Devil's Desire [h.s.]

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Harry wasn't in bed when I awoke a few hours later.

I found myself momentarily panicked until a warm set of fingers suddenly slid through mine. Harry's thumb drew reassuringly over the back of my hand while I blinked to clear away the sleep in my eyes. He was sitting on the armchair beside the bed—staring at me—chewing on his inner cheek and wearing an expression I couldn't entirely make out.

"What time is it?" I asked, propping myself onto an elbow.

Harry reached over to tuck some hair behind my ear, his knuckles lingering near my temple. "Early," he said softly. "You have some time. If you want to go back to sleep for a bit."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "When did you get up? Have you been watching me sleep?"

For a moment, he said nothing, then chuckled through his nose and rubbed at his jaw. "I always watch you sleep." The words pulled out of him. Like he'd now resigned himself to complete honesty—words that he otherwise might have been swallowed had he figured there'd be an opportunity to tell me in the future.

'Weird' I signed to him with a small smile, and Harry caught my wrist at the last second to hold me still.

He shook his head. 'Love' he signed back.

It had been a rough last few days. With the departure of my mother, the kids, and Meatloaf, then having to break the news to Angela that we were leaving. She was very adamant that travel wouldn't be good for me yet. That anything other than rest and taking it easy still wasn't advised, but she held something of a resigned expression in her eyes when she spoke.

"You call me," she'd told me, pressing a piece of paper with her phone number into my palm. "Whenever you need to, ma fille. I'l try to help you out wherever I am." When she'd hugged me goodbye—it felt far more personal than that of a hired nurse. It was like saying goodbye to a friend.

When I got out of bed, too wired to try and close my eyes for any longer, Harry didn't linger far. In fact, he hardly let himself be more than a foot away; drawn to me like the two of us were attached by some invisible string that yanked him closer whenever I so much as took a step forward. Following me into the shower even though his hair was still damp from one he'd clearly taken earlier, his chest brushing my back as I changed, his elbow knocking against mine while I brushed my teeth.

Had it been anyone else, I might have felt suffocated. But it was him, which meant I felt calm. Or as calm as I could rightly be given the situation.

I'd expected him to be annoyed by the time we made it downstairs only to find Olivia and Louis already planted at the kitchen table, but if that were the case he did an excellent job at hiding it. That, or he was simply too tired to find it in himself to be angry anymore. The most exhaustive emotion to feel while warring so many others.

Olivia was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, knitting—or sewing?—what looked to be scraps of material. Louis was watching her quietly.

"What are you making?" I asked, taking a seat beside her.

She held up the items for me to see, turning them once over. Her hands were shaking. "I'm... not sure," she finally laughed softly. "Something. I cut up an old leather jacket I found and thought I could make gloves. Looks like shit, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't really look like anything," Louis piped up, to which she rolled her eyes, but leaned forward slightly to continue her work.

"Maybe it just needs a pop of colour or something," she mused, her brows pinching together. She reached across the table for a pair of scissors that had been left alongside the remains of some strewn paperwork.