When he woke, the room was darker, and Vivi was the only one there. She’d changed clothes finally—someone must havebrought her something—but she was still in the same chair, her head tilted back, eyes closed.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly.
Her eyes opened. “You asked me to.”
“You should get some real sleep. In a real bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
She smiled faintly. “Takes one to know one.” She reached for a cup of what looked like hours-old coffee on the side table. “Besides, I’m not leaving until Sabin’s awake and talking to me again.”
The medication was clearing from his system, his thoughts becoming sharper. “You think Daphne can bring him back?”
“She has to.” Vivi’s voice was matter-of-fact, allowing no room for doubt. “He’s in there somewhere. I saw him fight through it at the warehouse.”
“You did,” Dom agreed, remembering the flicker of recognition in Sabin’s eyes when Vivi had pressed the icon into his hand. “That’s a good sign.”
Silence stretched between them.
“You saved my life,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Taking that bullet.”
“Don’t make it a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Dom. You could’ve died.”
He shifted his good arm, reaching for her hand. “Worth it.”
She took his hand but shook her head. “Nothing’s worth that.”
“You are,” he said simply.
She looked away, but her fingers tightened around his.
Time slipped by. The facility settled into its nighttime rhythm, the hallway outside his room quieter, the overhead lights dimmed. Moonlight seeped through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the foot of his bed and the floor beyond. Thepain medication had settled into his system, leaving him drowsy but not unconscious.
He drifted in and out of light sleep, always aware of Vivi’s presence beside him. At some point, she’d moved her chair closer to his bed and was now slumped forward, her head resting on her arms at the edge of his mattress, finally surrendering to exhaustion.
He woke more fully sometime later. The moonlight had shifted, the stripes now falling across Vivi’s blonde hair, turning it silver. She was still asleep, her breathing deep and even, her face turned toward him, her hand still loosely holding his.
In the quiet darkness, with the pain dulled and his mind cleared of the heaviest medication fog, he remembered the moment in the van when he’d thought he was dying. Remembered trying to tell her he loved her. Remembered her refusing to hear it.
He squeezed her hand gently.
Her eyes opened immediately. She blinked, orienting herself, then sat up. “You okay? Need the nurse?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just... watching you sleep.”
She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Creepy.”
He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re high on pain meds.”
“Not that high.” He reached for her hand again. “Can I say it yet?”
“Say what?”
