The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 190

Laura woke up once as the first morning light slipped into the room. When her eyes opened, she saw Franco leaned back on the sofa, and she couldn't tell if he was really asleep or just lost in his own head. All the heavy, restless feelings she’d been carrying around after Franco’s official announcement about being married to Petty suddenly vanished.

Look at this. In the end, she mattered most to Franco.

Last night, Owen had called, telling her Petty would go find Franco. Owen had tried hinting before that they should team up. Laura always turned him down, though. For her, with Franco around, guys like Owen just never measured up. Owen might be great in other people’s eyes, but Laura had never once been interested.

Still, that call had shaken her up more than she’d wanted to admit. Chaos swept over her, and her emotions spiraled until she just broke down. She needed to know, once and for all, who Franco would choose when it really mattered—her or Petty.

And there it was. Franco had shown up to be with her.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of Franco curled up on the sofa, and sent it to Petty. She wanted Petty to see that Franco had stayed by her side all night. It wasn’t really about showing off. Back when she and Petty were still close, they used to share every up and down with each other. Old habits die hard.

But as soon as she set her phone down, she glanced up and found Franco watching her from the sofa. His eyes were dark and empty, colder and more distant than ever. Laura froze, unsettled by the look on his face.

Later, when dusk had crept in, Laura woke again. She instinctively looked toward the sofa, expecting to see Franco, but he was gone. Her heart stuttered, and her pale hands curled into fists.

Right then, the door swung open. Franco walked in, with a doctor and Jay trailing behind him. Franco only spared her a brief, unreadable look.

The doctor came over, his tone gentle. “Laura, how are you feeling? Any discomfort at all?”

Laura pressed her lips together. Thinking about it, there really wasn’t much for her and Franco to talk about. When they did talk, it was always her doing most of the speaking. He listened, or at least pretended to, but she could never be sure if he was paying attention at all. The only thing he made sure to remind her about was eating.

Laura asked the nurse to help her into her wheelchair so she could eat at the table, but the nurse hesitated, concern etched across her face. “Laura, you’re still so weak. Why don’t you eat in bed? I’ll bring the tray up for you. You can sit comfortably against the headboard.”

Laura shook her head. “No, thank you. I want to get up.”

It was something Petty had told her years ago: Franco hated when anyone ate in bed. Laura could still remember Petty, just fifteen back then, complaining about it—how even when she was sick with a fever, Franco had insisted on dragging her out of bed to eat at the dining table, refusing to let her go back until she’d finished her whole bowl of congee.