Grace’s POV
Hunter had barely spoken a word since the phone call. He’d gone white, then moved like a man possessed—barking instructions at the driver. He had shut himself inside a shell.
Now he strode ahead of me, leaving me half-jogging to keep up.
“Hunter,” I called. “Hunter, wait—”
He didn’t slow down. Maybe he couldn’t hear me over the thoughts that had to be circling in his head. Or maybe he was choosing not to hear me.
The Emergency Department doors whooshed open. Hunter zeroed in on the reception desk and made a beeline.
“Helena Sinclair,” he said, his voice rough. “Car accident. They called me—I’m her husband.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. The Sinclairs were well known in New York. “Let me check, sir.”
While she tapped on her keyboard, I caught u
