Larry woke to the familiar hum of hospital machinery, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air. The sharp pain from the night before had dulled into a deep, lingering ache in his ribs. His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open, his gaze adjusting to the dim glow of the bedside monitor.
Lauren was there.
She was curled up in the chair beside his bed, arms folded, her head resting against the backrest. Her breathing was slow, steady—she must have fallen asleep at some point. He should tell her to go home, to take care of herself instead of hovering over him like some kind of stubborn guardian angel.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he just watched her for a moment, a strange warmth creeping into his chest. He wasn’t sure when it had started—this quiet reliance on her presence—but he
