Chapter 2 Room 415
Two days after Jamison Edwards was rushed into surgery, Tessa Johnson returned from her time off to Piedmont Hospital for her night shift.
She moved through the halls in navy-blue scrubs, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, a badge clipped to her chest, and exhaustion tucked behind her smile.
The hospital was quieter at night, but never truly silent.
Machines beeped. Shoes squeaked against polished floors.
Nurses whispered updates. Families slept awkwardly in chairs, waiting for miracles.
Tessa understood waiting.
She had been waiting for her own heart to stop hurting.
At 10:46 p.m., she finished checking on one of her patients and stepped into the hallway. As she passed ICU room 415, something made her stop.
The door was partly open.
Inside, a man lay still beneath white sheets. Machines surrounded him. Tubes ran from his body. His face was bruised, his lips slightly parted, his dark lashes resting against his cheeks.
Tessa’s breath caught.
It was him.
Not clearly.
Not exactly.
But something in her spirit recognized him before her mind could explain it.
The man from her dream.
Another nurse, Denise, came up beside her. “Sad, isn’t it?”
Tessa blinked. “What happened to him?”
“Robbed and stabbed in a parking deck. They said he almost didn’t make it. Emergency surgery saved him, but he’s still critical.”
Tessa looked at the man again.
“What’s his name?”
“Jamison Edwards.”
The name meant nothing to Tessa, but Denise lowered her voice like it should have.
“Apparently, he’s some big-time businessman. But not one person has come to see him.”
Tessa frowned. “No one?”
“Not a soul. No family. No friends. Not even a girlfriend. Just lawyers calling and some assistant asking for updates he’s not awake to approve.”
Tessa’s heart squeezed.
A man with everything.
And no one was sitting beside him.
Denise sighed. “Anyway, lunch break soon. Are you coming to the break room?”
Tessa glanced at the clock.
Almost eleven.
“Maybe in a minute.”
Denise gave her a knowing look. “Girl, don’t skip eating again.”
“I won’t.”
But when her break started, Tessa did not go to the break room.
She grabbed her lunch bag, the paperback she had been reading, and wandered back down the hall until she stood outside room 415.
For a moment, she hesitated.
“This is strange,” she whispered to herself.
Then she stepped inside.
The room smelled like antiseptic and stillness.
Tessa sat in the corner chair and opened her lunch bag. “Hi, Mr. Edwards,” she said softly. “My name is Tessa. I’m one of the night nurses. Technically, I’m on lunchbreak, so I hope you don’t mind the company.”
He did not move.
Only the machines answered.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Tessa unwrapped her turkey sandwich.
“I heard you haven’t had any visitors,” she continued. “That doesn’t sit right with me. Nobody should be alone in the ICU.”
She took a small bite, chewing slowly as she watched his face.
He looked strong, even as he laid there unconscious. A proud nose. Defined jaw. Smooth white skin now dulled by trauma. His body was still, but something about him seemed restless, like even sleep could not make him surrender.
After she finished eating, Tessa pulled out her book.
“It’s called Ocean by Tiye,” she told him. “I’m not sure what kind of books you like, but tonight, this is what we have.”
She cleared her throat and began reading aloud.
Her voice was soft at first, unsure.
Then steadier.
The words filled the quiet room, weaving through the sound of monitors and distant footsteps. Tessa read about longing, loss, and love that arrived like a tide. She read until her lunch break ended.
When she stood, she placed a gentle hand near the rail of his bed, careful not to touch him without reason.
“I have to go finish my rounds,” she said. “But I’ll check on you later.”
Jamison did not move.
Still, as Tessa left room 415, the ache in her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.
The next night, she returned.
And the night after that.
And the night after that.
Each time, she brought her lunch, sat in the corner, introduced herself again as if he might hear her this time, and read.
Sometimes she talked too.
Not too much at first.
Just little things.
“The cafeteria meatloaf looked suspicious today.”
“My patient in 409 told me I have healing hands.”
“I think the vending machine stole my dollar and honestly that hurt my feelings because it was my last one.”
By the fourth night, Tessa noticed his vitals seemed steadier when she read.
Maybe it was a coincidence.
Maybe not.
On the fifth night, she finished the last chapter of Ocean and closed the book against her chest.
“Well, Mr. Edwards, she whispered, we finished it and man that was a great story.”
The room hummed softly.
She leaned back in the chair, studying his face.
“You scare a lot of people don’t you, even now they’re too busy or too foolish to show up for you.”
Her voice softened.
“I don’t know your life. I don’t know who loves you. But I’m praying somebody does.”
She checked the time and sighed.
“I’m off tomorrow, so I won’t see you until the day after. But don’t get lazy while I’m gone. Keep fighting.”
She stood.
Before leaving, she said a prayer.
“Lord, please heal my new friend. Keep him through the night. Let his body rest, let his heart strengthen, and let him know he is not alone. Amen.”
Then she left.
Jamison Edwards remained still.
But beneath the quiet, beneath the machines, beneath the heavy fog of pain medicine and darkness, something inside him reached toward her voice.
The next day, Tessa tried not to think about him.
She failed.
She woke up around noon and stared at the ceiling, wondering if his vitals had stayed steady. She made coffee and wondered if anyone had visited him. She folded laundry and wondered what kind of man had no one rushed to be by his bedside.
