The storm had broken.
And we had chosen each other, fully and completely.
After a long, peaceful moment, I gave a little wince as a sharp twinge throbbed in my head. The knot had reasserted itself. I adjusted myself slightly in the bed, the movement awkward and cumbersome.
Austin pulled back immediately, his face etched with concern. “You okay? Do you need the nurse? Pain meds?”
“Probably a good idea,” I said, offering him a slightly mischievous grin. “It’s just… wow. That was a pretty heavy conversation for someone who just woke up from surgery. You know, after all that, you definitely owe me some serious chocolate. Artisan, not some Pennsylvania shit—I mean nonsense!”
A sound rumbled deep in his chest. It was a dull, rusty sound at first, as if the mechanism was long out of use. But it grew, and for the first time since I’d met him, Austin Coleridge threw his head back and laughed. A real, full, unguarded laugh that filled the hospital room with the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
It was the sound of hope.
The sound of healing.
The sound of home.
Chapter Thirty
AUSTIN
The hospital roomsmelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers, a scent I was already desperate to leave behind. After two days in the hospital, Iris was dressed in real clothes—a soft, yellow sundress Brenna had bought for her—and was sitting in a wheelchair by the window, looking pale but stubborn. Her left leg, encased in a thick, bulky dressing of gauze and wrapped bandage, was propped up on the leg rests, fully non-weight-bearing. The headache from her concussion was mostly gone, and her team of doctors pronounced her good enough for home.
Which was more than good enough for me.
A nurse with a no-nonsense ponytail was firing off a list of instructions, pointing to a small pharmacy bag of prescription bottles on the bedside table that I’d picked up. "The anticoagulant pill is once a day. Make sure you take it at the same time each morning. Set an alarm on your phone if you have to. It's important." She tapped the other bottle. "Now, for the pain medication. Thisis for when you need it. The key is to stay ahead of the pain. It’s much easier to keep it at a manageable level than to chase it down after it's roaring. Don't try to be a hero. Listen to your body."
Iris was nodding, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. Her gaze kept drifting to the window, to the slice of blue sky visible beyond the parking lot. I, on the other hand, was laser-focused, committing every word the nurse said to memory.
Anticoagulants, same time daily. Pain meds, stay ahead of it. Keep the leg elevated.
The instructions were a new set of nautical charts I had to learn, and I’d be damned if I was going to run us aground.
"And a follow-up with Dr. Starling in ten days," the nurse finished, handing me a slip of paper with the appointment details. "He'll check the incision and likely get you fitted for a proper walking boot then. But be patient, okay?"
"So what you're saying is I'm officially a professional lounger for the next six weeks?" Iris asked, trying for a bright, breezy tone that didn't quite hide the frustration in her eyes.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," the nurse said with a firm, not-unkind smile.
I took the bag of medications and the appointment slip. “What I'm hearing is no weight on that leg. At all.” I leveled a hard stare at Iris. "We’ve got it."
She met my gaze, her defiant expression softening into a small, weary smile. "Got it, Captain."
Navigating the hospital hallways with Iris in the wheelchair was an exercise in slow, deliberate torture. I just focused on getting her out, my hand a steady weight on her shoulder as a hospital worker guided the wheelchair.
When we made it out into the blinding Florida sun and the soupy air of the parking lot, the real logistical challenge presented itself. My truck, which had always been only transportation, now looked like a damn monster truck. Its passenger seat was a sheer cliff face.
"Okay," Iris said, taking the crutches from me and maneuvering them under her arms only a little awkwardly. "I can do this. Just give me a second to figure out the geometry."
She wobbled, trying to find her balance on one foot while preparing to heave herself up into the cab. It was a disaster waiting to happen. Another fall. Another hollow thud.
No.
I took the crutches from her and tossed them into the back seat without a word.
"Hey!" she protested, one hand on her hip while the other held onto the doorframe, a flash of her old, stubborn fire in her eyes. "I'm not helpless, Austin. It's just a truck, not Mount Everest."
"Nope." Before she could argue further, I bent down, slid one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and scooped her up into my arms.
