Page 34 of Healed Hearts

“Like to keep an eye on Wren?” I ask. I hate to put it out there like that, but I need to know. I can’t allow myself to get any deeper in… whatever this is, if I’m being used as an off-duty nurse. No matter how much I enjoy Wren, I can’t do that to myself. At the sound of her name, she giggles, laying her head against my chest and playing with the hem of my shirt.

Julian’s eyes drop, the corner of his lips turned up as he watches her. He doesn’t answer immediately, and my stomach drops like a lead weight. I like him. Fuck,I like him. Which is… terrifying, a bit. And what if he doesn’t like me back? What if he’s only concerned about Wren and doesn’t actually wantme, the person?

“Of course not. I mean, she will be there,” he finally says after a long pause. “But I was kind of hoping you’d want to spend the day lounging around with me, and then I’d like to make you dinner.”

“Okay,” I murmur, my heart suddenly thrumming harder in my chest. “Yeah.”

Julian’s shoulders drop, and he lets out a sharp breath. “Great. Well, they’ve already discharged us, but I didn’t want to tell you that until I convinced you to hang out with me today,” he says, grinning. “I told them we had to wait for our ride to leave.”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road then,” I say, standing up. I don’t even think about the fact that I’m still holding Wren until we’re about to walk through the main doors of the hospital. “Oh. I’m sure you want your daughter back.”

“Nah, you can keep hold of her. She seems quite content where she is.” And he’s not wrong—she really does. She’s still resting her head against me, not a care in the world. As we step through the door, Julian’s hand lands on my lower back. A shiver races through my body at the contact.

He pulls his hand away, mumbling a quiet, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” I really think he should have. I’m thinking that some part of him should always be touching me, but that’s a little scary to admit, so I tell him it’s fine before leading the way to my car.

The second we walked into the house, Wren took off to her room to play. She didn’t even spare either of us a glance. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she was off like a shot. And now, Julian and I are sitting on the couch listening to her play and giggle to herself.

“She seems like a really happy kid,” I say, turning my body to face him as I pull a knee up and tuck it against my chest.

He watches me for a second before he nods. “Yeah, she really is.”

This is awkward, right? Am I the only one who finds this really awkward? What the hell. I’m saved from having to figure out small talk when Wren comes barreling into the room. “Wanna watch a movie, Daddy?” Her little voice is so sweet that there’s no way in hell he’s going to deny her. God knows I couldn’t.

He looks at me. “Is that alright?”

I shrug, playing it up. “Depends. What are we going to watch?”

“Frozen?” Wren suggests, and judging by Julian’s groan, he’s not down for that.

“You know Disney has other movies besides Frozen, right?” he asks, exasperation clear in his voice.

Wren ignores him in favor of spinning in circles, singing Let it Go at the top of her lungs. My lord, how does someone so small create such a loud sound? I grin at Julian. “I think we have to watch Frozen.”

“Fine, fine. Frozen it is.” Wren immediately stops singing. I giggle, unable to help it. She just played him so badly. The indulgent smile he gives her proves he knows and doesn’t even care. I have no room to judge. I would have folded too.

She climbs on the couch between us, settling in, eyes glued to the TV as Julian gets the movie pulled up for us. I settle in too. I won’t admit it out loud, but I also love Frozen.

Wren sings along to every single song, giggling and sometimes even kicking her feet to the beat as she does. When Olaf says his iconic line about being impaled, she lets out a peal of laughter so loud that it makes me laugh too. Fuck, she’s adorable. As the movie goes on, she runs out of steam, her body slumping slowly closer and closer to me until she lifts my arm, clearly wanting me to hold her. As soon as I do and settle my hand on the couch, she’s leaning into me, melting against my side.

I turn toward Julian to find him already watching us. He’s looking at me like I’m something special. It would be easy enough to explain it away. To tell myself that it’s because Wren’s his daughter. When his eyes lock with mine, though, the intensity in his gaze makes my heart race.

We stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. I break first, turning my attention back to the TV. I have to swallow hard a few times, my stomach doing somersaults and my heart pounding furiously in my chest.

Looking down, I notice that Julian’s hand is resting on the couch, no more than an inch from mine. I chance a teeny glance up at him, but his gaze is glued to the movie.

I redirect my attention to the screen, my stomach going absolutely haywire as I slowly inch my hand across the couch toward his. Okay, so it’s actually centimetering. Yes, I know that’s not a real word.Jesus Christ, Holden. It’s not that serious. Grab the man’s hand.

But itisthat serious because I’m a nervous wreck.

Finally, I get my hand close enough to his that our pinkies brush. I have to fight back a gasp at the contact. I glance down again, staring at the tiny connection between our bodies, before looking up quickly. He’s laser focused on the TV, his expressioncompletely neutral, which is honestly good. I’m already nervous enough, which is so stupid. It’s not like I haven’t held someone’s hand before. Hell, I used to hold Roman’s hand all the time.

He slowly twists his wrist until his hand is palm up, resting on the couch. I swallow hard, trying like hell to work up the courage to just fucking do it already. I take a deep breath and lift my hand, then slide my fingers through his.

Chapter Twelve

Julian

I’d been watching Holden struggle for the last five minutes out of the corner of my eye. It wasn’t until his pinky brushed mine that I realized he was struggling with reaching out and holding my hand. I’m not sure if he was unsure about actually holding my hand, or if he was simply nervous about being the one to take that step. The second his fingers slipped into mine, though, I had the feeling that I could spend the next sixty years doing this.

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