While three grown men laughed and pinned him down, my eight-year-old son was nearly b:eat:en to d:ea:th in his grandfather’s driveway. Rushing to the emergency room, all I heard the doctors whispering were terrifying words like brain swelling and concussion…

a woman stepped into the dim hallway light. Lena Ortiz. Former combat surgeon, undisputed master of trauma triage, and the only person besides Leighton who knew the precise coordinates of my past.

Her hardened features melted instantly upon seeing the boy. “You must be the legendary Toby,” she said softly.

Toby blinked, fighting sleep. “I’m legendary?continue reading …