The next morning, sunlight seeped weakly through the hospital curtains as Oliver slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to focus. The first thing he saw was the white ceiling… then he turned his head slightly and noticed someone sitting in the chair across the room.

It was a man.

Oliver frowned.

His vision was still blurry, but the silhouette sharpened little by little. The stranger was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. He was dressed neatly, though a bit rumpled—like he'd spent the night there.

Which he had.

Grayson hadn't gone home. Not even for a second. He'd stayed beside them the entire night, keeping quiet while Kate slept in a chair next to Oliver. When she drifted off, he asked every question he could think of.

"What's his favorite color?"

"What soccer team does he like?"

"Does he draw?"

"Do needles scare him?"

He wanted to know everything. He had missed everything. And that truth tormented him.

Now, noticing Oliver sti