one of Maya's wisdoms. "Would you like to tell me about him?" I ask instead, directing my gaze at the fire so that Noah doesn't feel pressured.

Silence settles between us. It's so oppressive that not even the lively crackling of the glowing logs can counter it.

"He had two left hands," Noah finally responds, lost in thought. "And he was damn smart." Suddenly, he gazes at me intently. "He knew everything about the universe. Every star, every moon, and all the phenomena humanity has ever observed with a telescope."

I nod understandingly. "He was something special."

Suddenly, his expression changes, becoming melancholic and tender. "At night, he would often stay awake to gaze at the sky. When I reminded him that even someone like him needs to sleep, he claimed that lying down gave him stomachaches."

Thoughtfully, I impale a new marshmallow and hold it over the fire. If he came up with excuses like that, his son must have truly adored the night sky.

"The stars fascinated him so much that he would study them for hours through the telescope. Only when his back started to ache was he willing to take a break," he says, his gaze shifting upward. I let mine follow.

Above us, millions of lights sparkle. Like diamonds, they adorn the clear darkness of the night sky. "What wonders lie out there in the vastness of our heavens that we can't even begin to fathom?" I ask thoughtfully.

"He knows now," Noah whispers, his voice choked.

"When did he embark on his expedition?" Maybe I shouldn't ask, but I can't help it.

With his eyes stubbornly fixed above, he clears his throat. "Last autumn."

So it hasn't even been a year. Only a few months in which he retreated into his own world. Weeks in which he kept everyone at bay.

I study his face, wondering how lonely he must feel inside. And why he chose this isolated way of grieving. "He must be happy up there," I say.

"Sure," he confirms, lowering his gaze with a wistful sigh.

Minutes pass without anyone saying anything. Me, because I know that there are no words in this world that could help him. And him, probably because he carries too many of them within himself. Behind armored doors. Equipped with locks that no one has been able to find the keys to.

I look across the fire at him, observing his hardened jaw muscles, slumped shoulders, and vacant stare. And suddenly, it's no longer about the emotions he evokes in me. It doesn't matter how much I long for him to pull me into his strong arms. I no longer wonder if he will ever kiss me.

All that matters now is him.

"I'm here for you," I whisper into the silence between us because there's nothing I would rather do than help him. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

Our gazes meet. In his eyes, I see gentleness and warmth. He nods to me, and he doesn't need to do more. I understand what he's trying to convey.

Then he pats his thighs, pushes himself up, and points at the large bag beside me. "Let's get started."

Perhaps we should. He still needs time for everything else, and I want to give it to him. Even though it's difficult for me to return to the reason I came here, I grab the medical equipment and follow Noah into the house.

While he changes clothes, I organize the devices and their corresponding cables in his sparsely furnished bedroom. Here, there's only the bed, the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window that probably offers a breathtaking view of the lake in daylight, and the wooden beams on the ceiling. Everything else is kept in simple white.

I spread out the electrodes in front of me, kneeling on the wooden floor due to the lack of furniture. I also take the time to mentally review what I researched about sleep diagnostics because I have no practical experience in this field.

It doesn't take long until I hear footsteps behind me. "I'm ready," he says.

"Me too." Quickly, I reach for the portable EEG device that I will use to record his brainwaves and turn to face him .

He has decided to sleep in comfortable joggers and a T-shirt. Next to him is a light gray rocking chair with a fur cushion and wide armrests that definitely wasn't there before.

"You'll need to put this on later." I hand him the EEG device.

Without protesting, he takes the device that looks like a helmet with oversized air vents and places it on his head for a trial fit.

Satisfied, I reach for the ECG equipment and wrap the cables around my hand. "Next, I need to attach the electrodes to your chest to monitor your heartbeat."

Nodding, he sets the EEG helmet aside, pulls up his T-shirt, and exposes a very well-toned abdomen. Inevitably, I hold my breath as I take a step toward him.

