She nods once. “Then I’m really happy for you.”
At the end of the day, after a long shower and leftovers I barely taste, I curl into the couch with my phone in hand. My body feels pleasantly sore, my mind quiet in a way it hasn’t been in years.
My phone buzzes.
Colton: I attempted to make coffee after you left. This was a mistake.
I smile immediately.
Me: How bad?
Colton: There was coffee everywhere. I’m not ruling out structural damage.
Me: Dramatic.
Colton: I also couldn’t find my keys for ten minutes.
Me: Let me guess. They were in your hand.
There’s a pause.
Colton: I refuse to confirm ordeny this.
I laugh out loud, curling deeper into the couch.
Me: Thank you for this morning.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Colton: Anytime.
Another message follows a few seconds later.
Colton: I keep thinking about you beating me at darts and pool. It feels like a personal failure.
Me: You’ll recover.
Colton: Unlikely.
I set my phone down, warmth spreading through my chest.
When I finally crawl into bed, the apartment feels different. Lived in. Full in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
I fall asleep smiling. Not careful. Not guarded.
Just … happy.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Colton
Friday nights used to feel heavier than this.
Not because they were lonely, but because they carried expectation. Workweeks ended, the hospital quieted, and I was left with time. Space. Too much room for thoughts I didn’t have the energy to entertain.
Tonight feels different.
Sawyer is already at the bar when Dean and I arrive, leaning back against the couch in the corner with the kind of relaxed arrogance that comes from knowing the room is paying attention. He’s dressed well without trying, sleeves rolled, jaw already shadowed, like he planned it that way.
