Page 131 of Break Point
“He died in a car crash.”
I press a hand to my chest, aching for him all over again.
“And it’s all my?—”
His voice cracks. Tears pool at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes.
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I whisper, leaning into him, desperate to take his pain away. “You can’t blame?—”
He lifts his hand and closes his eyes as if forcing himself to gather the pieces before he shatters.
“I was in the car with him when it happened.”
“What?”
The room tilts around me as pure, unfiltered fear flows through my veins. Just the thought of how close he was to dying himself makes my soul wilt.
He didn’t just survive a tragedy.
He’s still carrying it on his shoulders. Stitched into his skin and written all over his scar.
I inch closer to him, as close as he’ll allow me.
Henry lets out a slow breath and sniffs, swallowing down the tears threatening to break free.
His eyes flutter close for a second, as if throwing down a line to pull out the memories from the darkest part of his mind.
He opens them again, clears his throat. and straightens his posture.
Steeling himself.
“Madison and I had been dating for a while,” he says, his voice coldwith a hint of detachment. “She’d introduced me to her parents, but I refused to introduce her to mine. For several reasons. But she kept pushing. Said it made her feel like I wasn’t serious about us. So, eventually, I gave in.
“We planned to have dinner with my parents that day. So Madison met me at the tennis complex where my dad was supposed to pick us up and drive us to the restaurant. My mom was going to meet us there after work.
“My dad arrived on time,” he continues, his voice dipping low. “Showered. Well dressed. And drunk.”
I shake my head and let out a ragged breath through my nose. I can feel Henry’s disappointment. His sadness. The despair bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin.
“I noticed right away,” he goes on. “I knew the signs. Even when he smiled like nothing was wrong. So I offered to drive before he pulled away. But he refused. And I didn’t want to make a scene.
“I thought …” He stops, his throat working. “I thought to myself, well if he made it all the way here, he couldn’t bethatdrunk. But I was wrong. I knew it the second I sat down. His eyes weren’t right. They never were when he drank. I should’ve made him stop. But I didn’t. I just let him drive.
“I wasn’t sure if Madison was catching on. I’d never told her my dad had a drinking problem. All she knew was that he used to play for the Yankees and that my mom worked with my uncle. I barely talked about my parents with her. Barely talked about them at all. But as we drove there, my dad started slipping. Pressing too hard on the brakes. Missing a stop sign. Going a little too fast.
“I kept telling myself I should make him pull over.” His tone starts escalating, getting rougher and angrier. “I should make him hand over the keys. And let me drive. But I didn’t. I fucking didn’t, and Ishould have.
“We were so close to the restaurant. I thought, what’s a few more blocks? And then it would be over. No scenes. No drama.
“My dad had just asked Madison something. I can’t remember what. She was about to answer when I saw a car speeding through the intersection. I shouted for him to stop. He slammed the brakes and yanked the wheel hard, but it was too sharp, too fast. The tires losttraction, and we veered off the road. He kept trying to correct it, and then another car hit us. We rolled once, twice. I lost count. Madison screamed, glass shattered around us, and everything went black.”
I’m so shocked I’ve barely noticed I’m crying.
Henry cups my face and wipes the tears with his thumb.
I should be the one comforting him, not the other way around, but imagining a world without Henry is like trying to breathe underwater.
