Hailee’s POV
He seemed shocked at first. I could feel it in the way his body went still, in the way his lips didn’t move right away. For a second, I thought I had made a mistake. I didn’t even know why I kissed him. I had never thought about it, but the moment I walked into that door and saw him in that state, it felt like I was being controlled by an invisible and compelling force I could not explain or control.
My heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt. I thought of withdrawing, then I felt his breath, warm against my mouth, and his hesitation slowly melted away. His hand came up, rough and careful, touching my face like he wasn’t sure I was real. His thumb brushed my cheek, and that simple touch made my whole body tremble.
When he finally kissed me back, it wasn’t quick or hungry. It was slow—so slow it made my chest ache. His lips moved with mine gently, like he was trying to remember every second, like he was afraid this might end too soon.
I could taste the faint salt of his skin, smell the mix of herbs and smoke that clung to him. Every breath between us felt like a word we didn’t have to say. My fingers slid to his jaw, and he leaned into my touch, eyes fluttering closed.
Then he drew in a sharp breath and winced, the sound low but painful. I pulled back right away. "I’m sorry—your ribs—"
He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Worth it," he whispered.
I didn’t trust my voice to speak. I only brushed my thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the tiny tremor there. His hand stayed on my cheek a moment longer before falling back to the bed, fingers curling weakly in the sheets.
I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I brushed his hair off his forehead. It was damp and messy. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright, like a little boy who was given his favorite candy.
"You look awful," I said, and then winced. "I mean—"
He grinned. "I know what you mean." His fingers squeezed mine. "You came."
"Of course I did," I whispered. "You scared me."
"I scared myself," he said. He glanced down at the bandage. "Stupid arrow. I should have seen it coming."
I sat on the edge of the bed, careful of his side. "Don’t do that," I said. "Don’t blame yourself. Just... be okay."
He watched me like he was memorizing my face. "How long can you stay?"
"Three days," I said. "Peter gave me that much. And four guards. And a list of rules."
"Sounds like Peter." His mouth tipped. "Did he yell?"
"No. Worse. He worried." I tried to smile. "He’ll be fine."
Nathan’s thumb traced my knuckles. "And Oscar? Is he—"
"He’s here," I said, and my chest went tight in a good way. "Downstairs. With your mom. He said, ’Happy birthday, Grandma,’ and made her cry."
A soft sound left him. He looked away for a second. When he looked back, his eyes were wet. "I’ve waited so long to hear his voice like that," he said.
"You’ll hear it in a minute," I said. "When you’re ready."
"I’m ready now," he said, stubborn even in bed.
I gave him a look. "You’re not standing."
"No," he admitted. "But I can sit like a king."
"Good," I said, and helped lift the pillows higher behind him. He winced once, then settled. I poured water from the pitcher on the table and held the cup. He tried to take it. I didn’t let him.
"Let me," I said.
He drank, eyes on me over the rim. "Bossy," he muttered.
"Alive," I said back.
We were quiet for a moment. The air between us felt warm and full. His hand found the hem of my sleeve and rubbed the fabric like he needed proof I was real.
"I never imagined you would come," he said finally, voice soft. "And you seem worried."
I rolled my eyes. "Don’t start. It was nothing."
He huffed a laugh. "It means a lot to me. You being here means a lot to me." His eyes softened. "Thank you for coming."
"You’re welcome," I said. "Now stop wasting breath."
He smirked. "Yes, ma’am."
I looked over the bandage again. "Does it hurt a lot?"
"Only when I breathe," he said, deadpan.
I gave him a flat look.
"Okay," he said, a smile tugging, "only when I move. Or laugh. Or think about running."
"So always."
"Pretty much."
I reached out and, very gently, touched the edge of the wrap. "The healer said the poison is out?"
He nodded. "Leo—Rowan—kept him on me until I wanted to bite him. But it worked."
"Good," I said, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I put my palm over his heart, light as a leaf. It beat steadily under my hand. Strong. "Stay like this, okay?"
"Only if you keep that hand there," he said.
I didn’t move it.
He looked at my face again. "You didn’t sleep," he murmured.
"No," I said.
"Because of me."
"Yes."
"I’m sorry."
"Don’t be," I said. "Just get better."
He nodded, like he was agreeing to a deal. "I can do that."
A small knock sounded at the door. Both our heads turned. We didn’t speak. The knock came again, softer.
"Come in," Nathan called.
The door inched open. A redhead peeked around it. "Dad?" The familiar voice of Oscar came out.
Nathan’s lips parted. For a heartbeat, he didn’t say anything at all. Then his smile came back, wide and bright.
"Hey, son," he said, voice rough. "Come here."
Oscar hesitated in the doorway, his small hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. "Dad?" he said again, this time a little louder.
Nathan’s throat worked before his voice finally came—soft, deep, and rough with emotion. "Hey, son," he whispered. "Come here."
Oscar’s eyes brightened like sunlight through clouds. He ran the few steps to the bed and stopped just short, as if unsure how close he was allowed to get. Nathan smiled, a shaky one, and lifted his hand. "It’s okay," he said. "I won’t break."
That was all Oscar needed. He climbed up carefully, like he’d been taught not to jostle hurt people, and then leaned in to hug him anyway. Nathan’s arm wrapped around him slowly, carefully, but tightly—like he was holding something precious that might disappear if he let go.
"Dad," Oscar said softly, his voice trembling a little. "You look... different."
Nathan chuckled under his breath. "Older?"
Oscar shook his head. "Stronger."
Nathan smiled wider, blinking fast. "You got taller," he said. "I almost didn’t recognize you."
Oscar puffed up proudly. "Mom says it’s because I eat my greens."
"That’s my boy," Nathan murmured, his voice thick. His hand went to the back of Oscar’s head, fingers slipping into the familiar curls. He just held him there for a long moment, silent, his eyes closing as if he needed to feel every heartbeat of that hug.