Even in sleep, he looked stressed.
His jaw was clenched tight, muscles jumping occasionally like he was fighting something in his dreams. His brow was furrowed, deep lines etched between his eyes. One hand, the injured one, rested on his chest, bandaged knuckles rising and falling with each breath.
Bella's heart ached.
She lowered herself carefully onto the tiny edge of the couch, perching beside him. There was barely any space, but she made it work, her thigh pressing against his hip.
Slowly, gently, she reached out.
Her fingers touched his brow first, tracing the furrowed lines with feather-light pressure. She smoothed them, once, twice, three times, watching as some of the tension eased beneath her touch.
Then her fingers drifted to his jaw.
The hard line of it. The stubble rough against her fingertips. The way his teeth were still clenched even in sleep.
