Page 53 of Every Heartbeat After

Kit

A highway patrolofficer drops his cigarette butt and kicks it to death in the dirt. “Fuckin’ hit-and-runs, am I right?”

I can’t blame him for being surly. It’s his job to conduct what I imagine will be a fruitless investigation. He pushes a set of mirrored aviators up the bridge of his nose, despite the fact that it’s still overcast in the wake of the storm. They leave me staring at my own reflection anytime I look at him, so I try not to. He’s twenty years my senior, with a gut he can rest his hands on, which he does now. I grimace, both in commiseration and dread that I’m looking at myself in the future.

The ambulance gives a finalwhoopbefore taking off, en route to the hospital. Traffic crawls past the scene, necks turning to rubber as everyone steals glances at the mangled SUV.

I grunt my agreement with the officer. He’s right. It’s bad enough to drive recklessly and cause harm to another innocent family. What’s worse is not even sticking around to make sure they get help.

He thumbs the notepad in his other palm, perusing what he’s written. “There’s a special place in hell for ’em, I swear.”

I peer over my shoulder to check on Tess, who’s curled up in the passenger seat with her gaze trained anywhere but at the wreckage. “Look, if you’ve got everything you need, mind if I get back to her?” I jerk my chin toward my rental. “This whole thing has her really upset.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, slapping his notepad shut and slipping it into his uniform shirt pocket. His sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose slightly, revealing the tan line they’ve painted around his eyes. “I’ve got your number, so may call if we have any further questions. You know how these things are, though. Rarely go to trial.”

I do know, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge his statement with any level of commiseration. Ever since backup arrived, all I’ve been able to think about is how Tess must be feeling. How badly I want to go to her. It’s not like me. I’m always calm and collected on the scene, whether it be an accident or a full-blown crime. But with her near, I’ve felt like I’m suffocating for the last hour. Like the only thing that’ll fix it is holding her and making sure she’s all right. I’m practically vibrating with the need to go to her even as every bit of my military training tells me to act with an ounce of decorum toward a person of authority.

“Thanks again for stopping, man. Bad situation could’ve been a helluva lot worse if you hadn’t gotten here when you did.” He offers his hand, and I take it. His shake jolts me, nearly enough to yank me from my thoughts.

Nearly.

I clear my throat, swallowing back the need that threatens to choke me. “Happy to help. And I pray for their sake”—I point to the mangled wreckage—“that you find the bastard responsible.”

He barks a laugh that contains no humor. “You and me both, kid.”

After a few more pleasantries, I’m finally free to go. What feels like an eternity is probably just a few long strides before I reach the car, bypassing the driver’s side to go straight to Tess. When I yank open the door, she starts. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her nails chewed to the quick. Her knees are pulled to her chest, and she rests her chin there, not looking at me as she whispers, “They took them in the ambulances.”

There’s an accusation in her voice. And how could I blame her? From where she sat, it looks a whole lot like everything is not okay.

I squat in front of her, forcing our gazes to align. “It was just a precaution for Brayden. His vitals were great. His mom—her name’s Amber. She woke up as they were loading her in. Looks like a bad concussion and a broken nose and collarbone, but nothing major that they could find at first glance. She should recover just fine.”

Tess’s eyes remind me of an algae-coated pond. So still at first glance, but one hint of movement and that water spills from underneath. She blinks, and a single tear escapes. “Like you promised,” she whispers.

I take her hand in mine, pressing her knuckles against my lips. “I’ll always keep my promises to you, Tess.”

At that, she comes unraveled. Her entire body shakes. Each gasping breath is a battle. I rise, hooking a hand under her knees and another beneath her shoulders to lift her from the seat. Then I settle us both into it, with her on my lap and her head against my chest. I breathe in her sweet scent. Her hair tickles my chin. I stroke each drying tendril back from her forehead, then press a kiss against her clammy skin.

She sobs so hard that I’m certain her throat will be raw by the time she finishes. The kind of weeping that’s been held back so long, contained in a shoddy dam, that when it finally breaks, it buries an entire town beneath the flood. I’m not sure who clings to the other more; only that when I finally am forced to let go, there will be claw marks in us both.

Eventually the tears give way to short hiccups of breath. Her spine stiffens, and she pulls back, giving herself room to wipe her eyes. “I’m so”—she sucks in a breath—“sorry.”

My heart sinks low in my chest. “For what? You have no reason to be sorry.”

For a long moment her head remains turned away from me, eyes glazed over. Finally, a shuddering sigh spills from her lips. She folds into me once more, though I sense this time it’s more about hiding than anything.

“This is what happens, Kit.” Her fist closes around the pocket of my shirt and she beats the handful of fabric against my chest. “You asked me what happens if I show who I really am?This is what happens.I fall to fucking pieces.”

I lean back so I can look her in the eye. Fury has replaced her sadness. But a second look tells me it’s guarding something. Fear crouches just behind, in the folds at the corners of her eyes. In the tremble of her downturned lips. She’s afraid, so she’s lashing out. And boy do I know how that feels.

“Do you think that scares me?”

She freezes, every feature turning to etched stone. So I push on.

“Tess, if you think seeing you broken, seeing you honest is going to run me off, you’re sorely mistaken. I want you. All of you.” I cradle her chin, swiping a tear that dives for my thumb. Her cheeks are sunken, her mascara a pair of black bruises beneath each eye. When she blinks, she winces, like my kindness is her own personal brand of punishment. I tilt my forehead to meet hers, capturing her gaze with mine and not letting go. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s normal to be upset. We’ve all got demons, love, even if we’re good at hiding them. What scares me isn’t that you have them. It’s the thought that you’re suffering all alone in there, when I’m right here begging you to let me in.”

When she speaks, her desperate words steal my breath. “And what if Idon’t wanna be let in to my own shit? What if I want to spend my life pretending none of it’s there so I can have a Hail Mary shot at being normal? What then, Kit?”

I bury my fingers in her tangled hair, cradling the nape of her neck. She’s here. She’s real. And even with her body pressed against mine at the hotel that night in Loveless, or curled into me at the aquarium, I’ve never felt as close as I do right now. It hits the back of my throat, tasting a lot like need. I want more. I want everything she can give, and then some.

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