He chuckled under his breath.
And I joined him.
Fragile, but real.
Like us.
I held his gaze. "Just don't fuck it up."
Chapter twenty-seven
Candace
The puzzle was mocking me.
Three hundred pieces of golden retriever, spread across Sebastian's hospital tray like a jigsaw crime scene. I'd been working on the same patch of fur for twenty minutes, and I was starting to suspect the manufacturer had included duplicate pieces just to torture people.
"That one goes there," Sebastian said, pointing lazily from his reclined position.
I squinted at the piece in my hand, then at the spot he'd indicated. "No it doesn't."
"Yes it does."
"It's the wrong shade of yellow."
"Candace." He raised an eyebrow. "It's a dog. The whole thing is yellow."
I shoved the piece into place.
It fit perfectly.
"I hate you."
His grin was slow and irritating and did absolutely nothing to my stomach.
"No you don't."
The room smelled of industrial cleaner and the faint sweetness of the flowers Rosie had brought yesterday—already wilting in theirplastic vase. Monitors beeped their steady rhythm in the background, a sound I'd grown so used to I barely heard it anymore.
But he looked better. So much better than that first day—than those horrible hours when machines breathed for him and monitors beeped warnings I didn't understand. The grayish pallor had faded, replaced by something warmer, more alive. He'd showered this morning, his dark hair curling wild and unruly against his forehead.
A buzz came from my bag.
I ignored it.
"You going to get that?" Sebastian asked.
"Nope."
He raised a brow. "Persistent, whoever it is."
"Persistent is one word for it."
He studied me for a second. The fog that had clouded his eyes those first few days had cleared completely now. Now he was sharp. Annoyingly so.
"Ex?" he guessed.
"Something like that."
