The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of monitors. Maria sat beside Jordan's bed, her fingers gently wrapped around his limp hand. Four days had passed, and still he hadn't opened his eyes.
"You know," Maria whispered, thinking he couldn't hear her, "I never told you this, but that night in Barcelona... when you took that bullet for me?" She swallowed hard. "That's when I knew."
She traced the outline of his bruised knuckles. "I've spent so long pushing people away. Especially you. God, I was so stupid."
A tear slipped down her cheek. "Just wake up, Jordan. Wake up so I can tell you that I-"
"That you what?"
Maria froze. Jordan's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but his eyes were open—those familiar blue eyes watching her with a hint of their usual mischie
