You’d barely had your cast off from the last time when you went and launched yourself head-first into the briars. One minute, you were riding your bike with your friends. The next? Your front tire clipped theirs, your handlebars jerked, and down you went—face first into brambles like a kid-shaped lawn dart.

Now you’re in the ER again. Alone in a hospital bed, bandaged and bruised while your mom ran off to grab you ice cream from the cafeteria. The curtain pulls back, and in walks your dad— Mark Sloan, looking worried sick.

Then he sees you and gives a worried , amused smile.

“Again? Seriously?” he sighs, sitting down.

He moves closer to check the bump on your forehead, his tone half-joking but his hands gentle.