Maxwell's POV
I woke to the sound of rain.
Not the violent, angry downpour from last night, but a steady, persistent drumming against the windows.
My eyes opened slowly, and for a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, taking inventory of my body.
Everything hurt, but it was a dull, manageable hurt now instead of the sharp, burning agony from before. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped bands around my ribs, but I could breathe without wanting to die.
Progress.
I turned my head and found the other side of the bed empty, the covers thrown back carelessly.
Ian was gone.
I reached for my phone - which wasn't there, because I'd thrown it on the beach last night - and looked at the clock on the nightstand instead.
1:03 PM.
I'd slept for... God. I'd slept like a dead man.
Almost was a dead man, I reminded myself.
I sat up slowly, testing my body's limits, and was pleasantly surprised when the room didn't spin and I didn't immediately collapse.
