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The laugh slipped out before I could stop it. A mistake. His grin widened immediately.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“Your smile.”

I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile. “Stop being charming.”

“Sorry, baby. I think that would be impossible.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his dramatic sigh made him wince.

“See?”

“Still worth it.” Lane pushed himself carefully off the couch, moving slower than he wanted me to notice. His balance still wasn’t completely steady, and I watched his hand brush the wall for support before he disappeared down the hallway, pretending I hadn’t noticed.

“I think I need medical assistance,” he called over his shoulder. I rolled my eyes and followed like he knew I would.

His room looked exactly like Lane—organized where it mattered, chaotic everywhere else. The bed was made except for the corner where he obviously threw the blanket back every morning. Books crowded the nightstand. His boots sat by the door like he could leave at any second. A framed picture from his high school football days sat crooked on the dresser. Somehow, even the mess felt intentional.

By the time I was done surveying the room, he had already lowered himself onto the mattress and patted the space beside him. A dangerous move.

“Come here.”

“No.”

“I might need assistance.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“With what?”

He gave that exaggerated consideration.

“Various medical needs.”

I shook my head, unable to stop the smile tugging at my mouth.

“You realize you are the worst patient I’ve ever met.”

“You say that like handsome, injured men are a common medical occurrence.”

“You’re a dork.”

The softer smile appeared—the one that always found a way through every defense I had.

“I’ll just sleep better if you’re here.” The smile faded from his face. What remained was the man underneath it—the one who was finally admitting he needed someone.

The last forty-eight hours had scared both of us more than either one of us wanted to admit. The thought of losing someone who had become home before either of us realized it. My eyes traced the bruising along his face, the stitches, the exhaustion hiding behind every joke. Lane let everyone believe he was stronger than he felt. With me, he finally stopped pretending.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” The teasing disappeared so completely it almost startled me. Lane Massey could joke through anything. Pain. Fear. Disappointment. But not this.

Because after Bryant, after everything had been dragged into the light, silence left too much room for memories. And the truth was, the thought of sleeping alone didn’t sound much better to me. I wanted to rest my hand on his chest so I could reassure myself that he was breathing.

A slow breath left my chest. “You better stay on your side.”

His whole face brightened as if I had just given him the best news of his life.