Page 34 of Palingenesis

“Okay,” I sign for no one but myself.

I’ll call him first thing in the morning.

And in the meantime, I’ll ignore the disappointment welling in my gut that maybe I missed the town’s festivities.

Henry almost looks defeated when I finally crawl back in bed, and I find myself battling a pull to my heart strings.

“Sorry, I kept you up late,” I sign as I slip under the covers beside him. “I know you have to work.”

He shakes his head and lays a gentle hand over mine, stopping me from speaking anymore. “I know …” He pauses, fingers stuttering, eyes wide with hope. “It’s been a while with the move and your book, my work, but …” Holy fuck he looks nervous. “You used to rest better when I laid on you. You want that?”

That ugly hopeful flare twists in my gut and my frown deepens.

I don’t know what alternate universe I landed in when I came to this time around, but it triggers a longing so deep in me that I find myself nodding before I can think better of it.

It’s almost like all the things I ever wanted… They’re right here. In the man I thought was incapable of anything close to what I wanted. What I needed.

But now he’s smiling at me and practically diving across the bed to burrow into my chest.

The weight of him there, the sting of his not-quite stubble rubbing over my bare pec, has me draping an arm over his shoulders, holding him lightly.

Just get through the night.

He taps my sternum, his fist closed in the S shape, right over my heart.

My nose burns as I stare at the ceiling.

The ceiling that gets painted in all the colors of night.

I stare so long, sleep evading me, that I watch the blues and purples bleed into reds and pinks and then finally the brilliant light of the risen sun. All the while with the weight of my hopes and dreams pressing over my aching heart.

Chapter 19

Shannon

Steam fills the room, swirls around my head, the tendrils of mist floating across the shower like it can teleport me back to the reverie where statues come alive and wounds heal by magic.

The spray on my shoulders should be relaxing, but it’s not.

I’d hoped that I could wash away the fuzz from my brain, the grit sticking to my skin, and let it all go. Just be in this moment and take all the kind Henry I can get before it washes away.

Instead, I jump when a hand appears just inside the curtain, fingers fluttering for my attention.

Henry sticks his head in next. “Sorry. You’ve been in here for a while and I just wanted to check on you.”

Sighing, I poke between my pecs with a thumb. “I’m fine.”

The next signs are a little blurry without my glasses, and I’m sure I’ve misunderstood him when he asks, “Can I join you?”

It’s been years since Henry attempted to be intimate, like really intimate, with me. Hell, I can’t even recall if he’s ever showered with me. Let alone after laying in my arms all night long.

My confusion must be broadcasted on my face judging by the way his face pinches briefly before softening again. “Dreams were really that bad?”

He seems genuinely concerned, purposeful in his signs as he asks and I have to admit that I’m just stunned.

It’s the only justification I can find for why I nod and step back, making room for his thin frame beneath the spray.

Or maybe it’s hope.