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“Your arm—”

“It’s fine, Sydney.”

“It’s not fine,” a woman said, stopping us before we even took a step. Her uniform told me she was also a paramedic. She held his arm with gloved hands. “It’s definitely broken.”

He pulled his arm away from her and said, “I need to be with my daughter.”

“Then, I’ll look at it when we get in the ambulance.” Her gaze moved over to me. “Were you in the car with them?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you need to get checked out as well?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“You two, follow me,” she said.

As I held Ford, we hurried behind the paramedic, weaving around the people who had pulled over to watch or help along with the firemen and police.

When we arrived at the back of the ambulance, a paramedic was standing there, gripping the doors.

He asked, “Who’s going with her?”

“I am,” Ford replied. He looked at me. “Meet us at the hospital.”

The hospital.

I tried to find my breath, my chest pounding. “How? What hospital?”

“Cedars-Sinai,” the paramedic replied.

He helped Ford into the b