The door slammed closed behind her.

I gripped fistfuls of my hair, staring at the spot where she’d just been.

Air gone, my lungs squeezed tight.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

Fear spiraled. Slammed and howled. It beat against this overwhelming sensation that welled.

Growing bigger—more powerful—than anything else. Constricting my chest and shattering every reserve.

I was moving before I let myself think through the consequences. Because the consequence of standing there like a worthless piece of shit were so much greater than going after what had just fled out my door.

Bolting into the living room, I nabbed my shirt from the rug. I was pulling it over my head at the same time as I was grabbing my keys and wallet from the entry table. Not wanting to take the time to go to my room, I shoved my feet into some ripped-up Vans and then went racing out.

I didn’t bother with the elevator.

I pounded down the stairs, taking them three at a time. I blew through the big metal back door and flew out into the lot.

Twilight had taken hostage of the sky, the heavens streaked with darkened clouds, a single star blinking on the horizon above the copse of trees.

My eyes hunted.

Immediately, they landed on Hope. She was across the lot, stumbling through her panic as she tried to run in her heels.

She jerked at the door handle of her big SUV, fumbling and shaking as she struggled to get inside.

Sprinting her direction, I caught her just before she was all the way in. “Hope.”

She gasped a pained sound. “I’ve got to get to him.”

My voice was grit at her ear as I hauled her back from around the waist. “I know. I know. But I can’t let you drive like this. Come on, baby, let me help you. It’s going to be okay.”

She gasped another sound. This one a guttural cry, her terror that had been bottled spilling out.

“I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay,” I told her, anxiety gripping me like a vise.

It is going to be okay.

He’ll be okay.

I promise I won’t let anything happen to him.

I shifted her around, slamming her door shut as I did. Quickly, I guided her to my car parked two spaces over. Opening the passenger door, I helped her in, darted around the front, and hopped inside.

The second the engine turned over, I threw it in reverse and whipped out of the spot. Half a second later, I had it in gear and was gunning the engine, tires squealing when I skidded out onto the street.

Teeth gritted, I weaved in and out of traffic, trying to remain calm.

Cool.

Which was impossible since my heart was a fucking throbbing mess where it was lodged in my throat.

When all I could think about was that kid.

That kid.

I struggled to focus, to breathe in the dense, dark air that had taken hold.

Hope fisted her hands on her lap, choppy pants heaving from her shuddering chest.

Terrified.

Doing my best to keep it together, to be there for her, I reached out and set my hand on her leg. I gave her a soft squeeze. “He’s going to be okay, Hope. I promise you, he’s going to be okay.”

The oaths I’d kept silenced before came tumbling out.

Her nod was jerky. She set her hand on top of mine, squeezing so hard I was sure she was drawing blood.

Leaning on me.

Relying on me.

Silently begging me to keep that promise.

Five minutes later, I skidded into the parking lot at the ER.

The same ER where I’d been a resident for the previous three years.

I jerked into a vacant spot, killed the engine, and was already out and at Hope’s door by the time she had it open and was climbing out.

“Thank you,” she rasped, clutching my shirt. She was shaking all over, so I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.

Together, we rushed for the entryway doors.

They swished apart as we approached.

Once we got inside, I let Hope run ahead of me, feeling like a complete asshole for dropping my arm.

But I felt so tied.

Those memories too close. Too real. Too much.

I rubbed an anxious hand over my jaw, watching Hope as she went for the triage station, her son’s name a plea from her tongue.

The door leading into the back buzzed and swung open. Hope went right for it.

And I stood there like a chump.

Fuck it.

I hurtled after her, barely grabbing the door before it closed. I hurried to catch up to her where she raced down the hall that was lined with curtained exam spaces, a big nursing station in the middle.

She headed straight down the hallway and toward the room number she’d been given.

This place was so familiar. So much of my time had been devoted to this emergency room. But it was always me caring for the patients that came through the doors.

My complete dedication given to them.

But this time . . . this time it was different. The tables turned.

I passed familiar faces, and a couple of nurses offered confused hellos as I passed.

Frantically, Hope jerked open the door of one of the enclosed exam rooms reserved for higher-risk patients. Equipment at the ready for testing and treatment that might need to be rendered urgently.

