Ethan’s eyelids trembled as though the effort of opening them required every ounce of strength left in his body.
I stopped breathing.UR
For one suspended second, I wondered if grief, exhaustion, and fear had finally combined into something powerful enough to make me imagine miracles.
Then his eyes opened.
They were gray.
Not the pale, distant gray I had expected from a man lost somewhere beyond consciousness, but sharp, storm-colored eyes filled with confusion and pain.
They moved slowly across the ceiling.
Then toward the window.
Then, finally, toward me.
My chair scraped against the floor as I stood.
“Ethan?”
His gaze fixed on my face.
The heart monitor beside him began to beep faster.
I should have called the nurse immediately. I knew that. Every sensible thought in my mind shouted at me to run for help.
Instead, I remained frozen beside the bed.
His lips parted.
No sound came out.
“You’re awake,” I whispered.
His brow tightened.
He tried again to speak, but only a faint breath escaped.
I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, then stopped. I had no idea whether he was allowed to drink. I had no idea whether moving him could hurt him.
“I’m going to get someone.”
His fingers shifted against the blanket.
The movement was weak, but deliberate.
His hand closed around my wrist.
I looked down at it.
His grip was barely more than the pressure of a child’s hand, yet it stopped me completely.
Ethan stared at me with sudden urgency.
“Don’t,” he breathed.
The word was so faint I almost missed it.
I leaned closer.
“What?”
His throat worked painfully.
“Don’t… call…”
The monitor continued to race.
Fear rushed through me.
“You need a doctor.”
His fingers tightened by a fraction.
His eyes moved toward the door.
Then back to me.
“Not yet.”
There was something in his expression that made the room feel colder.
It wasn’t confusion.
It was fear.
Before I could ask what he meant, the door opened.
The nurse entered carrying a tray of medication.
She glanced at me, then at the bed.
The tray slipped from her hands.
A glass vial struck the carpet and rolled beneath a chair.
“Mr. Thornton?”
