His gaze holds mine, intense but warm, like he’s seeing me more clearly now, not as the woman he wants, but the one who’s lived through something that shaped her.
He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing beneath my eye. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I swallow. “I don’t always feel that way.”
“That doesn’t change the truth,” he replies.
We stay like this for a while. Close, quiet, and unhurried.No urgency to move, no need to fill the space with words or distraction.
Eventually, I rest my head back against his shoulder, fitting there like it’s always belonged.
Colton shifts slightly beneath me, rearranging the blanket over my legs, making sure I’m warm without asking. The gesture is so simple, so domestic, that it makes my throat tighten unexpectedly.
I’m falling. Not dramatically. Not recklessly.
But steadily. Quietly. In a way that feels earned.
And as I sit there in his arms, the city glowing outside the windows, I realize the truth that both comforts and terrifies me in equal measure.
I don’t feel like I’m replacing anything I lost.
I feel like I’m allowing something new to exist beside it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Colton
Iknow before I open the chart.
It’s not the numbers yet. It’s the way Frank is watching me. It’s not casually, not with his usual humor, sharpened just enough to make a point. He’s quiet today, eyes alert in a way that feels intentional, like he’s already braced himself for what I’m about to say.
He’s sitting upright in bed, pillows stacked behind him, shoulders more pronounced than they should be. His wife, Diane, is perched on the edge beside him, one hand wrapped around his forearm. She looks tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixes either. It’s the kind that settles in when you’ve been paying attention too long.
“Morning, Doc,” Frank says. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I slept,” I say, setting the tablet down on the counter.
He snorts. “That bad, huh?”
I don’t answer right away. I glance at Melissa instead, who’s standing near the IV pole, her expression neutral but her posture attentive. She’s already clocked the shift in energy—the way I’m moving more deliberately than usual.
“How’re you feeling today?” I ask Frank.
He shrugs. “Like shit, but creatively.”
Diane rolls her eyes. “He’s been workshopping jokes since six a.m.”
“Can’t waste good material,” Frank says. “You never know when it’s your last audience.”
Melissa stiffens almost imperceptibly.
“Frank,” Diane murmurs.
“What?” he says mildly. “We’ve established I don’t do denial.”
I pull up his labs, scrolling carefully, slower than I need to. I already know what they say. I’ve known since they posted overnight.
“This isn’t my favorite set of numbers,” I say finally.
