Ingrid's still in the chair, but she's sitting up now, watching me with those green eyes that I want to wake up to every day for the rest of my life.
"Yeah." My voice is still rough, but better. "How long this time?"
"About six hours." She stands, stretches, moves to my side. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got stabbed."
She doesn't laugh.
"Too soon?"
"Way too soon." But her lips twitch. Just a little. "Aesir said he'd come check on you when you woke up again. I should?—"
"Not yet." I catch her hand before she can move away. "Stay. Just for a minute."
She sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle anything.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. Just—" I squeeze her fingers. "I need to look at you. Make sure you're real."
"I'm real."
"Prove it."
She leans down, presses her lips to mine.
Soft.
Gentle.
Careful of my injuries.
But real, so real.
"Convinced?" she whispers against my mouth.
"Getting there. Might need more evidence."
She laughs—a real laugh this time, surprised out of her—and kisses me again.
This is what I almost lost.
This woman.
This moment.
This chance at something I never thought I'd have.
"I should get Aesir," she says when she pulls back. "And your mom. She's been going crazy. Barely sleeping. I had to threaten to sedate her myself to get her to take a break."
"She okay?"
"She's scared. We all were." Ingrid's eyes cloud. "The fever hit on day two. You were burning up, delirious. Doctor Reynolds said the knife introduced bacteria into the wound. For about twelve hours, we didn't know if the antibiotics would work or if?—"
She stops.
Swallows hard.
