“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You saved me. Like I knew you would.”
His eyes shimmered. “I almost didn’t,” he choked out. “I was almost too late, Elena. If I had been—”
“You weren’t,” I interrupted him, not needing him to torture himself with a false future. “You weren’t too late.”
His jaw was hard and he continued to stare at me, watching me breathe, as if he needed to do that in order to remind himself that he wasn’t too late.
I didn’t speak. I gave him what he needed.
It took a few minutes. No, it didn’t. It took a moment. A beautiful, Lance moment. I basked in it. A moment I didn’t think I’d ever have. My gaze went down to my wrist that Lance wasn’t holding, panicked that it wouldn’t be there, the thing that measured minutes, not moments.
It was there.
I let out a relieved exhale. I would never take breathing for granted again. No matter how bad my pain was, still being able to breathe was a gift. But looking from the man in front of me to the watch at my wrist, I knew that I wouldn’t have to breathe through pain again.
Lance’s large hand moved so his fingers could trace the smooth face. “I put it back on you once the doctors finished. Wanted something of mine on you.” His fingers moved to my fourth finger. “Will make sure you’ve always got somethin’ of mine on you.”
“I can’t take any more of your sweet, it might just kill me, and I already escaped death once,” I told him, my voice a whisper.
His gaze darted up, eyes sharp. “We don’t joke about you almost dyin’, Elena,” he clipped.
I smiled. “Ah, there’s my badass asshole.”
He glared at me, but then kissed me.
“Nathan,” I whispered once he was done. As much as I wanted to continue kissing Lance, have his hands on my skin and his promises in my heart, I needed to see my son.
Lance got this, most likely better than most parents, because he didn’t get to do that with Nick. He would never. Feeling the fear I had felt for Nathan when I thought Robert had him, I couldn’t fathom how Lance was able to do things like walk around and breathe without his son.
Then again, human beings had the ability to breathe through the most unimaginable kinds of pain.
He was living proof.
“He’s outside,” he said, moving from my bed to stand. “With Karen, Eliza, Rosie, Polly, Lucy, Bobby, Esther, Logan, the whole team. Didn’t think you’d want him in here until you woke up. Didn’t want to scare him anymore. Kid’s bein’ brave, and got enough distractions, but he’s worried about his mom.”
My heart clenched. My sensitive little boy would definitely be putting on a brave face, especially around the men he considered heroes. But this was a lot for him. When he’d already gone through too much. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to hold my boy in my arms, never let him go, never let him experience anything hard or painful ever again.
But that wasn’t how it worked.
Lance leaned in to kiss my head and then turned to leave the room.
He paused, about halfway to the door. Turned. Eyes found mine, as always.
“I love you,” he said, the words floating across the room and hitting me square in the chest. The words took over my whole body. My soul.
I knew that he loved me, of course. A man like Lance didn’t do the things he did for me and Nathan if he didn’t love us. He showed us every day. He showed me by leaving—even though I didn’t realize that at the time. He showed me by coming back.
Showed me with the watch at my wrist.
By taking Nathan fishing.
By coming to church.
And a thousand and one other ways, he showed me his love. Some of them sweet, some of them not. Because Lance wasn’t sweet. Tender. Life had taken that away from him. The ability to love tender.
He loved me with a cruelty that shouldn’t exist. A kind of cruel he wore like a second skin. But I would take his cruel love over any other man’s sweet infatuation. I would suffer with him before I’d smile with anyone else.
He didn’t wait for me to respond, just turned and walked out the door, taking half of my heart with him. He soon returned, with the rest of my heart standing right beside him, holding his hand.
Nathan didn’t let go of his hand for the entire walk to my bed. His eyes were wide, taking me in, lip wobbling slightly, brows furrowed. Lance was right, my boy was trying his hardest to be strong. He approached the bed tentatively, not jumping on it like he did in the mornings, not worrying about a limb or organ he was squashing. He climbed up very slowly, with Lance’s help. He crawled up to my head so his little hand could cradle my cheek.