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“I wasn’t watching you sleep,” I lie, and she raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Okay, maybe I was. A little.”
“A little?” She props herself up on one elbow, the sheet pooling around her waist, revealing skin I’d spent considerable time exploring the night before. “You look like you haven’t blinked since yesterday.”
I could lie again, play it cool, but I don’t. “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”
Something softens in her expression. She leans down, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that’s gentle, unhurried. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with emotion.
“Matthew texted,” I say, because I need to say something before I drown in the feeling of her against me. “He wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She groans, dropping her head to my chest. “Of course he did. My brother has the worst timing.”
“He was worried. We all were.” I stroke my hand down her back, feeling the slight ridges of her spine beneath my palm. “Yesterday was… intense.”
She goes still against me, and I feel it immediately—a tension in her shoulders, a stillness, like she’s trying to take up less space. My hand stills on her back, waiting to see if she needs space, if she needs to pull away.
“I handled it,” she says finally, her voice steady. “I handled it and I’m okay.”
“You did more than handle it.” I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “You were incredible.”
“It’s different, being on the other side of it,” she admits, her voice low. “When he came through that door, the fear was… a physical thing. It was suffocating.”
“But you didn’t freeze.” My thumb brushes across her cheekbone. “You did what you had to do. You fought.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers absently tracing patterns on my chest. “I keep thinking about her. The patient. Whether she’s okay.”
“She will be.” I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “She has people looking out for her. Just like you do.”
“Speaking of people looking out for me…” She shifts, pulling back just enough to see my face clearly. “What exactly did Matthew say in his text?”
“Just checking if you were okay.” I decide against mentioning the implied threat about breaking my arms. Some things are better left between brothers.
She studies me for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied. “And what did you tell him?”
“That you were sleeping. That you were fine.” I hesitate, then add, “That I’m where I need to be.”
She settles back against my chest, her hand resuming its exploration of my skin. “And, are you? Where you need to be?”
I tighten my arms around her, pulling her closer. “Yeah, Trix. I am.”
We lie like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the morning light shifting across the room. Her breathing slows, and I think she might be drifting back to sleep when she speaks again.
“Carter?”
“Mm?”
“What happens now? With us?”
The question lodges itself between my ribs, sharp and uncertain. I’ve been asking myself the same thing since the moment she opened her eyes this morning.
“What do you want to happen?” I ask carefully.
She’s quiet for so long I think she might not answer. Then she pushes herself up, sitting cross-legged beside me, the sheet draped across her lap. Her hair is wild around her face, her eyes still soft with sleep, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“I want this,” she says simply. “You and me. I want to figure out what that looks like.”
The tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders since she went missing weeks ago finally begins to bleed away. “I want that too. More than anything.”
“But?” She raises an eyebrow, catching my hesitation.
