Chapter 67

Serena's POV

Lucas handed me my phone with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his usual commanding presence.

"Thank you," I said quietly, accepting the device without meeting his eyes. The familiar weight of it in my hands brought little comfort - it was just another possession, like everything else in my life that could be taken away at a moment's notice.

I watched as Lucas picked up my medical chart, his fingers moving with the practiced efficiency of someone used to analyzing complex documents. His expression remained neutral until he reached a particular page, where his brow furrowed slightly.

"Your right ear..." he paused, and I could hear the careful control in his voice. "It's temporary?"

"Yes." I kept my tone even, matter-of-fact. "Nothing to worry about."

But Lucas didn't move on as I'd hoped. Instead, he stayed on that page, his finger resting on what I knew was the detailed description of my symptoms. I could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"It happened before," I found myself saying, surprising even myself with the admission. "When I was young."

His hands stilled on the chart. "Did it hurt?"

A bitter smile touched my lips before I could stop it. "More then than now." I looked down at my hands, perfectly still in my lap. "When you're small, you can't fight back. But I'm not that helpless little girl anymore. People can't hurt me so easily now."

The silence that followed felt heavy with unspoken understanding. I glanced up to find Lucas watching me, his grey eyes filled with an intensity that made my chest tighten. His fingers twitched slightly - a tell I'd started to recognize when something affected him more than he wanted to show.

"Could you..." I gestured toward the fruit basket on the bedside table, desperate to break the moment before it became too much. "Would you mind peeling an apple?"

"Of course." The relief in his voice was subtle but present as he set aside the chart and reached for the fruit. "Any particular way you prefer it?"

"Like last time," I said softly, watching his hands as he picked up the small knife. His fingers were long and elegant, unmarked by the kind of calluses my father's golf-playing friends usually had. "The one you peeled before was sweet."

Lucas worked in silence, the peel coming off in one continuous spiral. I found myself mesmerized by the methodical movement of his hands, the careful way he removed every trace of the skin without wasting any of the flesh beneath. It was such a simple thing, yet it spoke volumes about his character - precise, thorough, considerate.

The apple slice balanced delicately on my fork. Before I could take a bite, Lucas leaned forward slightly. "May I try some?"

I extended the fork automatically, then hesitated, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the gesture. But before I could withdraw, his fingers wrapped gently around my wrist, holding it steady. My breath caught as he took the apple directly from the fork, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Sweet," he said casually, as if he hadn't just made my heart race with such a simple action. I forced myself to remain still, though every nerve in my body hummed with awareness of his touch, still warm on my wrist.

The silence stretched between us, filled with unspoken words. I focused on steadying my breathing, pretending to be absorbed in selecting another piece of apple.

"When are you planning to leave the hospital?" Lucas finally asked, his voice breaking through the tension.

I managed a light smile, grateful for the change in subject. "I could leave anytime, but I think I'll stay a couple more days."

"The day after tomorrow is my birthday," he said quietly, watching my reaction.

"I remember." I met his gaze steadily. "I'll be there for dinner. On time."

"I'll be waiting." The simple statement carried more weight than it should have.

As evening settled in, casting long shadows across the room, I tried to dismiss him. "You should head home. I'll be fine."

"I'm staying." His tone left no room for argument. "I'll sit right here."

"Lucas..."

"When I was in the hospital," he interrupted, "you came to take care of me often."

"That was different," I reminded him. "You were there because of me."

A slight smile curved his lips. "I always repay my debts generously."

I could have argued further, pointed out that he owed me nothing, that I was used to being alone. But something in his expression made me hold back. Perhaps it would hurt him to be sent away.

So I turned onto my side, facing away from him, and closed my eyes. The soft sound of his breathing mixed with the distant hospital noises, strangely comforting in the growing darkness.

Just before sleep claimed me, I heard him shift in his chair, followed by a whisper so quiet I might have imagined it: "If only I had known back then..."

I hadn't meant to actually fall asleep. Using sleep as an excuse to make Lucas leave was one thing, but genuinely drifting off with someone else in the room? That wasn't like me at all. Yet here I was, blinking awake in the dim hospital room, momentarily disoriented by the shadows playing across the ceiling.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I turned my head to find Lucas asleep on the small couch, his tall frame awkwardly compressed to fit the limited space. The sight triggered a memory of when our positions were reversed - when I was the one watching over him in a hospital room, guilt gnawing at my conscience because he'd been injured protecting me.

He looked uncomfortable, his long legs hanging off the edge of the couch. Without thinking, I slipped out of bed, moving as quietly as possible toward the spare blanket folded at the foot of my bed. The floor was cold against my bare feet, and I had to pause for a moment to steady myself.

Just as I reached out to drape the blanket over him, his eyes snapped open. I froze, blanket still suspended in mid-air.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Before I could finish the sentence, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. In one fluid motion, he pulled me forward. I lost my balance, falling against his chest as he twisted, somehow managing to flip our positions until I found myself trapped beneath him on the narrow couch.

My first instinct was to push him away, to scramble free from this compromising position. But when I looked up, ready to protest, the intensity in his eyes made the words die in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched.

He lowered his head toward my right ear, saying something I couldn't hear. The irony of my temporary deafness choosing this moment to matter wasn't lost on me. His weight pressed me deeper into the couch cushions, making it difficult to breathe - though I wasn't sure if that was from the physical pressure or the emotional tension crackling between us.

"Wake up," I finally managed to whisper, though part of me wondered if I was talking to him or myself.

"What did I do?" His voice was rough with sleep, but his eyes were alert now, taking in our position with dawning comprehension.

I almost laughed at the question. At least he was aware enough to know he had done something, rather than accusing me of putting myself in this situation. The thought gave me the strength to find my voice again.

"You're crushing me," I said, aiming for a matter-of-fact tone despite the heat rising in my cheeks.