Page 85 of When Hearts Remember

Calm down, Lexy. Get to Ethan. Tell him everything. He’ll help you. He’s your north star, remember?

Thinking of the man I love, his quiet intensity, his secretive grin, I feel my panicked heart rate slowing. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my eyes squinting at the blurry road, trying to stay in my lane.

My phone rings and I jolt.

Charles. It has to be him.

Quickly, I answer.

“Charles?”

“You bitch, why did you stick your nose where it didn’t belong? You really thought you wouldn’t get caught?”

My stomach drops. Horror curdles in my blood.No. It can’t be. But why—

“Pull over, Alexis. Now!”

Headlights flicker in the rearview mirror. My breath snags. My pulse pounds—a war siren.No. I can’t pull over. I need to get to Ethan.

The headlights flare into high beams. Blinding.

I slam the gas, ignoring the screech of my tires on wet pavement.

Ethan, he’ll protect me.

Past: The Accident—Twenty-Four Years Old

She never called me.

Life is cruel, a demon stabbing you in the heart when you least expect it.

Obliterating grief strangles me as I bang my head against the bathroom stall at Manhattan Memorial Hospital hours later.

Raw, anguished cries echo against the walls, like someone’s being murdered before my eyes.

Then I realize those sounds come from me.

She nearly drowned when her car plummeted into the Hudson. My Nova is in surgery—hanging on by a thread—and things aren’t looking good.

I should’ve listened to the ominous warnings my body gave me. I knew something was wrong. I should’ve taught her how to swim.

I should’ve. Should’ve. Should’ve.

I could’ve saved her.

If I went to her, despite her telling me I didn’t need to. If I told her to find a place to park until the storm stopped. Things would’ve been different.

I could’ve saved her.

Sliding down to the floor, I bury my head between my knees, my heart pulverizing under the weight of regret and devastation.

I wish I could turn back time.

To that moment when I hung up and strode back to the conference room.

How I told myself, she’s fine.

No. She’s not fine.

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