(Lucas’ POV).
"Hold still," I murmured, tying off the final bandage around her shin. My fingers worked quickly, but gently, the sterile gauze wrapping around her scraped, bruised skin.
She flinched slightly, even in sleep, her brow twitching and her lips parting in a soft sigh.
Lena looked peaceful—too peaceful. Like the storm hadn’t touched her. Like I hadn’t.
Her lashes fluttered. Her breath hitched.
Shit. She was waking up.
I stuffed the last of the medical tools into the kit with trembling hands. My pulse roared in my ears.
I couldn’t do this. Not after what I did. Not after she saw me like that—broken, drunk, pathetic.
I stood so fast the chair scraped against the hardwood. Her head shifted slightly, a small sound escaping her throat.
“Lucas?” Her voice was barely a whis