And that chaotic world spinning around us?

For a moment, it completely froze.

It gave Hope a second to catch up.

A chance to take in her son, who was in the middle of the room, partially propped up on an elevated hospital bed with an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.

He was alert, those green eyes scared, but they shimmered with relief when he caught sight of his mom.

For a beat, Hope was locked in that suspended moment where only her son existed.

Then she jolted forward. “Oh . . . God . . . Evan.”

Her hand was on the side of his face, the other going straight for his heart.

My heart. My heart.

From behind, I could see her shoulders sag in relief when she felt it beating.

When she felt the life that pounded through his veins.

And there was nothing I could do but step up behind her, touch Evan’s cheek, his forehead, fingers trembling as I felt along the steady pulse in his neck.

It was the furthest from an exam. It was simply a man needing to be reassured that someone he cared about was okay.

From under the mask, Evan smiled his wide smile, and I ruffled my fingers through his hair, barely able to mouth the words, “Hey, buddy.”

He was okay.

He signed HI.

A breath pressed from my lips, a million pounds of worry let loose in the sound. I glanced at Hope, touched her cheek, praying she could see it in my eyes.

He’s fine. I promise. He’s fine.

A throat cleared, and my attention jumped up to meet the confused gaze of a woman I’d never met, but knew had to be Josiah’s mother. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, watching over him, dried tears still staining her cheeks.

She tore her eyes away from me and turned them on Hope. “Hope . . . I’m so sorry to scare you this way. I think . . . I think he just got out of breath, and I panicked—” She fumbled, hesitated, her worried gaze turning to Josiah, who was huddled in the corner, sitting on his father’s knee.

Josiah’s eyes were wide and terrified and confused. Worried about his friend.

“You know . . .” She said it like an apology riddled with empathy.

Because Josiah’s mom understood all the things Hope was feeling perfectly.

“It’s okay,” Hope managed, stare still locked on her son. “It’s okay. I’m just . . .” She forced herself to look at Josiah’s mom, offering a soggy smile. “I’m so grateful you brought him here, Chanda. It isn’t worth the risk. I would have done the same thing.”

Chanda gave a reassuring tip of her chin, her eyes flitting to me before they jerked away. As if she thought she was invading on something private.

At the exact same time, her husband’s brow was pinching together in his own confusion, clearly working to figure out where he’d seen me before.

I roughed a hand over my head, blinking, calculating, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I had no idea how Hope would want me to handle this.

How I wanted to.

That was right when I noticed Dr. Laurent Kristoff standing just off to the side, studying the readout on the portable ECG machine, checking the rhythm of Evan’s heart.

In all the upheaval, I hadn’t realized the emergency room doctor I’d worked next to for years was right there. Seems Hope wasn’t the only one with tunnel vision.

Laurent did a double take when he noticed me. “Dr. Bryant?”

Nodding, I forced myself to give him a cordial smile, but I didn’t get anything out before the door opened behind me.

Dr. Krane, the cardiac specialist at GL Children’s Center, stepped inside.

Obviously, he was the pediatric cardiologist on call this weekend.

Shit.

He grinned when he saw me. “Dr. Bryant, I didn’t realize you were on call.”

That’s because I wasn’t.

I grimaced. “Not on call,” I admitted.

His expression shifted for a flash, morphing into confusion or concern, I wasn’t sure, before he shrugged it off, moved across the floor, and turned his attention on Evan.

The reason we were all there.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the weight of Josiah’s dad’s stare. The questions that were coming from everyone.

Because I was responsible for the care of both of these boys.

They were supposed to be my single focus.

No distractions.

I’d lived my life on that rule.

And here I was, so goddamned distracted my insides were in knots and my spirit was roaring, wrapped up in a way I’d never let it before.

Sure. I’d examined Frankie Leigh. But always on the side. As a bolster for Rex. A second opinion. Reassurance. Her pediatrician was the one who was truly in charge of her care.

Hope sent me an apologetic glance.

I shook my head.

Don’t be sorry.

Because the truth of it all?

I wanted to be there.

I wanted to be there for her.

And goddamn it, I needed to be there for him.