CelesteHe woke up on a bright afternoon, two days later.“Celeste.”My head snapped up. He was looking at me—groggy, pale, but looking at me with those familiar eyes, and I felt the last knot in my chest finally come loose.“You’re awake.” I stood, moving closer, blinking fast. “You’re actually awake.”“Did I scare you?” he asked. His voice was rough and faint.“Terribly,” I said. A sound escaped me, half laugh, half sob. “You scared me so badly; I don’t think I will ever fully recover. And I’m glad. I’m so glad you’re here.”He looked at me for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. It was a tired, crooked smile.Recovery was slow, and then it was fast. Each morning, he was a little more himself, sitting up straighter, eating more, making complaints about hospital food, and teasing me for fussing.The day the doctor came to discharge him, Jace practically lit up.“Mr. Monroe,” the doctor said, amused. “I see someone is eager to leave.”“Desperately,” Jace replied. I hid my smile behind
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