Because I do.
I love him so damn much.
The doctor tries to usher me out after a few minutes.
David glares at him like he’s personally offended by gravity.
“She stays,” he growls.
The doctor mutters something about liability and leaves.
David shifts painfully.
“Where are my pants?”
I blink. “What?”
“My pants,” he insists, stubborn even half-drugged.
A nurse sighs and hands over a clear plastic bag with his belongings.
He winces as he pushes himself more upright.
“Don’t,” I say immediately. “You’re hurt.”
“Sunshine,” he murmurs. “Trust me.”
He fishes inside the bag.
His fingers come out stained faintly red.
I gasp.
“Don’t look at the blood,” he says quietly. “Look here at this.”
And then—he pulls out a small blue box.
My brain cannot process it.
Not here.
Not now.
Not after—he flips it open with shaking fingers.
The square cut yellow diamond catches the fluorescent light.
Sharp.
Bright.
Unreal.
“I was bringing this to you,” he says, voice rough but steady. “Before the storm. Before the crash. Before everything.”
Tears spill instantly.
“David—”