Page 118
Just making sure he was still there.
“You know,” Lane said quietly, “you’re being weird.”
My eyes snapped away from the bandage.
His mouth twitched. “You’re staring at me.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
An eye roll earned the smallest smile from him. Then he winced.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Make me smile.” His fingers lifted toward the stitches near his temple. Despite everything, a laugh slipped free. For one brief moment, life stitched itself back together. Lane watched me, his gaze lingering long enough to make heat creep into my cheeks, and suddenly, the wrinkled scrubs hanging on my body felt painfully noticeable.
“Cali.”
The way he said my name wrapped around my heart and squeezed.
The magazine slid onto the chair beside me. Neither of us had believed I’d been reading it anyway. For a moment, we just looked at each other, and the rest of the world seemed to fade away.
His eyes searched mine like he was committing every detail to memory. Then his hand reached toward me, our fingers lacing together. His hand was warm and solid in mine.
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
A hard swallow did nothing to stop the sting burning behind my eyes. My gaze dropped to our joined hands, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke.
“I thought I was going to lose you . . .” The words slipped out before they could be stopped. “When I’d just gotten you back.”
His grip flexed.
“I saw you come through those doors and . . .” My voice cracked. “I forgot how to breathe.”
“Baby.”
A shaky laugh escaped. “I’m supposed to be the calm medical professional.”
“You’re allowed to be scared.”
That cracked something wide open inside me.
The room blurred. Looking away felt safer than letting him watch the tears gather. A calloused finger gently brushed beneath my chin. Lane carefully guided my face back toward his until his eyes found mine.
A faint smile touched his mouth before giving way to something honest. Vulnerable. The kind of expression that never would’ve existed on his face a year ago. He’d stood up to the biggest monster of his life. Nothing about that was small.
“I kept thinking about you.” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “When everything happened.” Our fingers knotted together. Lane swallowed. “The last thing I remember before everything went black”—he paused—“was reaching for my phone. I just wanted you.”
The tears finally escaped.
His thumb slowly brushed across my knuckles. “I kept thinking about last night.”
A watery laugh slipped free. “That’s incredibly inconvenient timing.”
“It really was.” A smile tugged at his mouth, then disappeared.
