He tracks my movements, heavy-lidded but alert, as if he worries I’ll vanish. I feel the same and hurry back to his side, setting the sling on the bed beside him.
Gabriel sits patiently as I kneel before him, unwrapping fresh bandages for his ribs. My fingers brush his skin, pausing when his breathing catches, then easing the compression wrap around his torso with careful pressure.
“Good?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, his jaw clenched.
I check the waterproof bandages covering his stitches, running my finger around the edges to ensure they’re still sealed. Satisfied they’re dry, I guide his injured arm into the sling, sliding the fabric beneath his elbow before securing the strap behind his neck.
I check my own bandages with less care and reapply the bandage around my ribs with the ease of having done this dozens of times before.
Then, I help him into a pair of loose sleep pants, guiding each leg through with care. I find a similar pair in his dresser for myself, the soft cotton settling around me.
Gabriel shifts over in the bed, leaving space for me at his uninjured side.
I slide under the covers beside him, and we engage in a careful dance of limbs and bandages, trying to find a position that accommodates our various injuries. After several adjustments, Gabriel settles with his head on my shoulder, injured arm cradled between us, his leg hooked over mine.
“Comfortable?” I ask, my arm curling around his back.
“Mmm.” The sound hums against my chest as his lashes lower and his body goes slack with trust.
My fingers trace idle patterns on his skin, avoiding the bandages that mark the worst of his wounds. His breathing deepens, body growing heavier as sleep claims him.
I gaze at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of Gabriel’s breath and counting the rise and fall of his chest, grateful that I didn’t lose him.
23
Iwake in fragments throughout the night, and each time, Gabriel’s body remains tangled with mine, his good arm thrown across my chest, leg hooked over mine.
My hand rests on his forearm, his pulse steady beneath my fingertips, counting heartbeats until sleep claims me again.
When morning arrives, it seeps through the edges of blackout curtains in thin strips of gold. Gabriel’s steady breaths rise and fall beside me, his face buried in the pillow, hair wild from sleep and still damp from our shower. The sheets twist around our bodies, evidence of restless dreams neither of us mentions.
I ease out from under Gabriel’s arm, careful not to wake him as I slip from the bed. The plush carpetcushions my bare feet as I cross to the front door. If I can find my way down to the dining room, there should be food available that I can bring back upstairs.
But when I open the door, I discover I don’t need to go that far. A cart waits just outside. I inspect its contents, lifting silver domes to find eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh fruit.
A note in elegant script reads,
Call if you need anything.
—A
Aaiden. Of course.
I pull the cart into the suite and lock the door again.
The coffee pours dark and rich into bone china cups thinner than any mug I’ve ever owned. I drink standing, watching Gabriel sleep through the open bedroom door.
In daylight, the extent of his injuries becomes more apparent, the bruises darker, the cuts more vivid. His injured shoulder peeks from beneath the sheet, mottled purple spreading up toward his neck. Morning stubble darkens his jaw, contrasting with the pallor beneath his tan.
He stirs and smiles at me. “What time is it?”
“After nine.” I return to the bedroom, carrying a cup of coffee for him. “Breakfast arrived.”
Gabriel pushes himself upright with a wince, reaching for the coffee with his good hand. “Thanks.”
He drinks without speaking, lashes fluttering with appreciation.
