I open my outer eyelids to sneak a peek. As predicted, her eyes are narrowed, and her shoulders are tense.
Seeing me watch her, she unceremoniously thrusts a soggy nutrient bar at me. “Eat.”
“In another moment.” I would take it if I thought I had the dexterity with which to open the polyplastic wrapper. My fingers feel as if they are twice their normal size, and the pounding in my head beats in time with my heart.
“You keep saying that, but I don’t think I believe you.”
“You,” I tell her, “are being purposefully obtuse.” I can recognize it now—when she uses her anger as a shield. I am ashamed it took me so long to realize. She has less subtlety than Roan when he was a youngling.
Silence follows my words for long enough that I open my inner eyelids too, all the better to see her.
She is chewing her bottom lip.
“You are worried about me.” I make it a statement, not a question.
“Am not,” she immediately replies.
“And you are bad at hiding it,” I add, with considerably less tact than I might have had, were it not for the lump on my head and her hand still pressed to my chest.
She is nearly close enough that I could bow my head and kiss her, but I do not want to push Lydia past her endurance, despite her hesitation to anger. My headache would not appreciate Lydia yelling.
“I…” she begins, pausing as she scrutinizes her words before speaking. “I am grateful, I suppose…that you did not listen to Harlee…or to me.”
I wait, but apparently that is all she is planning on saying.
“You are grateful I followed you,” I say in her stead.
“Not that I needed saving,” she adds, pointing at me with the index finger of her free hand. “I probably could’ve saved myself. Had I the chance.”
“Of course,” I agree, catching her outstretched finger lightly in my fist and drawing her second hand to my chest.
My agreement was evidently the right answer, for she gives a satisfied nod. Still, the tension remains in her shoulders.
I am acutely aware of how cold she is, now that the hand of hers I have been holding longest is warm. The difference is ice and fire. I would warm her entire body if only she would eliminate the last of the space between us.
“You are particularly eloquent when showing gratitude.” I creep my third arm to her waist, not quite daring to lean forward. The wall at my back is helping keep me upright, and it would not be impressive if I were to lean forward only to topple over. Still, my hand at her waist is enough for me to tug gently, and she shuffles a fraction closer, almost without realizing what she is doing.
She raises her eyebrows. “When did you start using sarcasm?”
“I always have.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“You must not have been paying attention.”
She laughs. “Trust me. I’ve been paying you way too much attention. And you’re not the sarcastic type.”
My chest tightens. “Have you?”
Humor flees her face as she realizes what she confessed. “I mean…" She moves to draw back, but I keep hold of her. “I didn’t…”
“You cannot take back what you have said. You,” I say smugly, “have been paying me attention.” And I am sliding heronto my lap before she has even realized there is no longer any empty space between us.
She stiffens. Her face reddens. Yet she does not immediately climb off.
“Besides,” she adds as an afterthought—or mayhaps in an attempt to return the conversation to a more manageable subject, “you’re the one who’s always saying I don’t need to thank you. It’s your fault if I’m out of practice.” She clears her throat, looping an arm over my shoulders so she can twist to face me more fully. “Thank you, Killan, for not listening to me and for coming after me. And…for saving me. There’s a chance—albeit an incredibly small chance—that I might not have been able to, um, save myself. So, yes, thank you.”
“Yes, you would have.” To think things might have turned out otherwise is unimaginable. “I wanted to claim all the glory. I am selfish like that.” I could not bear to lose Lydia, now that I am beginning to find her. Beginning to properly understand her.
