She moves forward on instinct, like someone who’s been waiting years for this door to finally open.
“Wait.”
I reach for Whitaker’s jacket and lift it from her shoulders.
Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and I have a sudden urge to draw my hand down her spine and rest it at the curve of her lower back.
The air touches her bare skin, and she inhales sharply.
I replace it with mine.
The weight of it settles over her.
And something happens that she doesn’t even notice.
Her body relaxes.
Her breath eases.
Her face turns slightly, just barely, into the lapel.
She inhales.
It’s unconscious.
But I see it.
She’s comforted by me.
The realization hits somewhere deep and strange and unguarded.
She walks away with Teller wrapped in my jacket, and for the first time tonight, something inside me steadies.
I turn back to Whitaker.
“Here,” I say, holding out his jacket. “You can leave now.”
He takes it slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
“You know she’s too good for you,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what your plan is here, but you’re not the only man in this city who can move mountains for her.”
His blue eyes have more bite in them than usual. His cavalier, charming personality sharpened in defence of Lucy.
“I’m leaving,” he continues. “Not because you told me to. Because she doesn’t need more stress. But I’m not done.”
He steps past me, towards Lucy.
She looks up when he approaches.
He hugs her, murmuring something into her hair that I can’t hear.
My fists clench, and I have to remind myself why he is here right now.
Finally, he leaves.
I walk to the ICU window.
A woman who looks like a younger version of Lucy is asleep in the chair, curled into herself, wrapped in Lucy's jacket. This must be Emily.
