“Ethan saw the accident on his way home from work. He saw the car. Followed the ambulance to the hospital, but they wouldn’t let him in to see Rodney because he wasn’t immediate family.” Robert’s hair is falling in his eyes. He pushes it away. “So, Rodney died alone while Ethan was sitting in the waiting room. They wouldn’t let him in. Ethan fell apart and he couldn’t adopt his little girl so he lost both of them all at once.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, which seems like the wrong thing, but I can’t think of anything right.

“After that, Ethan seemed frantic to replace what he lost. Or maybe he knew he never could, so he was ready to settle. Whatever it was, Ivan took advantage.”

Robert yanks the rubber band from his ponytail and lets his hair fall around his face before he pulls it up and twists the band around again. “It was hard to watch. But you can’t make a friend break up with someone. If you tell them they should and they don’t, you lose them. I didn’t want to risk it.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this,” I say, because he looks like he does. His eyes are so sad.

“I never thought Ivan was this out of control. I didn’t like him, but Ethan kept telling me how great he was, and I thought—I mean, Rodney was my friend. I thought maybe I didn’t want to accept Ivan because it meant Rodney was really gone. If I’d known Ivan was this bad, I would have done something.”

Robert gives up on the dishes. We sit at the bottom of the stairs together so we can hear Ethan if he wakes up. So we can be right there if he needs us. We don’t say much. We just sit there, knees touching. When Robert starts to cry, I hold his hand.

— Chapter 47 —

Ethan spends a few days in bed. Robert and I take turns with him so he’s never alone. Robert gets a substitute chef when I play at the restaurant and I stay with Ethan when I’m not playing.

We lie in bed and watch soap operas. Matty is in a coma. If he wakes up, his fiancée is going to tell him the baby isn’t his. She has conversations about it with her new lover in his hospital room.

“He’s lying right there!” I yell, twisting the edge of Ethan’s quilt in my hands. “She’s such a bitch.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you for a soap fan,” Ethan says. He smiles as much as he can manage. The bruises around his nose and jaw are dark purple.

“I know him,” I say, pointing at the TV. “Jake Jacobson. I know him.”

Ethan gives me a blank look. “You understand this show isn’t real, right?”