“Really?” Lilly’s excitement was palpable despite her injuries. “Ethan, did you hear? I get to sit on a motorcycle.”
A commotion in the hallway drew Marcus’s attention. A man in his mid-thirties wearing grease-stained warehouse coveralls and work boots burst into view. His face was pale, his eyes wild with panic. “Lily! Ethan!”
He rushed past Marcus into the room, dropping to his knees beside the hospital bed. “Oh my god, baby girl, are you okay? The police called and said there was an accident and—”
“I’m okay, Daddy,” Lily said, though tears started streaming down her face now that her father was there. “I broke my arm, but the doctor fixed it. See my blue cast?”
The man, presumably Thomas Cole based on the name Ethan had given, pulled both his children into as gentle a hug as Lily’s condition allowed. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, the weight of his fear and relief too heavy for words. Marcus backed out of the room, giving the family privacy. He stood in the hallway, suddenly unsure of what to do next. His brothers were probably still at the diner dealing with police reports and questions. He should call them, let them know what was happening, maybe figure out where they were going to spend the night since their original plan to reach Gallup was clearly shot. But he found himself reluctant to leave.
Officer Davidson’s earlier look of suspicion had made it clear that the police would be watching this situation carefully. If Marcus left now, it might look like he’d been involved in something he shouldn’t have been, like he was running from consequences. More than that, though, was the nagging feeling that Ethan needed someone to stay. The kid had held it together remarkably well, but Marcus recognized the signs of someone running on adrenaline and willpower. When that wore off, the crash would be hard.
Thomas Cole emerged from Lily’s room about ten minutes later, his face still drawn but more composed. He spotted Marcus immediately, and his expression shifted from confusion to wariness. Marcus was used to that look. It was the same one most people gave him when they took in the leather vest, the tattoos, the general air of someone who’d seen the darker side of life and decided to make a home there.
“You’re the one who brought Ethan here?” Thomas asked, his voice rough with emotion.
“Yeah. I’m Marcus Brennan. Your son… he saved your daughter’s life today. We were about to start our bikes, and he stopped us. If he hadn’t—” Marcus trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The alternative was too horrific to voice.
Thomas’s face crumpled again. “He told me what happened, how she was under the motorcycle, how you could have—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “Thank you for not starting the engine, for bringing Ethan here, for staying with him. Your kids got more courage than most men I know.”
Marcus said honestly, “He faced down four bikers without hesitation because his sister needed him. You should be proud.”
“I am. God, I am.” Thomas ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so similar to one Ethan had made earlier that the family resemblance became obvious. “I just… I don’t know how this happened. I thought they were safe at the diner. Doreen knows them, she keeps an eye out, but I can’t always be there, and daycare costs money I don’t have, and—” He cut himself off, clearly realizing he was sharing too much with a stranger. Marcus understood that impulse, the desperation to explain, to justify, to prove you weren’t the terrible parent that circumstances might suggest.