LISA
Kellan looks more tired than I’ve ever seen him. Aside from a drug-induced nap of about forty-five minutes, he hasn’t slept since returning from the ambush, and I heard—from the others—he didn’t sleep much before then, either.
The hospital chair digs into my back as I shift position for the tenth time in as many minutes. Kellan’s face is a stoic mask, but he’s perspiring hard.
He might be able to pretend he’s fine, but sweat doesn’t lie.
The real problem, though, is... he’s being strangely distant.
Doesn’t really want me around.
Even told me to leave earlier. Not with a raised voice or a nasty tone, but basically said it’s better for me to help out than hover over him. Aren’t I supposed to hover?
He’s my mate. This is how relationships work. I’m trying to make it work, but now he’s the one pushing me away. Which is fine, but the mixed signals make it hard for me to know what to do—though I’ve gained an incredible amount of insight on how hard everything must have been for him, dealing with me.
I don’t deserve this man.
My hand hovers over his. Is this overstepping? Making promises I’m not sure I can keep? The mate bond thing terrifies me, but I’m pretty sure I’m in it now. Fully in. Jumped right into the deep end and I’m treading water here.
I pull back slightly, but before my hand retreats, his shoots out and captures mine. His grip is warm and solid and everything I ever thought it would be.
"You okay?" His voice is low and rough with exhaustion, though his eyes are closed. He’s probably trying to give me an emotional out by not looking at me. Kellan’s always been thoughtful.
Something hot and tight lodges in my throat. Damn it. I’m not going to cry. I sniff hard, pushing back the tears threatening to spill.
"That’s what I should be asking you, dumbass."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "I’ve had worse."
"Liar."
His hand squeezes mine. "I just don’t like you seeing me like this. Stop taking things personally."
"Seeing you like... what? Hurt?"
"Weak." The word sounds like it costs him something to admit.
I stare at him, incredulous. "That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Did you think we’d go our whole lives without me seeing you weak?"
His eyes open at that, meeting mine. Something shifts between us—the tension ebbs, replaced by a warmth I feel all the way to my toes.
"So..." A smile spreads across his face, transforming him from stoic warrior to mischievous boy. "You’ve been thinking about being with me for the rest of your life?"
Heat floods my face. I grab at the pillow from behind his head, but purposely miss. I’m not that mean. "Do you want to be smothered? Because this is how you get smothered."
He laughs—a genuine laugh, though it turns into a slight wince. He settles back against the bed. His eyes drift closed again, but the painful tension is gone from his face.
"Can you get Vanessa?" he asks after a moment.
"She’s not on shift."
"Oh. Right." I did know that. Ava mentioned it weeks ago, but somehow I never filed it under condition. It feels too magical, too life-affirming, to be something so clinical.
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