It was true that he hated hospitals. He hated them so much he could hardly bring himself to walk into one. Something about the paint and the clinical smell took him right back to those months after his injury. As soon as he stepped through the door it came rushing back. The white light of the explosion, the pain and the sick empty feeling that came from knowing Finn wasn’t in the hospital with him. Normally he blocked it out, but not today. Today the memories were playing like a movie in his head. The pitch-black of the helicopter, the rattle and sway, the bouncing beam of light from the headlamp of the flight medic. And the pain. Unimaginable pain.

Hoping they discharged Lizzy fast, he coaxed two cups of coffee from a temperamental machine and took them back to the waiting room.

Emily was standing in front of the window, staring into space.

Shock, he thought. Shock and exhaustion.

“Here—” He handed her the coffee. Remembering the last time she’d keeled over, he put his own down on the table. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

She looked at him blankly, like someone emerging from a long coma, seeing the world for the first time. “It wasn’t your responsibility.”

He remembered the sharp kick of fear he’d felt when he’d heard about their white-knuckle flight across the bay to the hospital, about the sleepless night he’d had waiting for the wind to die down sufficiently for him to make the crossing to the mainland. His mind had conjured a dozen nightmare scenarios, all of which involved Emily coping alone with a steadily deteriorating Lizzy. By the time he’d arrived at the hospital he’d almost caused casualties in his haste to reach her bedside.

Only when he’d seen Lizzy, awake and improving, did his own feelings about hospitals resurrect themselves.

He picked up his coffee, noticing with a twinge of wry humor that his hands were shaking.

Jesus, he couldn’t even walk into a hospital without falling apart. He was meant to be supporting Emily, and he was in a worse state than she was.

What a hero.

Her silence was starting to disturb him. Retrieving his journalistic skills, he tried to think like her. Tried to get into her head. She’d be scared. Scared of losing another child. Of letting her down. “You’re doing a brilliant job, Emily. You’re taking good care of her.”

Still there was no reaction, and he wondered if she’d even heard him.

“You’re not going to lose her, Emily. She’s going to be just fine. Kids get sick fast, and then they recover fast. The same thing happened when Rachel was young. You don’t need to panic.”

But she didn’t seem to be panicking. She looked numb. Catatonic.