Michael stared at her. His voice was soft with something like shame. “You didn’t have to do that, Hannah.”
“Your brothers were ready to climb the walls.” She brushed another finger across his cheek, pulling a stray tear away. “Consider it a public service.”
“What about James?”
“He stayed with my mom. He’s all right. I went home for dinner and his bedtime story.” She didn’t mention that she’d had to wait for her father to fall asleep before she could sneak out again. She’d sent her mom a text message so she wouldn’t worry, and hoped the woman would run interference if her dad decided to pitch a fit.
“I’m sorry you had to waste your time here.”
“They’re your brothers, Michael. It wasn’t a waste of time.” She paused. “I was worried about you, too. No one would tell us anything.”
“I’m all right.”
Said the man crying in the dark. She stroked a hand across his cheek again, feeling the beard growth there. He bowed his head and leaned into her touch. He always took her by surprise in these moments when he was quiet and passive, like an untamed lion that would only settle in her presence.
“I should leave so you can get some sleep,” she said.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I can sleep.” He rubbed his hands down his face, catching her hand in his own, holding it against his face. “Every time I close my eyes, I see too many things.”
She didn’t mention that he’d seemed asleep when she’d walked in here—but then again, he’d startled so easily. “Do you think you could lie down? Rest?”
“No, I—no.” His breath shook again, just a little. He kept a grip on her hand as if he worried she’d leave him here.
“Try,” she said. “If you don’t sleep, you won’t heal.” She kicked off her shoes and leaned back against the pillows, giving his hand a tug. “Lie down. I’ll rest with you.”
After a moment, Michael shifted to lie beside her. He pulled his hand free to stroke her hair back from her face. His fingers were warm against her cheek. After a moment, he shifted closer, until his forehead rested against hers.
She thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t. Somehow this was more intimate, lying in the dark, dried tears on his cheeks and trust in his eyes. She was seeing a side of him that he didn’t often show. To anyone.
For the longest time, he didn’t move beyond touching her, his hand stroking the length of her cheek or the slope of her arm. After a while, his movements slowed, and his eyelids fluttered. He fought it.
She put a hand against his face. “I’ll stay,” she whispered. “If that’s okay.”
He nodded and took a long breath. His eyes drifted closed. “Always.”
Michael woke to a cart rattling past his room and sunshine peeking through the window blinds. He was alone in the bed, and the sheets were cold.
Hannah. Had he dreamed her?
His hand shifted, crumpling a piece of paper. He held it up.
Had to be home to get James breakfast, then on first shift. I’ll be back as soon as I can.
She’d signed it with an H.
And a heart.
It made his own heart sing.
He had so little good to hang on to that he wanted to clutch this silly little note to his chest and never let go of it. He folded it in half and tucked it beneath the card from the social worker.
A nurse knocked on his door and announced it was time for vital signs. She was different from the nurse the previous evening. Her name tag read MARY PAT. He obediently let her take his blood pressure and temperature.
She made a note in her computer, then said, “I hear you get to go home today.”
“I do?” But then he realized that home didn’t really mean home. They just weren’t keeping him here.
She nodded and pulled the blood pressure cuff from his arm. “The doctor will be around with your discharge instructions later this morning.”
She was gone, wheeling her cart into the next room, before he realized he had a dozen questions. Where would he go? How would he get there? What had happened to his wallet and the clothes he’d been wearing at the bar?
His brain couldn’t process all these questions. Not yet. He curled against the pillow and read the note from Hannah again. He could still smell her on his sheets.
Other memories started to crowd those thoughts, darkening his mood. His house, burning. The bomb. The bodies in that ravine. The gunfire.
His brothers, walking through the doorway as DFS took them away.
His throat felt tight again. He’d never felt so alone.
A hand rapped on the door, and a hushed voice said, “Wait. He might he asleep.”
“He’s not asleep. He’s wallowing. Mike, get up.”
Hunter’s voice. Michael lifted his head. Hunter and Adam stood in the doorway.
He frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“We aren’t allowed to see the guys, so we figured you were better than nothing.” Hunter came into the room and dumped a duffel bag unceremoniously onto one of the plastic chairs. “Here. I hope they fit. If they don’t, blame Adam.”