Emily

The doctors released Ethan the next afternoon, and it was amazing to see the number of fans and photographers waiting outside for a glimpse. The guys had a car waiting out back to take him home, but it was an ordeal, having to carefully and quickly load him into the lifted, blacked-out SUV before anyone spotted us. Then we had to drive around aimlessly for a while to be sure we weren’t being followed.

Kade and the rest of the band had gone out through the front as a distraction and hauled ass in two different rental cars to assure no one was around to tail us.

It was a fucking hassle Ethan didn’t need. He was trying not to show it, but he was in pain. The more he moved, the more we were jostled in the damn car, the more pinched his expression became.

Eventually, we made it to his loft.

I texted Aubrey when we arrived, and she said the guys would regroup and be over in a few hours. They wanted to give Ethan time to settle in first.

I shot texts to Dana and Arthur as well. Arthur sent his best wishes to Ethan and assured me my pup and his poor cat were both faring well. Dana said she’d stop by to pick up Dammit on her way over to visit that evening.

Thank goodness for friends like ours.

Ethan’s parents were right there with us through all the bait and switch stuff, saw all the screaming fans and reporters out the hospital room window, and the way they looked at him, it was like they were just then realizing how loved and admired Ethan really was.

They even seemed in complete awe that the band, all of whom they’d known since they were kids, would throw themselves to the wolves to protect Ethan’s privacy.

I opened the loft door and stood aside, waiting for Ethan to make his way through the door. It was a little cold, so as soon as he was safely inside, I adjusted the thermostat in the hall and came back to help carry his things.

Gail carried a flower arrangement in each hand—one from her and Charles, the other from the band’s management team. There were over a hundred more arrangements sent by fans, but Ethan had donated them to the other patients and any new deliveries were rerouted to a nearby convalescent home. The cards were kept and forwarded to the same place his fan mail went, so he could still read them when he got time.

Charles came in behind us and carried two plastic bags that held his son’s belongings—most of which were ruined from being cut off him in the ambulance.

A memory of that flashed through my mind and I forced it away before it could upset me again.

I’d probably never stop reliving it: seeing the car hit him, watching the EMTs cut up the legs of his jeans and straight up the middle of his shirt while he lay there motionless.

It would haunt me for the rest of my life.

But today, I refused to let it get to me. I refused to be anything but hopeful.

We shuffled through the kitchen and made our way to the living room, where we planned to set Ethan up on the couch, at least until he’d let us move him to the bedroom. He wanted to be up as much as possible, and the doctors agreed that he needed to move as much as he could. But he was also cautioned not to overdo it and to rest more than he moved, at least this first week.

Ethan took the lead, walking stiffly but determinedly to the living room as he gave a quick, breathy tour to his parents, who’d never been to the loft before.

“This is the living room. Excuse the drums and guitars. We practice here,” he said, stepping into the room.

He halted so quickly I nearly walked right into his back, which would have been a bad, bad thing given his injuries.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Where did that…is that…Ryan?” he gasped, rocking back a little on his heels.

I stepped around him and cursed. “Shit. They weren’t supposed to hang it. I asked them to put it behind the drum kit, not hang it on the wall.” I turned to find all three of them staring, frozen in place. “I’m so sorry. I would never have intentionally blindsided you like this.”

Ethan’s mouth hung open as he slowly made his way across the room, one hand on his injured side.

Gail and Charles followed a few paces behind, their eyes locked on the enormous painting that wasn’t supposed to have been uncrated yet.

Goddamn it, Dana.

Nothing I could do now but apologize and hope I hadn’t upset everyone.

It was supposed to be a gift—Ethan’s Christmas present. I’d had a speech all planned out, a way to ease him into it without just showing him the damn thing and freaking him out.

Shit, shit, shit.

The painting, which I’d commissioned with an artist I knew from the gallery, was of a TotC concert. Rather than showing the band, the painting featured the audience. With stunning realism, it showed lighters glowing and thousands of silhouettes packed into the wide-open space, some of them holding hand-painted signs proclaiming their love.

It was so detailed, so vibrant, it could have been mistaken for a photograph.

And there, front and center, in unbelievably clear detail, were Ryan and Cara, each wearing TotC concert tees, embracing as they looked on with obvious pride and adoration on their faces.

I’d even had the artist use Ryan’s red for Cara’s shirt, as a tribute to them both.

I’d seen Ethan shed a few tears in the last twenty-four hours but standing there, staring at the face of the brother he lost…Ethan broke in the most beautiful, heartrending way possible.

And his parents were there beside him, holding him all the while.

They broke together, and soon, they would heal together.

I had absolute faith in that.

I had absolute faith in him.

And I’d be there every step of the way, because despite what I told myself when this all started…Ethan Chase was my forever.