Page 112 of Healed Hearts

I narrow my eyes at him. “You do take care of things. Hell, you’ve taken care of me. Multiple times. Even when you didn’t know you were. Like the night I yelled at Dr. Asshole. You’re one of the few people in this world I can trust. I don’t mind taking care of you too. I love it, actually.”

Julian sighs. “You break my heart sometimes, Hold,” he says, completely ignoring the last part of what I said.

I adjust so I can rest my head in his lap. The second my head lands on his thigh, he’s bringing his hands up to run themthrough my hair. We sit quietly together while Wren sleeps through her transfusion. I know that when she wakes, she’s going to feel so much better. Most likely going right back to her normal happy little self.

“No more broken hearts,” I whisper.

Julian pauses before letting out another little sigh and resuming his unhurried stroking of my hair. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I found you and you found me. We have each other. No more broken hearts. At least, I hope not.”

He sighs again, but doesn’t say anything. I look up at him. He looks blank. No emotion on his face at all. I can’t even take it personally. I know that right now isn’t the time and I should probably do some reading before I go making any claims, but I think his medication is doing more harm than good. His reactions have gotten worse each time he takes it. He’s harder on himself each time, even though none of this is his fault.

Mental health issonot my specialty at all, but something about it doesn’t seem right to me. Every time he takes it, my sweet, confident Julian disappears—leaving a sad, almost depressed version of the man I love in his place. I know enough to knowthatis not normal.

The sound of Wren moving around pulls me from my thoughts. I sit up quickly as Julian lets his fingers fall from my hair. When she locks eyes with us, her lower lip comes out in a pout, her eyes welling with tears. Julian tenses beside me. “Aww, what’s wrong, pretty girl?” I ask, standing to sit beside her in the bed.

She climbs into my lap and settles her head against my chest, bringing her thumb to her mouth. I run my fingers through her tangled curls. “Did we pack a brush, Wren? We need to do something about these crazy curls,” I say, glancing at Julian.

He looks at us and shrugs. “Not sure. You packed the bag.” The detached monotone of his voice is almost as hollow as his eyes.

I study him for a second, wondering if I should tell him that I actually didn’t pack the bag. He did. It doesn’t seem like the right time. He’s clearly not in a good headspace, and unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Wren shifts against my chest, her fingers drumming absently on me. I can’t do anything about Julian right now, but I can take care of Wren. I can show him that I’m worthy of the trust he’s placed in me. “That’s okay. We can text Uncle Ro and see if he can bring us some supplies.”

I fish my phone out of my pocket and send Roman a text.

Me

Hey, can you bring me some little elastic hairbands and a comb to the hospital? We’re in room 203 on the peds floor.

His message comes through before I even have time to put my phone away.

Ro

Sure thing. Be there in twenty.

I send him a quick thank you text and turn to Julian. His eyes are on us, but not really. He’s more staring through us than anything. I’m familiar with this look. Although, I’m usually seeing it on Roman’s face. “Hey, Julian?” His eyes move slowly to meet mine. He’s sluggish. Like he’s not really with me. To be fair, he’s not. “Do you want to hold Wren for a while?”

He hesitates. “If she needs me to.”

I glance down at her. She’s fine. Content, sucking on her thumb, but I feel likehe’sthe one who actually needs it. Not her. Before I can offer that perspective, he’s shrugging again. “She’s fine with you. You look like you have it under control.”

I study him for a second. I don’t mind having it under control, but I’m not liking the look on his face or the emptiness in his eyes. Not at all. I nod. “Okay.”

Turning my attention back to Wren, I try to distract her. “Do you wanna play a game with me on my phone?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding slightly. I downloaded a counting game on there last week. It’s quite cool, actually. I may have played it a bit to make sure it was going to be a good game for her. I think it will be. It’s full of bright colors and a cute little voice that counts out loud each time you click on a fruit.

I adjust the hospital bed until I can sit up straight, and then I turn her in my arms so I can rest her back against my chest. After pulling up the game, I hand her the phone. It doesn’t take her long to figure out how it works. And when she starts counting out loud with it, I smile. “Wow. You’re so smart.”

She turns to grin at me. “I am. One, two, three.” Her proud little smile melts my heart.

“Can you keep going? How high can you count?”

She looks deep in thought, such a serious facial expression for such a small little person. “Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” She pauses, clearly thinking. Then nods to herself and continues. “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fiveteen.”

I giggle. “Fifteen.”

She cocks her head at me. “No. Fiveteen, Holden.”

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