Good.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet touched the floor quietly. She stood up, her movements cautious, and reached for her bag lying on the small table between their beds.
She turned to leave.
Suddenly—
Her wrist was grabbed.
Mia gasped and spun around.
James’s eyes were still closed.
His fingers were wrapped firmly around her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong despite his injuries. His brows were drawn together, his lips parting as a hoarse murmur escaped him.
“Don’t… go.”
Shock froze her in place.
She yanked her wrist once. “Let go of me.” she muttered, trying to pull free.
Instead, his grip tightened.
She tugged harder, frustration surging—and then he groaned sharply, his face contorting in pain.
That stopped her instantly.
Her shoulders sagged.
No matter how much she didn’t want to care, she couldn’t watch him suffer—especially after he had just saved her life.
With an irritated sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. Carefully, she adjusted his arm so it rested more comfortably, easing the strain.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The hospital room grew quiet, the steady beep of machines filling the space. Mia leaned back against the headboard without realizing it, exhaustion pulling her down. Her eyes closed slowly.
When she stirred again, the room was dimmer.
James’s grip had loosened.
Carefully, she eased her hand out of his and stood up.
But the moment she straightened—
James groaned.
His eyes fluttered open.
“Mia?” he murmured.
Mia stopped in her tracks.
He winced, breath uneven, but his eyes lifted and locked onto hers.
James struggled to sit up, biting back another groan as pain flashed across his face. He leaned against the headboard, breathing hard.
