My brother had been a fact in Ethan’s mind.
Not a person.
Certainly not the man standing between him and the bed.
“You’re Liam,” Ethan said.
Liam did not answer.
The emergency department seemed to continue around us—phones ringing, wheels turning over polished floors, a distant voice asking for respiratory therapy—but inside my room, everything felt suspended.
A security officer appeared at the doorway.
Then another.
Liam lowered the phone.
“Mr. Hayes will remain outside the treatment area until law enforcement arrives.”
Ethan gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“I brought my wife in for medical treatment.”
“And she is receiving it.”
“She needs me.”
For the first time since I had opened my eyes, I found my voice.
“No.”
It barely sounded like a word.
My throat hurt.
My ribs protested when I breathed.
But Ethan heard me.
Everyone did.
