Sloane’s POV
“I don’t know what I would do if-” worry creases his facial structure again. His thumb passes across my eyebrow before his forehead presses against mine.
How and why does he care for me? Again, I question- why now? Why after all these years?
But even as I think this, I see how deeply my attack has affected him. His fear is buried beneath anger, but it hasn't disappeared. It sits in the tightness of his shoulders and the way he keeps watching me, as though he needs constant proof that I'm still standing in front of him.
When I woke up earlier, I’d been in pain, my body practically under him. My leg cramps were what woke me up.
"I'm not dead, Xavier."
Pulling back, his gray eyes snap back to my browns, nostrils flaring as a crease forms between his brows. The bluntness of
