The warmth of his touch seeps through my hospital gown, and a tiny part of me preens at how quickly he abandoned her to tend to me. Which makes me feel like a terrible person because who gets jealous of their own kitten?
Me, apparently.
I probably need to go to confession for that one. How does that work? Does it only work for Catholics?
Princess Paws, oblivious to my internal crisis, bats at my IV line like it's her favorite toy. The tubing swings back and forth, only enticing her to play with it even harder.
"Hey now, princess." Logan catches her paw mid-swipe. "That's not a toy."
She switches targets, attacking his fingers instead. Her tiny teeth barely make an impression on his skin, but he plays along, wiggling his hand while she pounces.
My breathing steadies under his other hand's gentle pressure. The coughing subsides, leaving behind that familiar burning sensation. Logan reaches for the cup of ice chips on the bedside table, but doesn't move away from me.
