“How’s he doing?” I asked.
She smiled, small but genuine. “Better, I think.”
Vivian and I had never really had much of a relationship. Our father had remarried a while after our mother passed, but back then I hadn’t been able to see her as anything other than a replacement. I knew my coldness wasn’t necessary anymore. Still, some habits were hard to kill.
She took a couple of steps toward me. “He’s awake right now. I think he’s going to fall asleep soon, but… this might be the right time if you want to go in. Say hello.”
I froze, staring at her. I hadn’t been back in there since the first time. Back when he’d still been unconscious.
“I don’t want to upset him,” I said after a moment. “That can’t be good for him right now?—”
“It won’t be a surprise,” she said. “He knows you’re here.”
My throat went dry. “I?—”
“He was asking about you,” she added. “I told him. Hope that’s okay.”
I drew in a slow breath, curling my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
She nodded, unoffended. “I think he’d really appreciate it if you went in. Not for long. Just hello.”
Her eyes weren’t unkind—just not the ones I knew. A dark shade of blue instead of the rich brown I’d grown up with—my mother’s.
I clicked my tongue, exhaling through my nose.
“Just think about it,” she said before she turned and walked away, leaving the waiting area behind her.
Then it was just me. Me and my pride.
Or maybe not pride at all.
Maybe it was just fear.
I ran a hand through my hair, noting absently how long it was getting. Before I could talk myself out of it again, I turned and pushed the doors open.
“For Mr. Langley?” a nurse asked as soon as she noticed me hovering.
I nodded once.
“This way.”
I followed her down the same path as last time, though I barely remembered it, until we stopped at his room.
His eyes were closed. The ventilator was gone, and a blue sheet rested over his chest, rising and falling slowly with each breath.
I suppose this would be easier if he wasn’t awake.
Stepping into the room quietly, I stopped at his bedside and looked down at him. He still seemed smaller—but less so without all the machines. Older, too. That realization hit me harder than I expected, settling heavily within me.
I was staring at his hand when I heard it.
“Sebastian.” His voice was rough. Hoarse.
I turned, and our eyes met. They softened in a way I had never seen before. Not once. And then they glimmered.
My heart kicked painfully against my ribs.
Something tugged at my hand, and I startled when I realized he’d grabbed it, his grip weak but insistent.
