Chapter 41
Desmond
The bed felt too big in a way that had nothing to do with size. It felt like a territory I no longer knew how to navigate, like a place that remembered who I used to be better than I did.
The sheets were clean; the pillows arranged the way they always had been, but I sat on the edge of the mattress with my shoulders slightly hunched, suddenly hyperaware of my balance, of where my weight rested, of how much mental math it took now to do something as simple as sit down without thinking about it. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the house settling, and in that quiet, every insecurity had space to get loud.
Anya moved through my room as if she belonged there. It wasn’t intrusive — it felt… sort of earned. She turned on a lamp so the light became soft instead of harsh.
She set my water on the nightstand within easy reach, adjusted the covers so they wouldn’t tangle with my leg, and smoothed the sheets with a familiarity that made something in my chest twist painfully. It looked domestic. It looked intimate. It looked like a life I hadn’t let myself imagine because imagining it felt too dangerous.
“This is stupid,” I muttered, mostly to myself, because the words had nowhere else to go.
She glanced over, her expression open, attentive, unguarded in a way that still surprised me. “What is?”
“I feel like a teenager who doesn’t know what to do with his hands,” I said, staring down at them like they’d betrayed me. “Like if I move wrong, everything’s going to fall apart.”
That made her smile — not amused, not pitying. Soft. Warm. The smile that said she sawexactlywhat I meant and wasn’t scared of it. “You don’t have to do anything,” she said gently. “Just let me be here.”
I nodded, even though part of me didn’t believe I deserved that kind of simplicity. She climbed onto the bed carefully; it didn’t feel as though she was avoiding me, but more like she was learning new geography — adjusting, recalibrating, making room for the version of me that existed now.
“You know what I noticed for the first time today?” The words fell out of my mouth, unbidden — a desperate need to fill the silence between us.
“What’s that?” Her voice still sounded like magic, could still settle every uneasy vibration underneath my skin. She turned to face me, her brilliant hair falling out of her messy bun as her eyes caught the morning sun.
“I’m old as shit.” My fingers went to the corners of my eyes, spreading out the wrinkles I’d never noticed. “Crow’s feet, I think they’re called.”
“I like them,” she said, and she soundedsononchalant about it. “You know what they say, too. Nobody wants to play on a brand new football field, or something.” She waved her hand in dismissal, leaning over to grab her book from the nightstand.
“No one in their life haseversaid that, honey.” A laugh escaped my mouth. Maybe the first genuine laugh since I came to after the surgery.
With a huff, she set her book down beside her. “I said it.” Slowly,she shifted up onto her knees, taking my face in her hands. “And I like them.”
Anya turned my face to meet her eyes, her gentle, endless hazel eyes. Her fingers drifted, brushing gently against my aged skin. Without another word, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against the corner of my eye. “A lot, Des.”
There was a difference between treating me as fragile and treating me as changed, and she somehow managed to get it right. When she touched my arm, it wasn’t a check for pain or a reflex of care. Her hand stayed. Her fingers rested there as if they had earned the right to be there.
Her thumb traced a slow, absent line over my skin, and it sent a quiet, electric awareness through me that had nothing to do with injury and everything to do with being seen.
“You still look at me like you think I might disappear,” I said quietly, because it felt safer to name that fear than to let it keep growing teeth inside my head.
“Maybe I am. It’s been a little scary.” She leaned in, close enough that I could feel her breath, close enough that the space between us felt charged instead of empty. “But… for the record, I’m looking at you like I want you,” she said, her voice low and steady. “There’s a difference.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected. Not because I didn’t believe she could want me, but because some part of me had decided that wanting me now came with conditions. With rules. With gentleness that meant less. Her words cut straight through that.
“You shouldn’t have to prove that,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to?—”
“I’m not proving anything,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine with that unflinching honesty that always made my defenses crumble. “I want this. I wantyou, Des. The rest is just noise.”
Her hand slid from my arm to my chest, fingers splaying over the fabric of my shirt, feeling the steady thump of my heart beneath. It was a simple touch, but it grounded me, pulling me out of the spiralof doubts that had been looping since the hospital discharged me. I reached up, covering her hand with mine, and for a moment, we just sat there, the weight of her palm against my skin reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this new, uneven landscape.
She shifted closer, her knee brushing my thigh — the good one, the one that still felt like it belonged to me. The bed dipped under her weight, and I instinctively adjusted, propping myself back against the headboard with one arm. It was awkward, this new calculus of movement, but she didn’t hover or ask if I needed help. She just watched, letting me find my way.
“I’m glad we’re home,” she murmured, leaning in to press her lips to my jaw. Soft. Lingering. Her breath warmed my skin, and I tilted my head, giving her more access without thinking. Her kisses trailed down my neck, light and unhurried, each one chipping away at the wall I’d built around myself over the last two weeks.
“Yeah?” I whispered, my voice catching a little. “Even if I’m... you know, half the man I used to be?”
She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her expression a mix of affection and that spark of mischief I’d always loved. “Half the man? Please. You’re still the one who can make me laugh during a twelve-hour shift. And as for the other half...” She glanced down pointedly, her hand drifting lower to rest on my abdomen. “We’ll see what we can do about that.”
