But looking at his battered face, the bruises already darkening, the blood still drying in his hair, belief felt very far away.
"I need to examine you properly," I said, pulling my hand back. "You need imaging. X-rays, CT scan, rule out internal bleeding."
"Ava—"
"Dr. Chen." I turned to the resident hovering nearby. "Order a full trauma workup. Chest X-ray, head CT, and complete metabolic panel. I want him admitted overnight for observation."
"Dr. Rothwell, maybe you should let someone else?—"
"Now, Dr. Chen."
He scrambled to comply. I turned back to Brian and pulled the professional mask firmly into place.
It was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
The scans came back clean.
I stood in the radiology suite, staring at Brian's chest X-ray on the lightboard, and let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
No fractures. No pneumothorax. No internal bleeding.
Just bruises. Deep, painful bruises that would take weeks to fully heal—but nothing broken. Nothing that wouldn’t heal.
"Thank God," I whispered to the empty room.
Dr. Chen appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Rothwell? The CT results are in. No intracranial bleeding, no orbital fractures. He's cleared."
I nodded. Kept staring at the X-ray.
"He's lucky," Chen said quietly. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They hurt him without causing any permanent damage."
That was the part that terrified me most. The precision of it. The professionalism.
This wasn't rage. This was a warning.
They admitted him overnight to monitor for internal bleeding.
I pulled strings, called in favors, and made sure he had the best room and the most attentive nurses. I handled everything with ruthless efficiency. Because efficiency was all I had left. If I stopped moving, I would shatter.
The crew came. Shane's face went hard when he saw Brian's injuries. Garrett was silent and watchful as he took up position by the door. Maya held my hand and didn't let go.
They stayed until visiting hours ended. One by one, they hugged me, promised to come back tomorrow, and told me to call if I needed anything.
Shane and Maya were the last to leave.
"This isn't your fault," Shane said quietly. "Whatever guilt is eating at you—this isn't your fault. The Langs did this. Not you."
I nodded because I couldn't speak.
Then it was just me and Brian and the steady beep of the monitors.
He fell asleep around eleven.
The pain meds pulled him under gradually, his grip on my hand loosening, his breathing evening out. I sat in the chair beside his bed and watched his chest rise and fall.
His face was worse now than it had been hours ago. The swelling had spread, the bruises darkening from red to purple. Tomorrow they'd be black. Tomorrow, he'd look like someone had tried to kill him.
Because of me.
