Five days into the week Louis had requested, Ral sat in the hospital room that had become his prison and stared at his phone with the desperation of someone drowning in silence. She had not called, had not texted beyond that initial message, and every hour of quiet felt like another nail in the coffin of their relationship.
Vincent limped into the room without knocking, his own injuries still healing but his spirits frustratingly optimistic. "Boss, you look like death warmed over."
"Feel worse," Ral admitted. "How are you here? I thought the doctors said another week of bed rest minimum."
"Doctors say a lot of things. None of them understand that staying in bed makes you weaker, not stronger." Vincent settled into the visitor's chair with a groan that suggested his bravado exceeded his
