Rayne
Morning crept in through the blinds like a soft ache behind my eyes. The light wasn’t harsh—more like a warm haze—but it still made my head pound a little harder.
I blinked against it, letting my eyes adjust, waiting for the room to settle back into focus.
And when it did, I saw him.
Reed.
Curled up in the plastic chair beside my bed like he’d been there all night. Elbows propped on the edge of the mattress, chin resting on his arms, staring at me with wide, worried eyes.
There was no anger in his expression.
No hurt. No distance.
Just relief.
And love.
Like the night before had never happened. Like he hadn’t stood in the hallway with fire in his eyes and divorce in his mouth.
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting up straighter when he saw my eyes open. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah,” I croaked, my voice still raw. “Barely.”
His face lit up. “Thank the goddess.”
Before I could say anything else, he was fussing—reaching for the cup of water by the bed, checking the blanket, fluffing my pillow l
