Page 40 of Ethan
When I finally fell face-first onto my bed, clean and warm and more exhausted than I wanted to admit, I expected sleep to take me instantly.
It didn’t.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, running over the scent trails I’d followed, the kid’s muddy sneaker, Ethan’s voice saying “Rain check.”
My body was tired, sure. But my mind was pacing like a caged wolf. Restless. Pulled in a direction I hadn’t dealt with before. Finally, I gave up trying to sleep.
I got dressed again and headed out into the quiet halls. Most of the house had gone still. Lights dimmed, voices hushed. But I knew where Ethan would be. The clinic. I headed over there.
I knocked once out of habit, then eased the door open.
Inside, Ethan stood near one of the beds, adjusting a blanket over a small, sleeping figure. Connor. In the other bed, a girl.
She was maybe ten or eleven, with a scraped-up arm and a bruise across her forehead. She slept on her side, breathing slow and steady.
Ethan looked up when he sensed me and offered a small, tired smile. I felt something ease in my chest at the sight of it.
“Hey,” Ethan said softly.
“Hey.” I stepped inside, letting the door close gently behind me. “How are they?”
“Doing good,” he said, voice warm with relief. “Connor’s hydrated, no sign of infection. The girl, Naomi, she’s got a mild concussion, but she’s stable.”
“Good.” I glanced over both kids, then back at Ethan. “And you?”
Ethan shrugged, rubbing a hand over his face. Up close, I could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. “Running on fumes, but I’ll manage.”
“You been here all night?” I asked.
“Cooper went home around three. I said I’d stay. Didn’t make sense for both of us to lose sleep,” Ethan explained.
I frowned. “You could’ve called me.”
“You already helped track Connor. You must be wrecked,” Ethan pointed out.
“Still.” I looked at the kids, then back at him. “What if someone stayed to keep an eye on them and called you if anything changed?”
Ethan opened his mouth, probably to argue, then paused.
“I’m not trying to take over,” I added, gentler now. “But you need rest. Real rest. Not a chair nap. And I doubt either of those kids are going anywhere.”
Ethan hesitated for a long beat. Then finally and reluctantly, he nodded.
“You’re a stubborn man, Dean,” Ethan said.
“Takes one to know one,” I said.
I shot him a small grin, and Ethan, to my relief, gave a quiet laugh and shook his head.
“I’ll just ask Griffin to stop in and check every so often,” Ethan said, already reaching for his phone. “Clinic’s quiet. Should be fine.”
Five minutes later, the clinic was locked, the kids tucked in under the care of a rotating check-in schedule.
Ethan and I were walking side by side and neither of us said much.
When we reached my room, Ethan paused at the threshold. “You sure?”
I stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Yeah. You?”
