“So, anything you want to tell us?” They stand before me, legs spread wide, hands on hips, eyes hidden between mirrored lenses, taking me in.

I glance between the nurse, Jude, and the cops, knowing this is it. This is what it’s come to. And despite all the trouble I’m in, all I can think is: Who will I pick for my one phone call?

I mean, it’s not like I can ask Sabine to wave her lawyer’s wand and get me out of this one—I’ll never live it down, and it’s not like I can explain it to Damen either. Clearly this is one dilemma I have to deal with alone. . . .

And I’m just about to clear my throat, just about to say something, anything, when Jude jumps in and says, “I already told her”—he nods toward the nurse—“it was a home repair gone wrong. Didn’t know my limits. Guess I’ll definitely have to hire a handyman now.” He forces a smile, forces his gaze to meet mine. And even though I want to smile right back, nod in agreement, and play along, I’m so shocked by his words, at his defending me, it’s all I can do just to stand there and gape.

The cops sigh, obviously unhappy about being called out for nothing, but making one last attempt when they look at Jude and say, “You sure about that? You sure there isn’t more to it? Kind of crazy to take on a home repair when you’re down to one hand . . .” Their heads swivel between us, obviously suspicious but willing to let it go if he is.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Jude shrugs. “It may be crazy, but it was purely self-inflicted.”

They frown—at him, at me, at the nurse—and then they mumble something about if he decides to change his story and slip a card into his pocket. And the moment they’re gone the nurse clutches her slim well-aerobicized hips, scowls at me, and says, “I gave him something for the pain.” Her gaze busy on mine, clearly not buying a word of Jude’s story, clearly pegging me as an insanely jealous, completely crazed, psycho girlfriend who nicked him in a fit of rage. “It should kick in soon, so I don’t want him driving—not that he can in that condition—” She nods toward his arms. “And make sure he gets this prescription filled.” She holds up a small slip of paper, about to hand it to me, before she thinks better and yanks it right back. “We want to ward off any chance of infection, but the best thing he can do now is to go home and rest. He’ll probably fall right to sleep, so I expect you to leave him alone and let him do just that.” She frowns, her gaze like a challenge.

“I will,” I say, but I’m so freaked by her scrutiny, by the police, by Jude’s defending me, the words come out like a squeak.

Her mouth quirks to the side, obviously reluctant to leave Jude in my care or to hand the prescription over, but she has little choice.

I follow Jude outside, over to my manifested Miata, an exact replica of the one I usually drive. Feeling awkward, nervous, barely able to look him in the eye.

“Just pull out here and make a right,” he says, voice low, groggy, giving no indication of what he’s truly thinking or just how he might feel about me. And though his aura appears to be softening, there’s still a good bit of red clinging to its edges, a fact that pretty much speaks for itself. “You can drop me at Main Beach. I’ll take it from there.”

“I’m not dropping you at Main Beach,” I say, taking the opportunity to study him as I brake at a light. And even though it’s dark out, there’s no missing the hollows under his eyes, the sheen of sweat on his brow, two unmistakable signs that he’s suffering a great deal of pain—thanks to me. “Seriously, that’s just—ridiculous.” I shake my head. “Just tell me where you live and I promise to get you home safely.”

“Safely?”

He laughs, a sort of ironic chuckle that comes from somewhere down deep, his two messed-up arms resting on his lap as he says, “Funny, you’ve used that word twice in the last five minutes, and to be honest, I’m feeling pretty much anything but safe around you.”

I sigh, gazing into a starless night sky, pressing lightly on the gas and foregoing my usual lead foot since I don’t want to alarm him any more than I already have. “Listen,” I say. “I—I’m sorry. Really and truly—sorry.” Gazing at him for so long, he nods nervously toward the street.

“Uh, traffic?” He shakes his head. “Or do you control that too?”

I avert my gaze and try to think of what to say.

“It’s up here, on the left. The one with the green gate. Just pull into the drive and I’m good to go.”

I do as he says, braking just shy of a garage door that’s the exact shade of green as the gate, immediately killing the engine, which prompts him to say, “Oh no.” He looks at me. “No need for that. Trust me, you are not coming in.”

I shrug, reaching across him, wanting to unlock his door the old-fashioned way instead of the telekinetic way, noticing how he winces when my arm veers too close to his.

“Listen,” I say, back in my seat. “I know you’re tired, and I know you probably want to get as far from me as you possibly can, as quickly as you can, and I can’t say I blame you. I mean, if I were you, I’d feel the same way. But still, if you could just spare me a few more seconds of your time, I’d really like a chance to explain.”

He mumbles under his breath, gazing out the window for a moment before shifting toward me in a way that allows for his full, undivided attention.