Even the doctor was willing to admit that it was taking Celia longer to heal than expected. Occasionally her eyelids fluttered, but when they did, her blue eyes were glazed and distant, unfocused. She didn’t truly wake.
Lucas couldn’t leave her.
He stayed at her side, her hand clutched between his own as if anchoring himself to her body might keep her soul tethered too. Her skin felt too cool beneath his fingers. He dipped a cloth in water and brushed it gently over her dry, cracked lips, careful not to wake her. He pressed soft kisses to her cheeks and her forehead, breathing her in and hating that the faint, lingering smell of smoke still clung to her hair. It turned his stomach every time.
When darkness fell, he curled against her in the narrow hospital bed, his body bent protectivel
