As I press one more kiss to the side of her cheek, my heart feels a little lighter after my confession, but my soul is a bit wary of the road ahead. When I lean back, my eyes still trained on hers, I become cognizant that one of the doctors who’d stood in the corner of the room is now on the opposite side of the bed. But when I switch my focus from Beaux to him, ready to ask a zillion questions about her status and prognosis, I realize he’s not a doctor at all, not even in uniform as are most of the people in this hospital. My gaze trails up the Levi jeans, muscular arms crossed over his wrinkled T-shirt, unshaven jaw, and then stop when I meet tired but demanding blue eyes.

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