I don’t know how long I’d been asleep. All I knew was that the warmth wrapped around me was no longer just the hospital blanket but Braxton himself, his arms looped securely around my waist, my head nestled against his shoulder, and the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
It was surreal, honestly. This wasn’t how people looked after being shot in the chest less than a day ago. But there he was, solid and warm and breathing, like nothing had ever happened.
My body shifted slightly, trying to ease the stiffness in my legs without waking him. But he stirred anyway, his hand trailing gently along my spine in reassurance.
“You’re still here,” he murmured, sweetly. He still had the remnant of sleep, but he smiled.
“Of course,” I said, not even opening my eyes. “I wasn’t going to
