Then a voice, close to my ear, while I lay on the concrete trying to remember how to breathe.
“Tell Dr. Rothwell next time, it'll be bad enough that she won't be able to put you back together.”
Someone must have found me. Called 911. The next thing I remembered was the ER—fluorescent lights, voices barking orders, and Ava's face swimming into focus above me. Her hands on my chest, gentle despite the clinical efficiency. Her voice, steady and professional, was giving instructions I couldn't quite follow.
But her eyes. Terrified.
I'd tried to tell her I was okay. Tried to make a joke about seeing the state of other guys. She hadn't laughed. Just kept working, kept examining, kept holding herself together with the kind of rigid control that meant she was falling apart inside.
Don't blame yourself,I'd told her.This isn't your fault.
She hadn't believed me. I'd seen it in her face.
And now?—
I opened my eyes fully, blinking against the harsh hospital light. The room was quiet. Too quiet. The chair beside my bed was empty, the jacket Ava had been wearing last night gone.
No coffee cup on the side table. No book. No sign she'd been here at all.
"Ava?"
My voice came out rough, scraped raw. No answer.
I reached for the call button and pressed it. A minute later, a nurse appeared in the doorway—Jenny, I remembered. She'd been here last night.
"Mr. Torres. Good, you're awake. How's the pain?"
"Where's Dr. Rothwell?"
Jenny's expression flickered. Something careful sliding into place behind her eyes.
"She left a few hours ago. Said she had to take care of something important."
"Take care of what? Where did she go?"
"I'm not sure. She asked Dr. Chen to handle your discharge paperwork." Jenny moved to check my vitals, her movementsbrisk and professional. "Your scans came back clear—no fractures, no internal bleeding. Just deep bruising across your ribs. You'll be sore for a while, but nothing's broken." She offered a small smile. "You got lucky."
I wasn't listening anymore.
Ava had left. In the middle of the night, while I was sleeping, she'd walked out of this room without waking me, without saying goodbye.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
"I need my phone."
Jenny handed it to me from the side table. I called Ava immediately. It rang once, twice, three times—then voicemail.
Hi, you've reached Dr. Ava Rothwell. Leave a message.
"Ava. Call me back. Please."
I hung up. Stared at the phone in my hand.
She wouldn't just leave. Not without telling me. Not after everything we'd been through, everything we'd built. Ava was many things—stubborn, fiercely independent, terrible at asking for help—but she wasn't the kind of person who disappeared without a word.
Unless she thought she had to.
I called Shane.
