Page 23 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

“Yeah.” I guess they saw the handholding, and there was nothing subtle about the kiss. “It’s a… recent development.”

She has the good sense not to ask any follow-up questions. I’m too nervous to divulge much. Besides, there’s not a lot to say.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Dr. Schmid emerges, a smile on his face. “The surgery was a success,” he announces. “Everything went well, and the ear repair should heal nicely. Thrax is in recovery now. You can see him soon.”

Relief washes over me, and I slump back into my chair, letting out a breath as my shoulders relax. Varro and Laura exchange relieved smiles, the tension in the room evaporating.

When we’re finally allowed into Thrax’s room, I find him groggy but awake, a bandage covering his left ear. His gaze finds mine as I approach, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face.

“Hey there,” I say softly, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank too much wine,” he mumbles, his words slightly slurred from the anesthesia. “But… good. Better than good.” He reaches for his ear, but then realizes it’s covered with a thick bandage.

I can’t help but chuckle at his drug-induced candor. “Well, you look great. Very dashing with that bandage.”

Thrax’s smile widens, and he gives my hand a weak squeeze. “You stayed,” he says, his voice filled with wonder.

“Of course I did.” My heart swells with affection mixed with a touch of sadness that he thought so little of me—or himself—that he doubted I would be here when he woke up. “I told you I would.”

As Thrax drifts off to sleep again, I settle into the chair beside his bed, our hands still intertwined. Varro and Laura take up positions on the other side, their presence a comforting reminder of the support system we’ve built.

Watching the steady rise and fall of Thrax’s chest, I’m struck by how far we’ve come. From strangers thrust together by extraordinary circumstances to… this. Whateverthisis.

“We have a lot to tell you about our trip,” Laura says, “but since all the news wasn’t created on the other side of the Atlantic…” she pointedly glances at my fingers, still interlocked with Thrax’s, “it looks as though I’ve got some gossip to catch up on.”

“Nothing happened.” My voice has the lilt of a five-year-old lying about who took the last cookie in the cookie jar. I resist the urge to yank my hand away from Thrax as Laura’s grin keeps widening, her gaze locked on our hands. Finally, I give up. “It was one kiss, okay?”

“One? That sounds disappointing. In my book, kisses should be so numerous you can’t count them.”

She’s right, damn it. I’ll have to rectify that the moment Thrax’s brain comes back online.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Skye

I make my way to Thrax’s room, full of things to talk with him about, even though we had dinner together last night. It’s been a few days since his surgery and I think we’ve grown a bit closer because I was there when he woke up, just as I promised. He trusts me more now.

I check on him every morning to see how he’s doing. But when I arrive, his room is empty, the bed neatly made.

Frowning, I head toward the cafeteria, figuring he might have gone for breakfast. As I pass the atrium, movement catches my eye. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I spot Thrax standing in the center, his gaze fixed on the sky above.

My heart sinks. Has he regressed? Is he back to searching for those elusive airplanes?

But the moment I step into the atrium, Thrax turns and flashes me a wide, genuine grin. Relief washes over me when I realize he was waiting for me here.

I quickly cue up the translation app on my phone and slip it into the holder clipped to my pants so I now have both handsfree when we talk.

“Good morning,” I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “How are you feeling?”

Although he used to avoid connecting with my gaze, he lances me with a direct look, his expression calm and happy. “I’m well.” He touches his bandaged ear as though he’s half-forgotten he had surgery recently. “Very well. I… I have something for you.”

His eagerness is palpable, but he seems hesitant to continue.

“Oh?” I prompt gently.

He shyly gazes down, the effect adorable on a towering gladiator. “I’ve been learning to carve wood. A man who works here and always wears jeans taught me. Because I wanted to make something perfect, just for you, I’ve been keeping it a secret. I gave a lot of thought about what to make you. I think… I hope you’ll like it.”

Before I can respond, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small object on a leather cord. With a proud grin, he holds it out to me.

---