makes them shine.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me.
“With you?” I reply. “Like I’m in a dream.”
He hugs me tight. A touch too tight, but I’m not complaining. Any type of contact with this man feels wonderful.
He places his chin on my crown. “This is a good place,” he tells me. “We can spend months here. However long you need, Lilly. I’m with you, every step of the way.”
I stiffen a bit. He worries about me. I know. He thinks I’m still delicate, that I still need his protection. And while that’s not entirely untrue, it undermines some of the progress I’ve made on my own.
I’m still healing. The worst is past, but it’s only this week that Dr. Telfair deemed me well enough to travel. And only by land or sea, not by air.
Jeremy told me how he waited at my side while I slept. He told me how he stayed and prayed and held out hope when nobody else believed there was such. He told me how without me, he was lost. And what a miracle it was when I stirred, and opened my eyes.
I love him for that. When all the lights had faded, when both our futures seemed doomed, he stayed true. His belief in me, in my recovery, gave me a second chance. Gave us a second chance.
Or maybe a third, or a fourth, or a fifth? How many times had darkness taken hold, only to have that ray of light that is Jeremy Stonehart shine through and illumine the way?
I know I’ve been given my share of chances. I know that not everybody survives. Love is strong, but even love cannot overcome everything, not when the stakes are so high.
Except in our case? Love did triumph. Love conquered all.
“Thank you, Jeremy,” I say. I keep my features placid. “That’s very sweet.”
He acknowledges my reply with something of a grunt.
Of course, he’s still Jeremy. He’s still Jeremy Stonehart , the man who could have had the world. The man who did have the world, but gave all that up to be with…
Me.
So I forgive him for being worried. Of course he would be protective. Especially when there are still lingering effects of my year-long coma.
Physical therapy helped. Post-traumatic counselling helped. My muscles had all-but wasted away when I awoke. I had to learn how to walk again, how to use my arms and my legs, hell—even how to breathe on my own.
Jeremy stood with me at every single moment.
There were trying times in the immediate aftermath. Times when I felt frail, disoriented, confused. Times when it felt like I would go weeks without taking a solid step forward. Times when, even though I was alive and with Jeremy, my life felt dark.
But Dr. Telfair and his team set up a recovery program for me, and I stayed at it diligently, even when I wanted to give up, even when I wanted to throw everything down and cry from my lack of progress.
Yet progress did come. I was released from the hospital in three months. Jeremy and I stayed at his nearby apartment. The second stage of my recovery happened there. Then we returned to California, to his mansion, where I continued to progress. I took up painting to fill the time, something I could do without feeling physically exhausted, and something I had an unexplored affinity for thanks to my late father.
And now, months and months after that, I’m finally strong enough to begin feeling like myself.
My greatest fear through the process was that Jeremy would give up. That his loyalty to me would waver, that he would find the strong woman he fell in love with missing, and that we would drift apart.
So far, every one of my worries has proved unfounded.
I’m still not one hundred percent. There are days I feel weak. Days where the slightest activity drains me of all my energy. There’s sudden-onset fatigue, which comes and goes at random…but even that has been improving.
Sometimes, I get vertigo. My vision spins, and I feel dizzy. Bright lights can over-stimulate me, as can loud noises. It’s worse when emotions run high, coupled with any other type of sensory