I rested my cheek against his hair. “It’s all right,” I murmured.
“No, it’s not.” His voice sounded rough and frayed against my shoulder.
I closed my eyes. “No,” I admitted. “But he is alive. He is being cared for. And you are not alone here.” I tucked my fingers under his chin and tilted his face toward mine. “Som pri tebe.”
Dean exhaled against me. “I hate this. I hate being this far away.”
“I know.”
“If something happened and I wasn’t there?—”
I pulled back far enough to look at him. “Listen to me.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“You spoke to your mother. Your father is stable. They are taking this seriously.” I kept my voice calm, steady, the way he had done for me so many times already. “And if he knew you were falling apart here instead of focusing on your competition, he would be furious.”
A startled breath of laughter escaped him despite everything. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That sounds like him.”
I brushed my hand slowly over the back of his neck, grounding him the only way I knew how.
“You do not have to carry all of this alone.”
Dean looked at me for a long second, his expression softer now, more exposed than I had ever seen it. “You know, for somebody who claims English isn’t enough sometimes, you say exactly the right thing a lot.”
Heat crept into my face. “That is because you are currently emotionally compromised and easier to impress.”
That earned me a laugh, small and tired, but real.
I cupped his cheek. “Opri sa o mna.”
And when Dean leaned forward again, resting his forehead against mine, I understood with sudden, painful clarity.
He trusted me to hold the weight for a while.
Opri sa o mna.
I closed my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-One
February 8
Luka
I woke tangled around Dean.
For one slow, disorienting moment, I lay there listening to his breathing and feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand. Morning light leaked through the gap in the blinds, pale winter grey softening the edges of the room, and Dean was still asleep beside me, warm and solid and real.
I remembered the weight of him leaning into me the night before, the complete absence of hesitation, as though he had never questioned where to go.
Dean stirred beneath my hand, his eyes opening slowly before focusing on me. For a second his expression stayed soft with sleep, unguarded in a way that still startled me every time I saw it.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Good morning.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “You sound way too functional for this hour.”
