My poor, clumsy Elara.”

I felt a hand touch mine—his hand. His thumb traced a gentle circle over my knuckles, the very same hand that had gripped my hair three hours earlier.

The hypocrisy was a physical weight on my chest.

“It’s a tragedy, Mr. Vale,” a nurse replied softly. “But she’s in good hands now. Dr. Thorne is the best we have.”

A jolt of electricity went through me at the name. Dr. Liam Thorne. My brother.

Ethan didn’t know. When we married, he’d insisted on “streamlining” our lives, encouraging me to distance myself from my “overbearing” family. He knew I had a brother, but he’d never met him.

Liam had been doing his residency in Chicago during our whirlwind wedding, and by the time he moved back to take the chief of emergency medicine position at Riverside Hospital, Ethan had already built a wall around me.

To Ethan, my family was a footnote in a history book he’d already burned.

The double doors of the trauma bay swung open with a crash.

“Patient status?” a sharp, commanding voice barked.

The room went silent. I opened my eyes just a crack. My brother stood there in navy scrubs, a tablet in his hand. He looked older, more tired, but his eyes were the same piercing blue I remembered from childhood.

Liam approached the bed, his gaze fixed on the chart. Then he looked at me.