Page 26 of Fall for Me

I’d driven him home, then turned around and gone right back to the hospital. There’d been something prophetic about driving my dead brother’s car to see the woman I nearly killed.

I sank into the cab now, scrubbing my face with my hands. Then a sharp slice of pain cut across my face as my hand brushed my lip. I sucked in a breath—yet another reminder of yesterday. Of course, thinking of the crash once again had me thinking of Chelsea. Of the way she’d looked standing in my field, the evidence of what I’d done all over her beautiful face.

It made sense how I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was all the crash. Sure, I was attracted to her—how could I not be? She was beautiful, even now—especially now, when she thought she wasn’t. But we’d been in a traumatic incident together, that was all. Besides that, she was Eli’s little sister, and she’d been in a rough place even before what happened. What had happened in that cab before the crash—that was just Chelsea being self-destructive. She’d had no feelings for me. I had to remember that.

I remembered the sadness in her eyes.

Only an asshole would take anything more from that.

I was so distracted as I pulled into my drive, it took me a minute to register there was another car there—a little beat-up red Civic.

I killed the engine and got out. When I walked by the car, there was no one inside. Had they parked and left? Broken down, maybe? And who was it who drove this kind of car? I felt like I knew, but it was only when I walked around back and saw my back porch, lit up with the glow of the sunset that I knew.

That was Chelsea Kelly’s car.

And that was Chelsea Kelly, asleep in my hammock.

My stomach clenched. I gripped my keys in my hand, staring at her for a long moment. She was wearing a wool coat, snug jeans that hugged the soft length of her legs, and red Converse sneakers. Her face was still bruised, her hair choppy. When I saw it yesterday, I could tell by the way it stuck up in all different directions that she’d cut it herself. That she’d hacked away at it like some kind of self-punishment.

She didn’t know there was nothing she could do to make herself un-beautiful.

One of her arms was thrown up over her head, and her lips were slightly parted. In my mind, I saw her opening them for me in the truck that night, their pink plushness making my insides do all kinds of not-good things.

Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me? I spun around, rubbing at my neck.

I should have woken her up; told her I’d drive her back to the hospital. That she had to stop running away. Or I should have called Eli, to tell him to come collect his sister.

But I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I went inside and grabbed a blanket, laying it softly across Chelsea. Then I sat down in one of the Adirondacks a few feet away. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.

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