Page 110 of Where Broken Wings Fly

Arianna snuggles up to me as soon as I sit down, her headful of long hair pooled in my lap. I soothe myself by stroking the pearlescent strands. Waking up in the hospital without her was terrifying. All I wanted was to hold my little girl close.

“Are you feeling better, Mummy?”

“Yeah,” I croak, stroking her cheek. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I wanted to come and see you, but Zach wouldn’t let me.”

Casting him a grateful smile, I tuck a curl behind her ear. “Hospitals aren’t nice places, Ari. Zach was just looking after you for me while I was feeling poorly.”

“But I missed you,” she argues.

“I know, baby. I’m back now. You don’t need to worry anymore.”

“I’ll sort the bedroom,” Killian announces.

He disappears deeper into the cabin, carrying my hospital bag. Crouching down to check the fire, Zach adds another log before slumping on the sofa next to Micah. His eyes are barely managing to stay open.

“Was the drive okay?” Micah asks quietly.

“Long. I don’t want to see Highbridge again for a while.”

My eyes are drooping, the warmth of the fire coaxing me to sleep. I didn’t sleep a wink in the hospital after waking up part way through the blood transfusion. I was too worried about the door being broken down and Mr Sanchez storming in.

I snap wide awake with a gasp when Arianna’s weight vanishes from my lap. Zach’s lifted her into his arms and cradles her snoring body against his chest.

“Easy,” he whispers. “I’ve got her.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll tuck her in. You get some rest.”

I sink back into the sofa cushions. Micah is tending to the flames in the fireplace, casting me the occasional loaded look over his shoulder. I can hear Killian and Zach murmuring in the other room, but neither returns.

“You’re here,” I say sleepily.

He tosses another log on the fire. “I didn’t want to paint.”

“Why not?”

“Because Arianna needed me, and I wanted to be with you. That’s more important to me than some stupid paint pallets.”

Despite all the pain and turmoil, his words pierce the suffocating loneliness that has curled around my bones. There’s something about Micah. The others don’t see what I do inside of him.

He has the kind of soothing presence that can only be honed by experiencing trauma. Even his voice is a comfort to me—soft and soothing, barely an octave above a whisper. His entire presence is a soothing balm against my fried nerves.

“Thank you for looking after her for me.”

“Of course,” he hushes. “She’s a good kid.”

“Do you mind if I have a bath? I smell like a hospital.”

“Yeah, no problem. I can show you where it is, if you want?”

His hand outstretched for me to take, I hesitate before tangling our fingers together. He tentatively puts an arm around my shoulders, helping me to stand. My body is still incredibly sore and aching despite the painkillers.

This is the closest we’ve been since the moment we shared amongst the crops. Ever since then, Micah has kept his distance, remaining closed-off and unapproachable. That person is a stark comparison to the man holding me close now.

“Go slow,” he advises.

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