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Scarlet
Lance is already on the landing when I leave my bedroom to make my way to his. It’s past midnight, and the whole house is quiet, everyone long gone to bed.
There’s a plethora of reasons I haven’t gone to his room before now, the most obvious one being that I shouldn’t. He’s here to heal. To get better so that he can go home and build a new normal there.
Regardless of that fact, I’ve made this walk every night since I found Lance in the throes of that nightmare.
“I thought maybe you’d given up on me,” he rasps, voice low.
I dip my head to my shoulder. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”
His smile lights up his whole face. “You coming?” he asks, cocking his head toward his room.
I make my way to him, side-eyeing him as I reach him. When we get to his room, he pushes open the door with one hand, holding it open for me to pass. “You’re extra smiley tonight,” I tell him.
He chuckles, setting his crutch straight to follow me in. “I have plenty to smile about.”
“You do?” I say, not helping my own smile.
“I do.”
“You’re not going to give me any more than that?”
He shrugs, watching me as I pick up the pillow and walk to the chair below the window. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.” A frown. “Sleep in the bed. I’ll take the chair tonight.”
I chuckle, sitting down. “We’re long past gentlemanly gestures, Lance. I’m here so that you can heal quicker. And besides, I sleep better in this chair than I do in my own bed.”
“Hmm. Because that has nothing to do with the lack of shift work you’re currently doing?”
As observant as ever. “Maybe,” I mutter, placing the pillow behind my head and leaning back in the chair. “You should get some sleep. I have the girls coming over tomorrow to start plans for the ball.”
His head dips, and he nods. I narrow my eyes on him, instantly knowing he needs something. Maybe even needed something so badly, he was on his way to ask me for it. “What is it?” I ask.
He readjusts on his crutches, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I was going to ask you to read to me. It’s late, though, you’re right.”
“Read to you?” I frown.
He stares at me, looking lost. “Like we used to.” He drops his eyes, as if reminding me somehow takes him back. “I have your letters, and I’m making my way through them, but…”
I had to read my mother’s diaries alone for years before I met him, and while I’m not sure how it would’ve felt to have my mum read her words aloud to me, the entries Lance did read, the ones we shared together, well, those were the ones I remember most. The ones that mean more.
“I’ll read one,” I tell him. “Where are they?”
His brows lift in surprise, and then he makes his way around the bed, pulling open the top drawer. I stand and walk to the bed, sitting back against the pillows.
He hands me the letters, the top few torn into.
Words he’s already read.
“I’m not very far in. I tend to read one and need a while to digest.”
I huff out a humourless laugh, looking up into his eyes. “I wish I had that luxury as I lived it.”
“I know,” he says sincerely. “Or at least I’m learning.” He takes the letters, sliding out the ones he’s read before handing the stack back to me. “You don’t have to read them. I’m being a fucking coward.”
I drop my gaze to the letters, my thumb dusting over the small tears in the paper. “You’re not a coward, Lance.”
He waits for me to focus back on him before he smirks and says, “I was on my way to get you just now.”