For the first time in a month, she realized she had finally gone almost an entire morning without thinking about Anthony and Nicole.
That stunned her.
Not because the hurt was gone.
It was not.
But because there had been room inside her mind for something else.
Someone else.
Later that evening, Tessa drove to Atlantic Station.
The bookstore was warm and softly lit, smelling of paper, coffee, and possibility. She wandered the aisles slowly, running her fingers over spines, searching for something that felt right.
Romance.
Mystery.
Drama.
Faith.
Then she saw it.
A new release, Thomas by Katie Dowe.
One of her favorite authors.
Tessa smiled and pulled it from the shelf.
“All right, Mr. Edwards,” she murmured. “Let’s see how you like this one.”
The following night, she returned to work eager in a way she refused to examine.
She completed rounds quickly but carefully, then headed toward the ICU with her lunch bag and new book.
But when she reached room 415, her heart dropped.
The bed was empty.
Fresh sheets.
No machines.
No Jamison.
Tessa stepped inside, panic rushing through her.
“No,” she whispered.
Had he died?
Had someone finally come and taken him away?
Had he been transferred?
She checked the hallway, then another room, then the ICU desk, trying not to look frantic and failing.
“Tessa?”
She turned.
Lizzie, one of the swing-shift nurses, walked towards her with a concerned smile.
“You okay?”
Tessa swallowed. “The patient in 415. Jamison Edwards. Do you know what happened to him?”
Lizzie lifted an eyebrow. “You mean the handsome mystery man?”
“Lizzie.”
“All right, all right.” Lizzie walked to the nurses’ station and pulled up the records. “Let’s see.”
Tessa stood beside her, heart pounding.
Lizzie clicked through the chart.
“Oh, honey, breathe. He didn’t die.”
Tessa closed her eyes briefly. “Thank God.”
“He was moved to the third floor. Room 323. No longer critical, he’s stable but still in a coma.”
Tessa’s knees almost weakened with relief.
Lizzie looked over at her, amused. “You seem very invested.”
“I just wanted to know he was okay.”
“Mmhmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Tessa ignored the look on Lizzie’s face, grabbed her lunch and book heading toward the elevator.
Room 323 was quieter than the ICU.
Less urgent.
More peaceful.
Tessa paused outside the door, smoothed a hand over her scrubs, then entered quietly.
Jamison lay in bed, still unconscious, but he looked better. Less pale. Less fragile. The machines were fewer now. The room had a window, though the blinds were half-closed against the night.
Tessa let out a breath.
“There you are,” she whispered.
She sat beside his bed this time, not in the corner.
“You scared me,” she said, opening her lunch bag. “I came back from my days off, and you were just gone. I thought maybe…”
Her throat tightened.
“Well, I’m glad I was wrong.”
She ate slowly, then pulled out the new book.
“I brought you something new. Thomas by Katie Dowe. She’s one of my favorites, so no judging.”
She smiled faintly.
Then she began to read.
For forty-five minutes, her voice wrapped around the room. Warm. Gentle. Full of emotion. She paused sometimes to react to the story, whispering little comments like she was reading to an old friend.
When her break ended, she closed the book and placed it on her lap.
Before standing, she bowed her head.
“Lord, thank you for moving my friend out of the ICU. Please completely heal him. Whatever loneliness he has, whatever pain he carries, please meet him there. Let him wake up stronger than he was before. Amen.”
She stood, gathered her things, and left.
The door clicked softly shut behind her.
For several seconds, nothing moved.
Then Jamison Edwards opened his eyes.
He stared at the ceiling, breathing carefully through the ache in his side.
He had been awake the entire time.
Not fully alert at first, not enough to speak. But enough to hear her.
Her voice.
Her prayers.
Her laughter.
Her strange habit of treating him like he was a friend instead of a body in a bed.
He turned his head toward the chair where she had been sitting.
Tessa.
Nurse Tessa.
He had heard the name from another nurse earlier that evening, before pretending to drift back into sleep.
He should have spoken.
He knew that.
Any decent man would have opened his eyes and thanked her.
But Jamison Edwards had never been especially decent where vulnerability was concerned.
The truth was, he wanted her to come back.
And something told him that if she knew he was awake, everything would change.
People changed when they knew who he was.
They straightened. Performed. Wanted. Asked. Expected.
But Tessa did not know him.
Not the headlines.
Not the money.
Not the reputation.
She simply saw a man alone in a hospital bed and decided that was unacceptable.
Jamison stared at the door.
She was not his type.
That was the first lie he told himself.
His world was full of thin women in designer dresses, blondes with sharp cheekbones, blue or green eyes, polished accents, and family names that opened doors. Women who knew how to smile beside money. Women who understood arrangements without requiring promises.
Tessa was different.
Thick and Curvy. Soft. Black. Blue-collar. Warm in a way he had never trusted.
Beautiful in a way that made no sense to his usual rules.
And so kind.
That was the dangerous part.
Kindness had always cost him something.
But Tessa’s kindness had asked for nothing.
Jamison slowly closed his eyes.
For the first time since the attack, he did not feel alone.
And because he was selfish enough to want that feeling again, he made a decision.
He would stay quiet.
Just for a little while longer.
Just long enough to hear her read to him again.