Page 18 of Hunting Justice

“Look.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I know I’m not the big bad bodyguard you are. And I mean that in a good way. But I’m a doctor, and I used to be a great one. Let me help you.”

“I know you are.”

“My patients don’t complain.”

Her wide eyes made him laugh. “Jonah. Your patients are dead.”

“There is that.” He gave her a lopsided smile.

She shook her head. “You’re a dork. I can wash my arms in the sink.” She patted his cheek, then moved to the sink to wash up.

Her touch sent a jolt of electricity through him as if he’d grabbed hold of live wires with his bare hands. He stood stunned at the realization, unable to put a coherent sentence together.

“See? All done.” She dried her arms with a paper towel and tossed it in the trash. “I’ll put the first-aid kit away if you tell me where it goes.”

“Just leave it. I’ll get it later.”

She bit her lip, trying to hide her grin.

He scanned his kitchen. “I know. I know. I’m a mess.”

She shook her head and helped him to the couch.

He lowered himself onto the seat and sank into the cushions. The aches and pains from his close calls barked at him. His headache had dulled but hadn’t disappeared. Overall, he’d escaped with minor injuries. He’d take it.

“Join me.” He patted the cushion next to him. Samson chose that moment to jump onto his lap and curl up.

Noelle continued to stand. Her gaze roamed the living room, taking in the state of his home. Now that she’d treated his wounds, he held his breath that she wouldn’t go running and screaming from his house. He mindlessly stroked Samson’s fur as his gaze tracked to where she focused her attention.

Books lay on the floor next to the bookshelf. Magazines littered his coffee table. Two mugs with the remains of coffee sat on the end table next to him. He’d left shoes and socks strewn across the room. Not to mention the dishes piled in one side of the sink in his kitchen, or the state of his bedroom. All in all, his house was a shambles.

“I’m sorry.”

She spun to face him. “About what?”

He gestured to the disaster that was his home. “This. I know it’s probably giving you the willies to stand here with such disorganization around you.”

“Maybe a bit, but, Jonah, this is your home. You deserve to be comfortable in your living space.”

“But yours is so…”

“Spotless. Over-the-top. Meticulous.” She chuckled. “We both know that I have OCD tendencies. But unlike the actual diagnosis, I can look past the way others live. It’s only my world that must stay insanely organized.”

“I’ve noticed.” He still didn’t like her dealing with his chaos. He dragged his hand down his face. “I grew up with my parents scolding me about the mess I left in my wake. But I had little control over my actions. Most of the time I felt like Pig Pen from the Peanuts cartoon. Not with dirt but with clutter from my lack of organizational skills. My mom and dad never understood how I lived like that. And I had no clue how not to be that way.”

Noelle eased onto the couch and sank her fingers into Samson’s fur. “That must have been hard.”

“Over the years, I figured out how to make life work for me, but I continually chased ideas like trying to keep feral kittens on a blanket. The only place I achieved calmness was at work—whether in the ER or in autopsy. There, my mind settled, and I hyperfocused on my job.” He had a hard time describing the dichotomy between the orderliness of his work space, and his office, car, and home.

How did he explain the chaos of his thoughts under normal circumstances? The best description he’d ever heard was from the classic meme that it mimicked having a hundred tabs open on a computer and not knowing where the music was coming from. And for him, that was a mild portrayal.

“My parents refused to put me on medication.” He got it. He really did. As a doctor, he hated that solution for many reasons. However, for him, it seemed to be the only answer. “During college, I started taking meds for ADD, but they made me feel wonky. After trial and error, I found the correct prescription and dosage. Life became enjoyable. Just don’t ask me to have a clutter-free space.” He no longer suffered to exist in the world around him. Oh, he continued to deal with the effects from his attention deficit disorder, but he could live in his skin now.

“That makes your…habits…understandable.” Noelle stood and wandered to the fireplace mantel. She pointed to a picture. “Is this your wife?”

The air left Jonah’s lungs, and he struggled to catch his breath. Sure, he missed Cara, but he’d moved past the deep ache of losing her. It was the guilt that continued to have a stranglehold on him.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a painful topic for you.”