“I actively, passionately hate you.”
“Still no.” He sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at me with an expression I can’t quite read. “Close your eyes.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Close them anyway.”
“Stone—”
“Josie.” His voice softens. “Please. Just try.”
I want to keep arguing. Want to prove that I’m fine, that I don’t need to be coddled, that I’m perfectly capable of managing my own recovery.
But the pills are starting to kick in, spreading warmth through my limbs, and the bed is soft, and Stone is looking at me with those gray eyes that see too much, and I’m so, so tired.
“Fine,” I mumble. “But I’m not going to sleep. I’m just going to rest my eyes.”
“Whatever you say.”
I close my eyes. The darkness is immediate, welcoming, pulling me down toward the soft, quiet bliss of sleep.
I hear Stone move—the creak of leather, the thud of boots hitting the floor.
My eyes fly open. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you stay put.” He stretches out on the bed beside me, on top of the covers, one arm folded behind his head. The mattress dips under his weight, and suddenly he’sright there—warm and solid and close enough that I can smell leather and soap.
“Stone—”
“Close your eyes, Josie.”
“This is?—”
“Rest.”
I should argue. This is inappropriate and unnecessary. I absolutely don’t need a babysitter. But the warmth of him beside me is testing my resolve, and the pills are dragging me under, and I’m so tired of fighting everything all the time.
“Fine,” I whisper. “But I’m not going to sleep.”
“Whatever you say.”
I close my eyes again. The darkness pulls me down, soft and welcoming.
The last thing I feel before sleep claims me is his hand finding mine on the blanket, his fingers intertwining with mine.
I don’t pull away.
I wake to the smell of leather and the sound of steady breathing.
For a moment, I’m disoriented. The light has changed—it’s late evening—and my body feels heavy and loose, the pain meds still working their way through my system.
Then I register the warmth beside me.
Stone.
He’s lying on top of the covers next to me, still fully dressed, one arm behind his head. His eyes are closed, his breathing even, the hard lines of his face softened by sleep.
He’s stayed.
