For the longest time, he didn’t move beyond touching her, his hand stroking the length of her cheek or the slope of her arm. After a while, his movements slowed, and his eyelids fluttered. He fought it.

She put a hand against his face. “I’ll stay,” she whispered. “If that’s okay.”

He nodded and took a long breath. His eyes drifted closed. “Always.”

Michael woke to a cart rattling past his room and sunshine peeking through the window blinds. He was alone in the bed, and the sheets were cold.

Hannah. Had he dreamed her?

His hand shifted, crumpling a piece of paper. He held it up.

Had to be home to get James breakfast, then on first shift. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

She’d signed it with an H.

And a heart.

It made his own heart sing.

He had so little good to hang on to that he wanted to clutch this silly little note to his chest and never let go of it. He folded it in half and tucked it beneath the card from the social worker.

A nurse knocked on his door and announced it was time for vital signs. She was different from the nurse the previous evening. Her name tag read MARY PAT. He obediently let her take his blood pressure and temperature.

She made a note in her computer, then said, “I hear you get to go home today.”

“I do?” But then he realized that home didn’t really mean home. They just weren’t keeping him here.

She nodded and pulled the blood pressure cuff from his arm. “The doctor will be around with your discharge instructions later this morning.”

She was gone, wheeling her cart into the next room, before he realized he had a dozen questions. Where would he go? How would he get there? What had happened to his wallet and the clothes he’d been wearing at the bar?

His brain couldn’t process all these questions. Not yet. He curled against the pillow and read the note from Hannah again. He could still smell her on his sheets.

Other memories started to crowd those thoughts, darkening his mood. His house, burning. The bomb. The bodies in that ravine. The gunfire.

His brothers, walking through the doorway as DFS took them away.

His throat felt tight again. He’d never felt so alone.

A hand rapped on the door, and a hushed voice said, “Wait. He might he asleep.”

“He’s not asleep. He’s wallowing. Mike, get up.”

Hunter’s voice. Michael lifted his head. Hunter and Adam stood in the doorway.

He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“We aren’t allowed to see the guys, so we figured you were better than nothing.” Hunter came into the room and dumped a duffel bag unceremoniously onto one of the plastic chairs. “Here. I hope they fit. If they don’t, blame Adam.”

“Wait. What—?”

Hunter snatched the piece of paper from the side of the bed. “What’s this?”

“Hey! Give that—”

Hunter’s eyes flicked up to him, and his lips twisted into a shadow of a smirk. “H? And a heart? She’ll be back? Dude. This is a hospital.”

“Shut up, Hunter.” Michael snatched the note out of his hands. “How did you guys get in here?”

“Walked,” said Hunter. “Well, from the parking garage. Up until then we were driving—”

“They said you could have visitors,” said Adam.

“And we knew you didn’t have clothes,” said Hunter.

“Though now that I’m this close to you, I kind of wish we’d brought you a toothbrush.”

The banter reminded him of his brothers, and while it hurt, it felt good, too. He scrubbed his hands down his face and thought a toothbrush sounded delightful. Maybe he could get one from the nurse. “No—seriously. What are you doing here?”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “We. Brought. You. Clothes. And—”

“Come on.”

“We’re being serious.” Adam came over to lean against the wall. His voice held some of the emotion Michael felt. “We saw them when they left. They’re not allowed visitors. Not at first.”

Them. Michael hadn’t thought of what his brothers’ being taken away would mean to anyone outside his family. Becca. Quinn. Adam. Layne. Would his brothers be in school tomorrow? How would that work?

Michael had to clear his throat. “Were they okay?”

“Shaken up,” said Adam. “They said their phones would be confiscated for the first three days.” He smiled, and it was a little sad. “So Nick slipped me his. He said to give it to you.” He pulled it out of his pocket and held it out.

A phone! Michael felt like he’d been handed a missing limb. But then he realized what Adam had said.

Three days.

“It won’t be three days,” he said. Now he understood why Hunter and Adam had come here: this separation was too new, too raw. The county had torn his family apart without warning, and here their friends were trying to glue the remaining scraps back together.

“How long do you think it’ll be?” said Hunter.

“At least another day. I can’t get in front of a judge on Sunday.” He used to love Sundays because it was the one day a week he didn’t schedule landscaping jobs—but he’d give up Sundays for the rest of his life if he could accelerate time right now. “David said he’ll try to get me a hearing tomorrow.”

“They’ll be okay,” said Adam.

“Did they tell you where they were going?”