Chapter 162
Diana's POV
The doctor had cleared me for discharge yesterday, so this would be my last morning waking up to the antiseptic smell and the soft beep of monitors.
I stared at the ceiling tiles, counting the water stains I'd memorized over the past two weeks. Every day, Jack Harrison shows up like clockwork. Bringing books I'd mentioned in passing. Sneaking in decent coffee when the hospital brew made me wince. Sitting through my physical therapy sessions, his presence steady and unobtrusive in the corner.
I didn't know what to do with that.
The nurse bustled in with her morning checklist, all efficiency and cheer. "Good morning! How's our star patient? Ready to break out of here?"
"More than ready." I tried to sit up straighter and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced through my side.
"Easy, easy." She adjusted my pillows with practiced hands. "You're healing beautifully, but you're not superhuman. Your boyfriend's been saying the same thing—told me yesterday you'd probably try to do too much too fast."
Heat crept up my neck. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Oh?" She gave me a knowing smile as she checked my vitals. "Could've fooled me. The way he looks at you..." She shook her head, still smiling. "Well, whatever you want to call him, he's a keeper. Not many men would camp out in a hospital for weeks like that."
I wanted to correct her again, explain that Jack was just being kind, that this was probably guilt over the case that had put me here. But the words stuck in my throat.
Maybe because I wasn't sure I believed them anymore.
After she left, I sat with that thought. Jack's care hadn't felt obligatory. There was something in the way he'd remembered how I took my coffee, the way he'd quietly rearranged his schedule around visiting hours, the way he'd looked at me when he thought I was asleep—like I mattered. Like I was more than a work colleague who'd gotten caught in the crossfire.
But my mother's voice echoed in my head, a warning I'd carried for years: Men are good at pretending to care when they want something. Don't fall for it.
The problem was, I couldn't figure out what Jack would want from me. I had nothing to offer him—no connections, no leverage, nothing but a half-broken body and a tendency to take on impossible cases.
The door opened again. Jack stepped in, and my traitorous heart did a little skip.
He was carrying a paper bag from Stella's, the coffee shop three blocks from my apartment that I'd mentioned exactly once, in passing, two days ago. The smell of fresh croissants filled the room.
"You remembered." The words came out before I could stop them.
Jack shrugged, but there was something almost shy in the gesture. "You said their lattes were the only thing you missed about being home. Figured I'd bring home to you."
He set the bag on the rolling table and pulled out a cup, handing it to me carefully. Our fingers brushed. I tried not to notice.
"How are you feeling?" He settled into the chair beside my bed. "Scale of one to ten."
"About a seven." I took a sip of the latte. Perfect temperature, perfect sweetness. Of course he'd remembered that too. "Better than yesterday."
"That's good." His eyes searched my face. "You look less pale."
"I'm okay," I said quietly. "Really."
"I know. I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was starting to recognize as his tell when he was trying to find the right words. "I need you to take it easy. Doctor's orders."
"Doctor's orders or Jack's orders?"
"Both." He met my eyes, and there was no humor in his expression now. "Promise me you won't push yourself too hard. I know you, Diana. I know you're going to want to jump back into work, prove you're fine. But you need time to heal."
The intensity in his voice made my chest tight. I looked away, focusing on my latte. "I promise I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then the door burst open and Rachel came in, followed by Sophia, both of them carrying flowers and wearing identical expressions of relief.
"Diana!" Rachel set her bouquet on the windowsill and rushed over. "You're really getting out today?"
"That's the plan."
"Thank God." Sophia arranged her flowers—sunflowers, my favorites—and gave me a careful hug. "We've been so worried. Lena wanted to be here, but she's dealing with some last-minute things on the Marcus case. She said she'll come by your place later to check on you."
"She doesn't need to do that."
"Try stopping her." Rachel grinned. "You know how she gets."
Sophia glanced between me and Jack, who had stood when they entered and was now hovering near the foot of my bed. A knowing smile crossed her face. "Well, it looks like you're in good hands with Jack here. We'll get out of your hair."
"You don't have to—"
"Oh, we absolutely do." Rachel was already heading for the door. "We'll come by your place in a few days, keep you company, bring terrible movies, and funny topics. But right now, Jack's got this covered."
"Completely covered," Sophia agreed. She winked at me. "Feel better, Diana. And listen to your doctor. And Jack."
They were gone before I could protest.
I looked at Jack, who had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I think they're playing matchmaker."
"I think you're right." He cleared his throat. "But if you'd rather I call someone else to take you home—"
"No." The word came out too quickly. I tried to sound more casual. "I mean, you're already here. It would be silly to make someone else come all the way out."
"Right. Practical." But there was something in his eyes that suggested he'd heard what I hadn't said: I want you to stay.
The nurse returned with discharge papers and a wheelchair. I eyed it with distaste.
"Hospital policy," she said cheerfully. "Everyone leaves in a chair, no exceptions."
"I can walk."
"Diana." Jack's voice was gentle but firm. "Don't."
I wanted to argue, but the truth was, I wasn't sure I could make it to the elevator without help. My ribs were screaming just from sitting upright.
"Fine." I let Jack help me into the wheelchair, hating how weak I felt, how much I had to rely on him.
He seemed to sense my frustration. As he pushed me down the corridor, he said quietly, "It's not weakness to accept help, you know."
"Easy for you to say."
"Is it?" There was an edge to his voice. "I spent years thinking I had to handle everything alone. That asking for help was admitting defeat. It's a miserable way to live, Diana."
I glanced back at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. "What changed?"
"I watched someone I care about nearly destroy herself trying to be invincible." His hands tightened slightly on the wheelchair handles. "I don't want to see you make the same mistake."
We reached the elevator. As the doors slid shut, enclosing us in the small space, I felt the weight of his words settle over me. Someone he cared about. Was he talking about his family? Or...
No. I couldn't let myself go there.
The parking garage was cold after the warmth of the hospital. Jack had parked close to the elevator, and he brought the car around so I wouldn't have to walk far. When he opened the passenger door, I tried to maneuver myself in, but my ribs had other ideas. I gasped, freezing halfway into the seat.