Page 37 of My Family

"That's sick," he says, and I'm glad nobody makes any comment about Ethan maybe not coming back. I need something else to think about.

We end up playing foosball, and I'm way better than I expect. Reed plays the way he does everything: loud, theatrical, yelling, slamming the table, to the point where guards come over to tell him to calm down. He has no strategy beyond brute force, which somehow makes it hilarious, and he doesn't give a shit about losing to me and the guys over and over. Every time he loses, he says something like "you just wait, I'm putting toothpaste in your bag and when you go to get your notebooks out it's going to be all over everything."

I wasn't expecting Reed to be like this. I realize I genuinely don't know him. And the strangest part is how much he reminds me of Ethan in certain ways. What he'd said about drugs, about not using steroids, and then just going out of his way to make sure I wasn't alone.

When rec ends, I want to say something to Reed, thank him somehow. But it feels like it would come out wrong. So I just say:

"Can I hang with you guys again?"

That's enough for him to break into this huge dopey grin that looks a lot like a golden retriever. But of course he isn't going to let it go that easy.

"You're gonna be all mine while Daddy's away," he says.

I laugh. It's funny. Ethan, grumpy bastard that he is, would absolutely lose his mind if he heard that.

When I get back, Jack is there reading Batman comics and doesn't look sad — but he always puts on a clown face just so we won't worry. We don't talk much, and soon the guard makes the rounds to check we're in bed, and the lights shut off automatically like every night.

Ethan's bed stays empty.

Even though the night has turned out better than I expected, my chest is tight and aching. There's only one person in the world I want a hug from right now, and it's him.

Chapter 14. Ethan

I never thought working twenty-four hours straight would turn out to be one of the best experiences of my life.

The moment I arrive at the hospital, I put on my serious face. My armor. There's no way I'm letting anyone notice I'm nervous, inexperienced, that this is practically my first real job. I'm not going to let my vulnerabilities show. I'm a professional. I'm almost a nurse. And I'm there to help people who can't help themselves, which has always been my dream because that’s exactly the kind of person I always needed and never had.

To my surprise, the moment I walk in, a tall Black woman with a wide smile appears and says, "You must be Ethan Farley." She shakes my hand. "Welcome. I'll show you everything."

Her name is Dr. Nouha Ibrahim. She walks me through the whole hospital — reception, the ward, the patient rooms, then the staff break room and the cafeteria. She doesn't ask if I'm from the Academy or where I come from. Doesn't ask if I have experience. I don't try to find out how much she knows about Aspire. She simply hands me scrubs, a sheet with my duties, and says, "You're going to shadow me today and I'll walk you through the procedures. Sound good?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say.

She laughs. "Ma'am? Please. I know I'm forty-five, but don't make me feel older than I already do. Call me Nouha. Or if you want something to call me: Doctor. I didn't study for a million years to not use the title."

"Yes, Doctor," I say.

She laughs again, and I can't believe my luck having someone like her as a supervisor. I'd heard hospitals could be brutal, specifically because of senior doctors who treat rookies like something to be crushed. But lately it seems like luck has been on my side.

We spend the whole day together. She teaches me the vitals protocols, how to fill in charts without making errors, the line between what I can do independently and what requires her sign-off. I take notes on everything. Dr. Okafor gave me a small notebook before I left, and I fill page after page in tiny handwriting because I don't want to waste space. Nouha notices and says, "You're very methodical."

"It's how I work," I say.

"Good," she says. "Careless nurses kill people."

Simple as that. I like her even more.

The hospital is chaotic in a way Aspire never is. Aspire runs on a schedule: lunch at noon, MMA at five, lights out at ten. Here things just happen. A child comes in at three in the afternoon with a sky-high fever and parents who are barely holding it together, and we help him. A man in his eighties walks in alone, chest pain, can't remember his children's names, but we're there to calm him down and support him. A young woman, younger than me, keeps her eyes on me while I check her blood pressure, like I'm the only person in the world who has shown up for her that day, and then thanks me a million times.

After she leaves, I go into the hallway and stand there for a minute. Just breathing.

When the night shift ends, my brain is fried and my feet ache worse than after any MMA session. I go to the break room, drop into one of the terrible plastic chairs, and stare at the ceiling for about five minutes without thinking about anything at all.

Then I think about Liam.

He'll be asleep now. Probably in my bed, because he never sleeps in his own when I’m not there. I know that, even though he pretends otherwise. I picture him curled under the covers with his hair spread across the pillow, making that deeply satisfied cat face he gets when he's completely out.

I want to call him. Can't, obviously. No phones. But I want to.