Chapter 15
Stella:
I made myself look at him properly. He was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch, and when our eyes met, he started to stand up.
Tyler pushed him back down. "Sit still, man. You're bleeding."
"We should get him checked out," Emily said quietly. "That cut looks bad, and his hand—"
I followed her gaze. Noah's knuckles were swollen and red, already starting to bruise.
The responsible thing, the professional thing, would be to let his friends take him to the health center. But I heard myself say, "I'll drive him."
Emily blinked. "Are you sure? We can—"
"It's on my way." The lie came easily. "You all should head back. It's late."
I walked over to the bench before she could argue. Three pairs of eyes tracked my approach—Tyler's concerned, Marcus's curious, Noah's carefully guarded.
"Mr. Carter." I kept my voice level, professional. "I'm taking you to the health center. Your friends can go back to campus."
"Professor, you don't have to—" Tyler started.
"I'm aware of that." I cut him off, then looked directly at Noah. "Can you walk?"
He nodded, standing up slowly. There was a carefulness to his movements that suggested more than just the visible injuries. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're bleeding." I turned to Tyler and Marcus. "Thank you for your help tonight. I'll make sure he gets checked out."
Marcus opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Tyler elbowed him. "Okay. Thanks, Professor. Text us when you're back, Noah."
"Will do." Noah's voice was quiet, subdued in a way I'd never heard from him before.
I led him to my car in silence. The parking lot felt too bright after the dimness of that hallway, the streetlights harsh and exposing. I unlocked the doors and we both got in, the enclosed space suddenly feeling much smaller than it should.
I started the engine. Adjusted the mirrors. Pulled out of the parking spot. All normal, mechanical actions that required no thought.
Noah sat in the passenger seat, pressing a napkin to his lip, not speaking.
We were three blocks away when I finally broke the silence. "Why did you do that?"
He turned to look at me. "Do what?"
"Get involved." My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You could have just called security. Or gotten the manager. You didn't have to—"
"He was hurting you."
The simplicity of it, the absolute certainty in his voice, made something crack in my chest.
"That doesn't mean you should have fought him," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You could have been seriously hurt. What if you can't take tomorrow's exam because of this?"
"Worth it."
I glanced at him sharply. He was still looking at me, his expression serious despite the swelling on his face and the blood on his napkin.
"Don't say things like that," I told him, my tone harder now.
"Why not? It's true."
I didn't have an answer for that. We drove the rest of the way in silence.
---
The SCU Health Center was mostly empty at this hour, just a tired-looking resident on duty and one other patient in the waiting area. The fluorescent lights were too bright, making everything look washed out and slightly unreal.
The resident took one look at Noah and ushered us into an examination room. "What happened?"
"Altercation," I said before Noah could downplay it. "He was punched in the face and his hand is swollen."
The doctor nodded, pulling on gloves. "Let's take a look."
I sat in the plastic chair against the wall while the doctor examined Noah. Checked his vision, his pupils, felt along his jaw and cheekbone. Noah endured it all with patient stoicism, only wincing slightly when the doctor cleaned the cut on his lip.
"No concussion," the doctor announced. "Mild contusions to the face and hand. Nothing broken. You're lucky."
"Told you I was fine," Noah said, but there was no triumph in it.
The doctor gave him an ice pack and a small bottle of ibuprofen. "Ice the cheek for twenty minutes every hour. Take these for the pain. Rest. If you experience dizziness, nausea, or vision problems, come back immediately."
"Got it. Thanks, doc."
The doctor left. We were alone in the small examination room, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Noah held the ice pack against his cheek, watching me with those too-observant eyes.
My phone buzzed. I glanced down to see messages from Tyler and Marcus in the group chat I'd been added to without my permission.
Tyler: Is he okay?
Marcus: Should we come to the health center?
I looked at Noah. "Your friends are asking if they should come."
"Tell them I'm fine. They should go back."
I typed out the message. A moment later, Tyler responded: You sure?
Noah leaned over to see my screen, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with antiseptic. "Tell them Professor Morrison has it under control."
I sent the message, then pulled my phone away, suddenly very aware of how close he was. "You should be more careful."
"About what?"
"Fighting. Getting involved in situations that could—" I stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence. Not sure I wanted to.
"Could what?" Noah lowered the ice pack, and despite the split lip and bruised cheek, there was something almost playful in his expression now. "Ruin my perfect attendance record in your class?"
I stared at him. "This isn't funny."
"I know." But the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. "But you look like you're about to lecture me for the next hour, and honestly, Professor, I think I've been punished enough for one night."
"You haven't been punished at all. You've been reckless and—"
"Heroic?" he offered.
"Stupid."
"Chivalrous?"
"Irresponsible."
"Dashing?" The ice pack was back on his cheek, but his eyes were bright with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.
I felt my jaw tighten. "You could have been seriously injured, Mr. Carter. This isn't a joke."
"I know it's not." His voice softened, the teasing edge fading. "But you're acting like I got hurt for no reason. He had his hands on you. He wasn't letting go. What was I supposed to do—stand there and take notes for a psychology case study?"
"You could have called for help without physically engaging."
"There wasn't time." The playfulness was completely gone now, replaced by something steady and sure. "He had his hands on you. He wasn't listening. Someone needed to make him stop."
"That someone didn't need to be you."
"Why not?"