The late-morning light spills across the king-sized mattress, cutting through the heavy curtains.
I wake up slowly, my mind drifting out of the deepest, most unbroken sleep I’ve had in months. I feel warm and cocooned in the bedsheets.
Beside me, the bed dips heavily under a massive, solid weight.
Locke is still fast asleep.
It’s a rare sight.
Usually, Locke is awake before dawn, his mind already turned toward logistics and the tactical edge. But two weeks away on that dark run, combined with the emotional shock of yesterday’s hospital visit, have completely claimed him.
He’s lying on his side facing me, one massive, tattooed arm thrown loosely and protectively over my waist, holding me gently against him.
I lie still for a long moment, watching the subtle rise and fall of his bro
