Someone was in the room with me. I thought it might be the night nurse, and tried to scrub an itch by my eye, but was too drowsy to lift my hand. They must have upped the dose on my medicines because even my tongue felt numb. I finally opened my eyes, rolled my head to one side. A figure sat slumped in the chair by my bed, head bent into one hand with elbow propped on knee, other hand extended and resting on the back of my hand. I knew that silhouette. “Ryder?” I whispered. He stiffened slightly, raised his head. The only light in the room slipped pale and watery from under the door, just enough to see his face. Had he been crying? “Delaney.” Spoken so softly, though there were only the two of us in the room. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” My heart picked up a beat. Was there something else that had happened?
