Vincent’s POV
For weeks, I had been drowning in frustration. My cancer patient was getting worse, and everything I had tried had come up short. The helplessness of it had been sitting on my chest.
And then she showed up and somehow made it easier to breathe.
I couldn't tell if it was the energy she exuded or the chaos that followed her like a second skin, but this much I knew: her presence increasingly brightened my mood from the moment she walked in through the door.
After we ate, I had gone up to tidy Andrew's room because I knew the storm wasn't letting up anytime soon. She would be more comfortable there than in the guest room.
I straightened Andrew's bed, took my time organizing his room, removing all his clothes that were lying around, then walked back downstairs to get Anne.
On reaching the living room, I noticed Anne was no longer sitting on the couch.
I looked around but there was no sign of her.
I didn't hear her come upstairs and the storm was still raging, so she couldn't have left.
Movement at the far end of the couch caught my attention, but the headrest shielded my view, prompting me to move closer. The sight that met me rooted me to the spot.
Something suddenly tightened in my chest.
There on the couch, Anne was resting her head on the armrest, sound asleep, with the lower part of her legs stretched out on the table.
She had her arm folded underneath her head for support, and just laid there looking so fragile.
She had on loose jeans that had pulled just low enough to reveal the curves of her hips, and a plain yellow t-shirt that had ridden up, exposing her slender waist and a strip of smooth, caramel skin.
I just stood there and stared, trying to figure out what was wrong with me.
It was a bit conflicting. I wanted to shield her, but I also couldn't stop looking. I stared at her face, surprised that someone who caused such a whirlwind wherever she entered could look so completely at peace. My eyes moved down to the soft curves of her bare skin.
Shaking my head at my own ridiculousness, I reached over and gently pulled her top down to cover the exposed skin. I lifted her legs from the table and straightened them along the couch.
I went back upstairs to Andrew's room to retrieve a blanket. My intention was simply to make her comfortable with things she was already familiar with.
Moving quietly so as not to wake her, I pulled the blanket gently over her body.
As I tucked the blanket underneath her, she suddenly shot out her right hand and grabbed mine. I thought she had woken up startled, but to my surprise, she was still completely asleep. She wriggled her body to face the back of the couch, taking my arm right along with her.
Her whole body cuddled my arm. With my palm as her new head support, she rubbed her face against it, making satisfying moaning sounds.
My other hand balled into a fist on reflex and came down on the couch behind her, stopping me from falling forward. She had left me stooped in the most undignified butt-in-air position, one arm completely held hostage, struggling not to topple face-first onto a sleeping girl.
Things weren't getting any easier. Part of my arm was secured, quite comfortably between her breasts. I could feel her softness pressing into me, and then her lavender scent decided it was the perfect time to reach my nose.
The proximity made my groin tighten painfully, giving out a dull throb. The strain of holding my weight spiked my pulse, sending a tremor through my supporting arm. I was barely holding myself up. Our faces were so close that if she just turned toward me, our noses would touch.
"I've missed you, mum," she whispered to my hand.
A smile crept to my face despite my inclined position. The sheer innocence of her words acted like a splash of cold water.
I shook my head, trying to expunge the thoughts that had infiltrated my mind. Then, very slowly, I eased my hand free from Anne's surprisingly firm grip.
Why waking her hadn't occurred to me sooner, I couldn't say. On second thought, though, it was probably for the best. If she had woken up to find me hovering over her, the scenario would have been anything but appealing, too close a resemblance to what my brother had put her through. I didn't want that.
I exhaled slowly, like someone who had just survived hard labor, and settled onto the glass center table.
I considered carrying her up to Andrew's room but decided against it. Partly because she might wake up halfway and panic. But the other reason I couldn't quite justify: I simply wanted to watch her sleep.
So I stayed.
And it turned out I was right to.
The first time she nearly rolled off, I caught her head. The second time, her whole body shifted toward the edge and I caught her again. She didn't stir either time. Didn't even change her breathing.
I tried waking her after the second near fall with a gentle shake of her shoulder, then slightly less gentle, then her name, said directly into her ear.
Nothing.
She slept like the dead.
Her face was the picture of serenity. Her body, however, had its own agenda, and that agenda seemed to involve sliding off furniture and making my evening as complicated as possible.
The blanket was next. She threw it off the first time with a single motion. Her jeans had slipped further down her hips in the process, and her t-shirt was doing very little to stay in place. I pulled the blanket back over her. She threw it off again. I covered her again. She kicked it to the floor.
I picked it up.
This, apparently, was my night now.
Eventually, I moved from the center table to the space at the base of her feet, close enough to reach across and keep the blanket in place without getting up every few minutes. I draped my arm over the edge, holding the blanket loosely against her side. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but it worked.
By now, the rain had eased from its heavy pounding to a light tapping on the roof.
I really tried to stay awake. I kept telling myself I would get up and go to bed every ten minutes, but the warmth of the room, the rhythm of her breathing, even the soothing sound of the rain against the roof, made that very difficult.
My shoulders began to ache, my eyes, which had been watching her, started to feel heavy, and at some point, the voice telling me to get up stopped bothering to speak. My thoughts started turning into nonsensical images of lavender fields and gray stormy skies.
Just as I was beginning to drift off, she fell again.