Page 100 of Terms of Exposure
He nodded slowly, not pushing. Just accepting.
That was the thing about Sebastian. He didn't pry. Didn't demand explanations or answers I wasn't ready to give. He just... let me be.
It was why I kept coming back.
I'd bolted that first day—running the moment he'd recognized my voice, the moment he'd fixed that confused, searching gaze on me and called me an angel. I'd fled like a coward, mortified that he'd heard. Every pathetic confession I'd poured out in the safety of his unconsciousness.
So I'd come back the next day. Just to check on him, I'd told myself.
And the day after that.
And every day for the past two weeks.
I'd been there when they moved him out of the ICU. Been there when he took his first shaky steps with the physical therapist, his facegray with effort and his knuckles white on the walker. Been there the day he was transferred—watching Rosie fuss over the wheelchair while Sebastian insisted he could walk to the new room.
He'd lost that argument.
It gave me something to focus on. Something that wasn't Garrett's relentless texts or the bruise that had finally faded from my cheek or the hollow ache of rebuilding a life I'd let someone else dismantle.
Here, in this room, I could almost forget all of it.
Almost.
The door swung open.
Damien stepped through, looking more relaxed than I'd seen him in weeks. The permanent furrow between his brows had softened, and a lightness in his expression.
"Hey." He nodded at me, then Sebastian. "How's the patient?"
"Annoying," I said.
Sebastian's mouth twitched.
"Emma's not with you?" I asked, noticing the rarely empty space beside him.
"Nah." He settled into the chair across from me, stretching his legs out. "She's taking the day for herself. I booked her a massage and a facial at that spa on Fifth."
I smiled. "Good. She deserves it."
Hospital visits, work, taking care of everyone but herself. She deserved every minute of that massage.
"Aww," Sebastian whined from the bed. "I was looking forward to some more eye candy."
"Watch it," Damien warned. "She's mine."
Sebastian's grin widened. "That's what you said about those race cars when we were kids. I sold those suckers for a popsicle." He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Maybe Emma would be willing to help me with my next shower—"
"Finish that sentence and I'll put you back in the coma myself."
I snorted, nearly choking on my own spit.
Sebastian chuckled. "You wouldn't. Mom would kill you."
"Worth it."
"You know," I said, keeping my voice light, "Emma and I used to shower together at camp."
Both brothers froze.
