NOLA
The peace of the medical wing was a fragile thing, a glass ornament held together by nothing but exhaustion and the steady, rhythmic beeping of my dad’s monitors. By the time the clock struck midnight, the lighthearted banter about golf clubs and squirrels felt like a lifetime ago. Rhett was still sitting at my feet, his head resting against my knee, but his breathing had changed. It wasn't the slow, heavy rhythm of sleep anymore; it was jagged, a low, vibrating hum that seemed to rattle the very floorboards beneath us.
"Rhett?" I whispered, my fingers still tangled in his hair.
He didn't answer, but his body suddenly went rigid, his muscles roping under his skin like he was bracing for a blow that only he could see coming. The heat radiating off him was no longer the cozy warmth o
