Chapter 476
476:
She’d gotten used to helping Dylan with his bandages, always taking care not to brush against him for fear of getting thrown out. Dylan had a reputation for being a germaphobe, though he seemed to make exceptions for her. When he carried her home or when she touched him by accident, he never seemed bothered.
While Christina started changing his bandages, her thoughts wandered. Her hand accidentally brushed Dylan’s chest, and she quickly drew it back.
Dylan had been quietly observing her, and when he noticed how fast she pulled away, his brow creased ever so slightly. Every time she helped with the bandages, she acted with such caution, afraid of accidentally touching him. Was she really so uneasy about getting close to him?
Dylan’s chest twisted with a sharp, acidic ache, like swallowing something that scorched on the way down. A profound sense of sadness enveloped him, and the space separating him and Christina felt like a chasm impossible to cross. Maybe Christina still clung to Brendon’s memory—unable to sever that lingering attachment.
Dylan sighed silently and then inhaled to steady himself. It didn’t matter. The journey ahead stretched long, giving him room to change the course. Slowly but surely, he would make his way into Christina’s heart, eclipsing Brendon entirely. In due time, even the faintest memory of Brendon would fade from her soul.
“Sorry, I zoned out,” Christina murmured, slightly embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dylan answered quietly. His face remained composed, though a faint sting lingered beneath the surface. Who had claimed her thoughts in that silence? Was it Brendon again? What made that fool—someone who never valued her—deserve space in her mind?
That idea alone made Dylan’s face cloud over, and his stare darkened with quiet hostility. If Brendon were standing there, Dylan’s glare alone would be enough to tear him apart.
“Should I continue?” Christina asked hesitantly. She noticed the shift in his expression—an edge of tension, maybe even fury.
“Yes, please,” he replied.
Her tentative tone triggered a mix of frustration and resignation in him, and the hardness in his eyes eased.
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Christina turned her attention back to the task, asking gently, “Does the wound still hurt?”
He meant to say it didn’t, but the words changed course. “It hurts.”
“Does it hurt a lot?” she asked, her brow furrowed. Based on her experience treating patients, unless Dylan had strained the wound, it shouldn’t be causing pain now.
“Yeah,” he said coolly, hiding the falsehood behind a flat tone.
“But I checked it myself—it doesn’t look aggravated,” she said, puzzled. Her eyes narrowed, studying him. “Did you strain it again?”
He opened his mouth, intending to deny it, but stopped short. “Maybe when I carried you back last night, I pushed it too hard.”
“You should’ve nudged me awake,” she said softly, her features drawn with remorse. “If you keep overexerting it, things could get worse.”
“It was a minor pull, nothing too bad,” he responded evenly, his voice betraying nothing.
“Next time I drift off, don’t hesitate—wake me,” Christina said with concern. She made a mental note not to fall asleep beside him again.
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