When my fingers brushed the cool, damp towel on my forehead, I opened my eyes, groggy. "Lucas… since when are you this gentle? What are you angling for?" I mumbled, and reached up on instinct to pat his head.
But it didn't feel right. My brother had a short, prickly buzz cut. The hair under my hand was thick and soft, with a faint trace of cedar.
My eyes flew open.
Christian was leaning over me, his blue-grey eyes tired but soft. My hand was still buried in his hair.
The air froze.
"Wh-what are you doing here?!" I yanked my hand back and dove under the covers.
Calm as ever, Christian lifted the towel off my forehead, wrung it out in a basin of warm water, folded it neat, and laid it back down. Every move impossibly gentle.
"Lucas and Valerie are at the hospital. He got hurt in a fig
