CHAPTER 22
Ethan
It’s Saturday, and Dex is driving me to the hospital so I can finally get this sling off and do my last check-up. Not being able to hold Summer with both arms has been driving me insane. Soon, I’ll be able to drive again, touch her with both hands, pull her into me whenever I see her. I can’t wait.
“What’s that big smile on your face?” Dex asks, tapping his fingers on the wheel in a rhythm that’s half drum solo, half restless energy. A mischievous smirk spreads across his face.
“Summer,” I say simply.
“And another one bites the dust,” he laughs, loud and unfiltered, the sound bouncing off the truck cab.
I glance over at him. Dex has always been the impulsive one, the kid who had teachers calling home every other week. Until the neuropsychiatrist figured out he had ADHD… and that Jude did too, just quieter, more internal.
Dex is the loud, restless, hyper-focused kind, the kind people misjudge on sight. Half the town is a little scared of him. But me? I know better.
Dex is brilliant. The guy can build a LEGO masterpiece while composing an original melody in his head, sketch a blueprint for a treehouse, and carry on three conversations at once without dropping a single thread.
He notices everything, the way my shoulders tense when I’m stressed, the flicker of sadness behind a smile, the way a certain song makes my chest ache.
He’s the first one to see when someone’s hurting. The first to bring tea when you’re sick. The first to crawl into Grace’s bed with a flashlight and a fairytale book when she’s scared.
Yes, he’s loud, impulsive, restless, but that energy is a gift.
It’s the same thing that makes him care too much, feel too much, live in full, bright, impossible color.
The armor he wears isn’t because he’s broken.
It’s because his heart is too big for the world sometimes, and he needs a shield to keep it safe.
That’s why his whole “never falling in love, never getting married” mantra always makes me shake my head. I know the kind of love he’s capable of. It’s deep. Fierce. Once-in-a-lifetime.
“You never know, little brother,” I say. “Someone might knock you on your ass and steal that big, beautiful heart of yours in a second.”
Dex laughs, a belly-shaking, unguarded sound that fills the truck. “And never be able to sleep with all the women I want? No thank you.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Don’t you ever get tired of meaningless sex?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Nope.” He flicks the blinker on. “I’ll be the best uncle to your kids and go home to a new woman every night. That’s the dream.”
I let it go.
Some things he’ll only learn the hard way.
I steal another look at him, the way his hand taps the dash, the way his eyes catch every detail outside the window. That energy… it’s part of what makes him Dex, and part of why I’ll always admire him.
We pull into the hospital parking lot, snow crunching under the tires.
Inside the exam room, the doctor gestures for me to sit on the table while he slips on his glasses and reviews my chart.
Dex stands instead of sitting, shoulder pressed to the wall.
Anyone else would think he’s still. I can see the subtle tapping of his foot, the way his eyes dart, taking everything in all at once.
“Alright, Ethan,” the doctor says, smiling. “Two weeks since the dislocation. Let’s take that sling off.”
Finally.
He helps me ease it off, and the cold air hitting my skin feels like freedom.
“You’ve healed well,” the doctor says, gently rotating my arm.
Pain flares, sharp at first, then settling.
“That’s normal. The joint is stable, but the supporting muscles are still weak.
No lifting, no overhead movement, and no strenuous activity.
Physical therapy starts Monday. Range-of-motion exercises every day.
If you hear a pop or feel intense pain, call immediately. ”
I nod, jaw tight. It hurts, but it’s the kind of hurt that means progress.
Dex shifts closer, pretending to study a poster of the rotator cuff muscles, but his hand drifts out to brush the spine of the anatomical skeleton in the corner. A small touch. A grounding one. Anyone else would miss it. I don’t.
“So he’s allowed to hold his girlfriend again?” Dex asks, smirking, his mask for worry.
The doctor chuckles. “If he’s gentle, yes.”
Dex shoots me a smug look. I roll my eyes, but my pulse kicks. I’ll be able to pull Summer against me with both arms again. Soon.
The doctor finishes writing notes. “You’re on track. Don’t rush it.”
“I won’t,” I say, even though part of me wants to run straight out of here and straight into Summer’s arms.
Once we’re outside the room, Dex stretches dramatically, like he’s the one finally free. “Finally. I thought that sling was becoming part of your body.”
“Trust me,” I mutter. “I felt the same.”
Dex presses the elevator button with his knuckle, then glances at me, expression softening beneath all the bravado. “You good?”
His real voice.
The one without armor.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Better than good.”
The doors open. Instead of stepping out, Dex jerks his chin toward the ICU wing. “Wanna check on Asher?”
My chest tightens. Asher woke up last night… after days in that damn coma.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We make our way down the hall, the air colder here, sharper. The beeping of machines echoes off the tile. Dex walks beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets, but I see the tick in his jaw. The emotion he won’t let out.
When we reach Asher’s door, I grab the handle, exhale, and push it open.
“Hey, man,” I whisper.
He’s awake, sitting slightly elevated, pale but alert. The heavy cast on his leg looks brutal up close. He gives us a tired half-smile.
“Well, look who’s alive,” Dex says, trying for cocky but cracking just enough around the edges that Asher sees right through him.
“Barely,” Asher mutters, voice gravelly. “Leg feels like it got hit by a damn tractor.”
Dex snorts. “Close enough.”
I step closer to the bed. “How’d the operation go? They said it was a long one.”
Asher sighs, eyes flicking down to the cast. “They put the rod in. Screws too. Doc says I’ll walk again, but it’s gonna be a long recovery.” He shifts, wincing. “Starting physic once the swelling goes down.”
“And when do they think you’ll get out?” I ask, bracing as if the answer might crack something in my chest.
Asher shrugs, then grimaces. “Probably the day before Christmas, if everything stays clean and there’s no infection. I’m counting the minutes.”
Dex’s jaw flexes. He looks away like the ceiling tiles suddenly became fascinating. But his voice, when it comes, is rougher. “Good. We’re not starting Christmas without you.”
Asher huffs a laugh, tired but real. “Please. You’d better not. I’m dragging my ass over with crutches if I have to.”
“You won’t have to,” I say softly.
For a moment, the three of us fall quiet, standing together in the thin, sterile light.
Asher’s eyes shift between us. “You two look like crap, by the way.”
Dex smirks. “Yeah, well… look who’s talking.”
Asher sinks deeper into his pillows, exhaustion pulling at his features, but relief flickers warm across his face. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say, exhaling slowly, the weight pressing on my chest finally cracking open. “And I’m sorry.”
Asher tilts his head, brows pinching. “What for?”
“I let you down, bro. I should’ve checked the damn tree.” The words scrape out of me, raw and heavy.
“Stop it. Right fucking now.” Asher’s voice is hoarse but sharp, cutting through the guilt like a blade.
“I checked the damn tree myself. But the fire was unpredictable that day. You jumped under a freaking falling tree on fire for me. The last thing you need to do is apologize.” His jaw tightens, eyes shining.
“I’m the one who should’ve made sure it was safe. I put you in danger.”
I shake my head, stepping closer. “I’ll always jump through hell for my men,” I tell him quietly, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Especially my brother.”
Asher swallows and nods. And something in me unclenches again, slowly, steadily, like a wound beginning to knit.