"Be careful, it's cold," I say before placing the first electrode on his skin.

A faint hiss escapes his mouth as I position it beneath his left breast. I continue, slowly working my way toward the sternum. One electrode after another finds its place until I have positioned all the sensors near his heart. I focus solely on the small patches of skin where the electrodes need to be placed, blocking out everything else. As best I can.

Without lifting my eyes, I reach for the next set of electrodes. "These two go on your shoulders."

For the first time since we started the procedure, he hesitates. But before I can ask why, he gathers himself and pulls his T-shirt over his head. As soon as I see his bare upper body, I understand why he didn't want to expose himself. A thick scar runs along his left shoulder. The injury must have been severe .

I look at his face questioningly, but he just shakes his head.

Without a single word, I let him know that his silence is okay with me. It's better for both of us if we get this done quickly. I work swiftly and with as much concentration as I can muster. I make sure not to touch his skin with my fingers even though he doesn't seem to find my proximity stimulating.

Finally, I attach the electrodes to his back and connect the cables.

"You can put your T-shirt back on," I say afterward and can't help but smirk. I never thought I would say something like that to a man in his bedroom.

After he slips on his shirt, he looks down at himself, furrowing his brow. "If I sleep poorly tonight, it's definitely because of this cable mess."

Grinning, I reach for the blood pressure cuff and slide it onto his upper arm. "If anything, it will be because this thing will squeeze your veins every hour," I say, neatly fastening the two ends of the Velcro together. Then I moisten the sensors of the portable EEG with electrode gel, check its function, and place it on his head.

"This will be fun." He tries to smile, but it doesn't quite work. He probably regrets agreeing to this experiment already. But it's clearly too late for that now.

I reach for my notebook, in which I drew a table for recording the measurements earlier this afternoon. "Oh yes, it will. And now, off to bed with you."

"Yes, Doctor," he replies, immediately heading toward the bed. As he snuggles into the sheets, I glide onto the velvety soft fur cushion of the rocking chair, where I will spend the night. With so much distance between us, breathing becomes easier. At the same time, I feel my entire body yearning for the lost closeness to him.

My God, this needs to stop.

"Do you need anything else?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

"No." A hearty yawn escapes his mouth. "Good night."

"Sweet dreams." I resist the urge to join him and reluctantly switch off the light.

It doesn't even take five minutes until I hear his deep breathing. Yet for safety's sake, I wait another half an hour before turning on the flashlight I brought with me.

I position it so that the light doesn't blind him and open my notebook.

11:15 PM - Patient falls asleep without any issues. No noticeable movements, breathing regular , I write down. Then I glance over at him. Since I lack the eye movement measurement device, I have to keep an eye on his eyelids as best as I can.

At least this task will hopefully prevent me from falling asleep. That, and the five cans of energy drink waiting for me in my bag, should keep fatigue at bay.

I squint my eyes in the semi-darkness to make sure I don't miss anything. But his eyelids remain still. Even the muscles of his angular jaw appear relaxed. And his lips...

It doesn't matter. As long as they don't move, they shouldn't interest me.

No REM sleep , I quickly jot down to bring myself back. That's unusual because after falling asleep, there is usually a short phase of rapid eye movement (REM) sleep before entering deeper sleep stages. Have I already missed it?

Deep in thought, I measure his blood oxygen level and body temperature. I record the measurements in my table as well. It's still too early to attach any significance to the results. Only when I have the analysis of the brainwave measurements from the sleep laboratory in Vienna and the evaluation of the heart activity can I draw conclusions.

With my gaze fixed on Noah, I nestle into the cozy fur cushion. I don't want to miss anything—no movement, no breath holding, no teeth grinding. Every detail could be relevant.

But apart from the fact that he looks even more attractive while asleep than when he's awake, I see nothing. For hours, I struggle against my own fatigue, watching him peacefully slumbering in bed. Yet I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.