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“I’m alright,” he replied, but he sounded like death.

“You’re not,” Kimmy insisted. “You look like shit.”

John gave an awful, humourless laugh. “Thanks. But I’m not leaving her.”

“Of course you’re not,” she said with a sigh. “Well…at least stay hydrated, okay? The last thing we need is you collapsing on us, too.”

There was a brief pause before John said tightly, “I’m fine, Kimmy. Stop fussing.”

“I will, when you stop being a stubborn ass,” she shot back. She must’ve shoved a flask into his hands, because she said, “Drink. I’ll be back in a half hour, and it better be empty by then.”

The cabin door swung shut, and John sighed heavily, followed by the distinct pop of the flask opening. Somewhere in the silence that followed, I slipped back under the calm waves of sleep and dreamed no dreams.

Chapter 35

Claire

Morning sun illuminated the cabin when I finally opened my eyes. I lay on my back in a single bed, tucked in comfortably under two layers of blankets. The chest tube poked out from under the blankets—painful, but not unbearable at the moment. My right hand was outside the covers, clasped loosely between John’s palms. He sat in a chair by my bedside, his upper body hunched over the bed, sound asleep. His head lay against his arm, his dark eyelashes standing out against his cheek as he breathed deeply.

My heart warmed at the sight of him, so soft and peaceful, then ached at the memory of the night before. I’d heard him at his most vulnerable—more exposed than he’d ever been. I knew his soft spots better than anyone else, and I’d never witnessed him quite like that. It made me want to protect him.

Other than the night before, I remembered only bits and pieces of the last few days. I knew that we’d found Asha again, and that this was where she lived. I remembered Leo operating on me, and I recalled seeing John’s worried face, feeling his touch. Anything other than that was fuzzy.

I stroked John’s hair, pushing strands away from his handsome face. My pain increased as my awareness returned, but I gritted my teeth and ignored it. I just wanted to be with John, in this quiet moment where, for the first time in months, we weren’t afraid for our lives.

He stirred under my hand, his eyelids fluttering, and then, as if remembering where he was, bolted upright.

“I’m awake,” he burst out, and I giggled weakly, then gasped at the pain in my ribs. The sheer relief on John’s face was worth it, however.

“You’re awake, too,” he murmured, and I suppressed another giggle.

“Seems like it,” I replied. My voice sounded dry and hoarse, but he didn’t seem to mind. He removed the compress from my forehead and lay his hand against it.

“Your fever’s broken,” he said in wonder. “Thank Christ.”

He leaned over and kissed me, deeply and desperately, like he needed me to survive. Despite the awful pain in my side, I allowed myself to get lost in his lips for a while. It’d been too long since I’d felt them like this.

When he finally pulled back, I swallowed hard at the tears in his eyes, and the dark circles under them. His lips were chapped, and his complexion was pale and ashen.

“Are you alright, darling?” I asked softly, even though the pain in my side was eating at me. “You look terrible.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. In the end, he simply settled on, “You were very sick.” There was a forced quality to the words and a haunted look to his eyes as he said it.

Before I could press, the pain forced a groan from me, and John jerked back, as though remembering himself.

“You’re hurting,” he said, worried. “I’ll get the doctor. You’re probably due for another dose of painkillers. Anything else you need?”

I grimaced, my eyes watering as I tried not to cry out. Whatever medicine I’d been given was wearing off, and there was still a tube sticking out of my chest cavity. I couldn’t form the words I wanted; the pain made it too hard to focus.

John seemed to understand, because he said, “I’ll be right back,” and jogged to the cabin door and flung it open. I spent the next several minutes leaning back on my pillow, trying to breathe through the pain, but I still couldn’t take deep breaths.

He returned moments later with Leo, who took my vitals and gave me another injection of pain medicine before emptying the drainage bucket by my bed. While Leo worked, John prepared food on a nearby table. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had no appetite.

“The fever’s broken, and your lung is draining nicely,” Leo said brightly, as though leaking fluid and blood was something that should make me feel accomplished.

“How long until I can have the tube removed?” I asked, sounding crankier than I intended. The corner of John’s mouth ticked upward at my tone.

“If all goes well, a couple more days—”