The ward door slammed open just as I was staring at the list of more than 100 missed calls on my phone.
Ethan was soaked through, his clothes heavy with damp. His dress shirt was so wrinkled, it looked like he'd wadded it up and stuffed it into a pocket before putting it on.
The second he spotted me, he froze.
A nurse was changing my bandages. My leg was wrapped in thick gauze from thigh to calf, while the back of my hand was mottled dark purple from all the IVs I'd had.
Ethan's gaze locked onto my injuries, and the corners of his eyes slowly reddened.
He walked over to the bed and reached out as if he wanted to touch me, only to pull his hand back at the last second, like he was afraid I'd break.
All he dared to do was brush a fingertip lightly over my hair.
Then, in the blink of a
