“Heroes don’t let their sisters crawl under motorcycles,” Ethan muttered, but there was a hint of something in his voice. Maybe a desperate desire to believe Marcus’s words.
A doctor in green scrubs pushed through the family room door, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. “Are you Lilly Cole’s family?” she asked, looking between Marcus and Ethan with obvious confusion.
“I’m her brother,” Ethan said quickly, scrambling out of his chair. “Is she okay? Can I see her?”
The doctor’s expression shifted to professional kindness. “She’s going to be fine. She has a broken radius—that’s one of the bones in her forearm—and a mild concussion. We’ve set the break and put her in a cast. She’s awake and asking for you.”
The relief that washed over Ethan’s face was so profound that Marcus felt it in his own chest. The boy sagged slightly as if invisible strings holding him upright had been cut.
“There is one concern,” the doctor continued, her tone becoming more serious. “Lilly told us she was sleeping under the motorcycle because she was trying to hide from the sun. She said she was tired and hot and it seemed like a good spot. Now, I need to ask, where were your parents during this time?”
Ethan’s face closed down instantly. The weariness of a child who’d learned that honest answers sometimes led to worse problems. “My dad was at work. He works at a warehouse. He couldn’t help it.”
“And your mother?”
“She left.” The words were flat, emotionless. “Six months ago.”
The doctor exchanged a look with Marcus that spoke volumes. He could read the unspoken questions in her eyes, questions about supervision, about two young children essentially left to fend for themselves, about whether child protective services needed to be involved. Marcus stood, drawing the doctor’s attention.
“The kid’s father is on his way. He should be here soon. Ethan did everything right. He found his sister. He stopped us before anyone could hurt her. He got help. Whatever you’re thinking, this isn’t a case of neglect. This is a family doing the best they can.”
The doctor studied him for a moment, taking in the leather vest, the tattoos, the hard edges that marked Marcus as someone who lived outside polite society’s boundaries. But whatever she saw in his face must have satisfied something, because she nodded slowly.