Page 19 of Crash

“It’s not from a car accident,” he said. “Your brother would’ve told me.”

Uh-oh.

“When can I leave? I really need to?—”

“And if it were a simple accident, a fall or something, you wouldn’t be twisting your fingers right now. You only do that when you’re hiding something.”

My pulse stuttered. “I do not.”

“I spent nearly every afternoon at your house, watching you, Cupcake.”

Cupcake. The pet name he’d called me for years, providing no explanation for where in the world it came from. Normally, that name made me turn into a puddle of goo, but I had bigger things to think about right now.

“Three failed history tests. Three times you twisted your hands in your lap when your parents asked about grades.”

Teenage Tessa would’ve melted at those words—every afternoon, watching you. Probably would’ve filled pages in her diary about how Blake Morrison saw her—really saw her—in a way no one else did.

But adult, secret-keeping Tessa recognized this for what it was: a ticking bomb waiting to explode.

“Tessa.” Blake’s voice yanked me back.

No way could I sell my cover story to an ER doctor trained to read injuries. The whole Tessa-versus-concrete-stairs tale wouldn’t hold up to his scrutiny. Only long gaps between college visits had kept this scar hidden when it was fresh.

“How much longer until I can leave?”

“Dodging only confirms what I’m starting to suspect.” His voice rumbled with something dangerous like the sound of a predator scenting blood.

“Myextremelyold scar has nothing to do with why I’m in the ER today.” I forced steel into my voice. “So, if you don’t mind—or even if you do—I’d like to get on with whatever testing will get me out of here. Please and thank you.”

Blake’s thumb swept across his lower lip, and when he spoke again, his voice was hauntingly soft, vibrating with barely contained fury. “Someone did this to you.”

My stomach plummeted.

“No,” I lied, my tone too high-pitched to be believed. “No one did this to me. Now, about those tests …”

His attention dropped to the floor, jaw working. After a few seconds, his gaze snapped back to mine, a terrifying current radiating from him, like the charge before a storm.

“I’ll find out who did this to you,” he vowed with a silent threat lacing his words.

13

TESSA

Heat crept up my neck as Blake stood there, looking at me with those damn eyes like he had the right to know all my darkest secrets.

“You don’t get to do this,” I said, my voice quieter than the storm building inside me.

Two years of swallowed words rose up like bile in my throat. The gentleness in his touch, the way his fingers had traced my scar, the way he made me feel like that scar was all that mattered to him. It was everything I’d once craved, everything I’d forced myself to forget.

And now, it was all rushing back.

God, I was an idiot. One knock to the head, and I’d let myself forget how this story ended. How many nights had I stared at my phone, watching those three dots appear and disappear as he typed and deleted, typed and deleted, until finally … nothing.

“Do what?”

“Act like my protector, like you care.”

His brows furrowed in unjustified confusion. “I do care.”