The hospital smelled like bleach and too much silence. Johnny hated it—the way everything echoed: the footsteps, the machines, the whispers at the nurses' station. His crutches clicked in a slow, steady rhythm as he moved down the corridor, one leg stiff, jaw clenched against the persistent ache. He ignored the sympathetic looks from staff and kept his eyes fixed on the numbers above the doors.

207.

He stopped in front of it and let out a breath through his nose. The phone call still rang in his ears—not the ones he'd left unanswered, but the single time her brother had finally picked up.

"She's in the hospital," he'd said flatly. "Our dad lost it. Someone told him you two were messing around behind the school. Guess he decided she needed a reminder of the rules."

Then he'd hung up. Johnny hadn't spoken a word since.

Now, he nudged the door open with his shoulder, moving quiet and careful like she might spook at any sudden movement. The room was dim, light seeping weakly through half-drawn curtains, with the soft beeping of a monitor marking time beside the bed. There she lay, on her side curled toward the wall, looking smaller than he remembered with visible bruises peeking out from beneath the hospital gown and a bandage wrapped around her wrist.

He took a step forward, then another, his crutches sliding against the linoleum floor in the heavy silence until he stood just a few feet from her bed. He could feel the space between them like a physical thing—a barrier built from more than just distance and hospital sheets.

"You're a hard girl to track down," he said, voice low and rough as if he'd been holding it back for days. She flinched slightly, eyes flicking toward him—cautious, guarded, but not as cold as he'd feared. He wanted to pull her into his arms and make it all disappear, but something in her posture told him not to reach yet.

"I tried calling your brother," he continued. "He picked up this morning." His hands tightened on the crutches. "He told me what happened. What your dad did." His jaw flexed with contained anger. "Because of me."

The silence stretched thin between them. He didn't try to fill it.

"I shouldn't have let you leave that day," he said more quietly. "I didn't know it was like that." His chest tightened with something deeper than concern—something darker that had been building since he got that call. Every muscle in his body stayed coiled tight, gaze locked on hers as if afraid she might disappear if he looked away.