Page 28 of Best of Me

Duke presses his lips to the top of my head before resting his chin in the same place he just kissed. “She was hit by a drunk driver who crossed the lines and veered into her lane. That has nothing to do with you—nothing.” His tone is soothing but firm, but he’s still wrong.

“If I hadn’t been texting her, she wouldn’t have been distracted and looking down. She could’ve seen the car coming and swerved to miss it.”

It’s then that Duke pushes me away, and I know. I know he realizes that I’m right—that it’s my fault. So imagine my surprise when he frames my face with his big hands and tilts my head back so our gazes meet. “I need you to not only listen but tohear me.It was an accident. A horrible, awful accident. Knowing your sister, you weren’t the only person she was texting, so removing yourself from the equation doesn’t change anything. She could’ve been looking down to change the radio station. She could’ve sneezed. Hell, she could’ve seen the car coming and not had time to react. But, baby, trust me when I sayit wasn’t your fault.”

I notice through my cry-induced stupor that he’s called mebabytwice now tonight. But this isn’t the time to deal with that.

I exhale a shaky breath, and Duke pulls me back into him, so close it’s like he’s trying to absorb some of my pain into himself. “I hate that you’ve been living with this, that you’ve been blaming yourself. Have you…have you ever considered talking to anyone about this?”

I shake my head as best as I can with my face pressed into his chest. “I saw a therapist for a little while in my sophomore year, which helped me get through the stuff with my parents, but not since.”

“I think it would help. The OGPD made me see a therapist afterward, and while it didn’t miraculously heal me, having someone to talk to who wasn’t going to judge me or my grief helped.”

I draw back just enough to look at him. “You really don’t blame me? Not even a little?” My voice slurs with exhaustion; tonight really took it out of me.

“Not even at all.” Duke leans down and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “Let me drive you home?”

I’m too emotionally spent to question him on how he’ll get home, so I nod. He exits the back seat and helps me into the passenger seat, and before he can even start the engine, my eyes are drifting shut.

chapter seventeen

Duke

I make the drive back to Mallory’s with my mind and my heart racing. All of this time, I’ve been resenting her, she’s been harboring guilt so momentous, I’m surprised she didn’t break under its weight. To say I feel like a Grade-A jackass would be putting it mildly.

I expect Mallory to wake up when I pull down her long, bumpy driveway, but she continues sleeping, her breathing deep and even. Unwilling to wake her, I fish my phone out of my pocket and fire off a text to Nate.

Me: Do me a favor?

Nate: Maybe…what is it?

He’s going to give me so much shit for this.

Me: Can you ask Jenny if Mallory keeps a spare key anywhere?

Nate: I’m sorry. What? Why are you at her house? Are you trying to break in? You know that’s against the law. Don’t include me in your fall from being a sworn officer.

Me: Okay, drama king. No, I’m not breaking in. She’s right next to me. She fell asleep on the drive home, and you know I’m not going through a woman’s purse.

Nate: Wtf! I have so many questions. Jenny says there’s a key under the potted succulent.

Nate: When I call your ass tomorrow, you better answer.

Me: I’ll do you one better. Pick me up around lunchtime, and I’ll tell you everything on the way back to my car.

Nate: SO! MANY! QUESTIONS!

I read his last texts with equal parts mirth and dread. He’s going to be like a dog with a bone over this—unrelenting until he’s positive he has every last detail. And then he’s going to be a smarmy little jackass, throwing about twentyI told you so’s in my face. It’s safe to say, our next few shifts are going to be fun…for him.

With the car still running, I exit and dash up the front steps and unlock the front door. I switch on a small lamp by the couch and dash right back out to get Mallory. I hit the power button, killing the engine before unbuckling her seat beltand lifting her gently into my arms.

With her small body cradled to mine, I’m struck with a sense of rightness—like she belongs with me,tome.

I take the stairs to her loft slowly, not wanting to jostle her. But when I reach her bed, I find myself facing a whole new conundrum. Should I wake her up so she can change or just let her sleep fully clothed? After a few moments of debate, I settle on pulling off her boots before tucking her under the covers.

Back downstairs, I kick off my shoes, shirt, and shorts, making myself at home on her couch. It’s definitely not built for someone my size, but I make the best of it. Our conversation from earlier lingers until finally, my body succumbs to sleep.

Mallory

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