Chapter 8

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and regret, a sterile prison where Ryan lay trapped by his own choices. His leg throbbed beneath the cast, a dull ache that played against the growing unease in his chest. Days had passed since the crash since he’d swerved to save Rose and woken up here, bruised and battered but alive. Selena had been a constant, her visits a blur of soft words and forced smiles, but Diana hadn’t come. Not once. He’d expected her quiet presence, her steady hands adjusting his pillows like she always did when he was sick. The absence gnawed at him, a silence louder than the beeping monitors. He shifted, wincing as he reached for his phone. He’d called her yesterday, the day before every attempt met with a deadline, a void where her voice should’ve been. “She’s just mad,” he muttered to himself, dialing again. Nothing. He frowned, the unease sharpening into something like fear. When he’d been laid up with the flu years ago, Diana had hovered soup simmer