Ethan moves at the foot of the bed, his body angling toward Lila like he’s ready to challenge her competence, which is ridiculous because he knows her. He also knows she’s good. His agitation has nothing to do with skill and everything to do with the fact that I’m on a gurney instead of in my kitchen.
“How bad,” he asks, his voice clipped.
Lila glances at him, then back at me. “Seatbelt bruising across her chest and shoulder. Laceration to the forehead, another along the cheek. Likely muscle strain in the neck.” Her fingers pause briefly at my temple before she straightens. “She has a concussion. No obvious neurological deficits so far, but the CT is already ordered to rule out internal bleeding or other injuries. I don’t take chances with head trauma.”
Ethan’s throat works as he swallows. He drags a hand over his face, then drops it, unable to hold still. “She was awake at the scene but disoriented. The airbags deployed. The car is totaled.”
“Ethan,” I murmur, trying to reassure him, “I’m here. I’m alive.”
His eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, I see the seven-year-old version of him, terrified and furious at the world for taking our dad. Then he forces a breath and nods once, hard, like he’s agreeing with me because he has no other option.
Lila moves to my forehead and begins cleaning the cut. The antiseptic burns and I hiss through my teeth. She keeps a hand on my temple, gentle but firm, controlling my movement without making it feel like restraint.
“You keep doing reckless things,” she murmurs. “Do you realize that?”
“I drove to work,” I answer, my voice strained. “That’s not reckless. That’s normal.”
“Sure,” she replies, dryly. “Normal people don’t turn intersections into demolition derbies.”
Ethan lets out a short breath that might have been a laugh on another day. Today, it comes out like a broken sound.
Lila’s hands remain fast and precise. She irrigates the wound, checks the depth, and then begins suturing. I stare at the ceiling and focus on breathing through my nose, slow and even, giving my body a rhythm to follow.
My cheek gets the same treatment. The cuts sting, then numb as the local anesthetic takes effect. Lila works with her usual competence, but her eyes keep darting to mine, checking me, reading my face.
When she finishes, she pulls off her gloves and drops them into the bin. “I need to check on a patient in the next bay,” she tells me, and her voice softens a fraction. “Don’t move around too much until imaging comes back. I mean it.”
Her attention moves to Ethan, and her expression softens as she steps closer and touches his shoulder. “I’m glad you were the one who responded to the call.”
Ethan’s mouth tightens. He nods once, but he doesn’t look comforted.
Lila looks back at me. “I’ll be nearby,” she promises, then pushes the curtain aside and steps out.
The moment she leaves, the air in the bay changes. The sounds of the ER remain, but the immediate buffer of her presence is gone. Ethan steps closer, his eyes locked on my face. His hands are still on the bedrail, but now his grip loosens slightly, as if he can finally breathe.
“What happened?” he demands, and the demand isn’t about curiosity. It’s about control. He needs to understand the threat so he can fight it.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “I tried to stop at a red light, but the brakes didn’t work.”
He stares at me, processing. “Mechanical failure?”
“That’s what it felt like.”
His gaze drops to my face and the fresh sutures on my cheek and forehead. His jaw flexes, anger surfacing in his eyes.
“I asked the cop at the scene if they saw skid marks,” he mutters. “There weren’t any. Not where you would expect them.”
My stomach tightens again, not from nausea this time. “Ethan.”
He shakes his head once, fast. “No. Let me finish. I checked your car last week, Ro. You complained about the mess, and I helped you clean out the cups and junk. I remember looking at your tires. I checked your brake fluid reservoir. It looked fine. You haven’t complained about braking issues. Nothing spongy or weird.”
My pulse climbs, and my hands feel cold.
I lower my voice. “The pedal went to the floor.”
His eyes narrow. “That doesn’t happen out of nowhere.”
I stare at the ceiling for a second, then look back at him. “I didn’t want to mention it while Lila was in here.”
