Locke
She’s still asleep.
It’s past noon. I checked twice. She needs to eat and there’s the thing about Eli we need to tell her about. And at some point today the Hollow is going to demand her attention whether she wants to give it or not.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
She doesn’t stir.
I lean over. “Hey.”
Nothing.
“Nova.”
She makes a sound. Something between a groan and a protest, and then she turns toward me instead of away, which I wasn’t expecting, and now her face is against my arm and her hand has found my shirt.
Um…
“Five minutes,” she mumbles.
I should say no. I should tell her about Eli, get her downstairs, let the others know she’s up. Kind of. That’s what I came up here to do.
“Five minutes,” I say.
I lay down.
She fits against me like we’ve been doing this forever. Her head finds my shoulder without either of us adjusting. Her hand stays on my chest. I can feel her breathing slow back out, evening off, and I think she’s already gone again.
I should get up.
I don’t.
The room is quiet. Afternoon light coming through the curtains. I can hear something downstairs — Vaelor probably, or Rane. The sounds of the house.
Her hair smells like the conditioner she uses. It’s different now. I think because she’s here in a way she hasn’t been.
Her skin where my hand is resting is soft.
She’s warm. She always runs warmer than everyone else — I noticed that early, before I understood why, before any of it made sense.
Now I just know it the way I know her weight and the sound of her breathing and exactly how much space she takes up in a room.
Not much. Somehow still all of it.
I think she’s asleep.
But I catch it. So quiet I almost miss it. “Thank you.”
My hand stops.
I didn’t know it was moving.
“For what,” I say.
“Everything.”
I can’t say anything for a minute. Everything is too big to answer.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say.
She shifts. Gets up on her good arm, hand on my chest, and looks at me. Her hair is a mess. There’s a pillow crease on her cheek. She looks at my face and then she looks past me, at the headboard, and I know what she’s about to say before she says it.
“You made this.”
I look at the ceiling.
“Locke.”
“It was nothing.”
“You made this for me.”
“It needed to be done.”
She’s quiet for a second. I can feel her looking at me.
“It’s everything,” she says. “You know that, right?”
The back of my neck is hot. I don’t know what to do with my face so I keep it pointed at the ceiling.
“Hey.”
I finally look at her.
Her eyes are serious. That’s worse than if she was angry.
“You always seem to know what I need,” she says. “Even before I do.”
I swallow.
“It’s beautiful, Locke.” Her voice is soft. “Thank you.”
I nod. One tight jerk of my head.
I’m not going to survive this conversation.
She holds my gaze for another second. Then her face shifts and her mouth tips up on one side.
Then she giggles.
It’s small at first, surprised sounding, like she didn’t mean to. And then it gets away from her. She ducks her head against my shoulder and laughs and I can feel it moving through her.
I’m grinning.
I don’t know when that happened.
“Come on, you brat.” I’m already sitting up, reaching for her hand. “Downstairs.”
She gasps. Looks at me like I’ve said something genuinely offensive. “Brat?”
“You heard me.”
She’s still laughing when I pull her up.