I reach for my crutches leaning against the nearby wall and grab the empty glass sitting on the nightstand. I struggle to hold both the glass and grip the crutch as I make my way to the bathroom. I make it two steps into the room before I lose my footing, dropping the glass. It shatters on the tiled floor, breaking into a hundred pieces.

“Dylan!” Riley shouts from the bed.

I turn swiftly, my hip crashing into the counter, my broken leg taking the weight and I fall, landing on my ass, my crutches giving out beneath me.

Riley runs toward me, stopping just outside the room, her gaze going right to the mirror and my heart drops.

The truth hits me, relentless, over and over again.

She’s afraid.

She’ll always be afraid.

With my hands in my hair, I drop my gaze to hide my shame.

“What’s going on in here?” Holly shouts, walking into the bathroom. I look up just in time to see her look at the mirror first, then over at Riley, scanning over her entire body, looking for any damage I might have caused.

The walls close in and my stomach turns, my heart pounding in my eardrums. I gather whatever dignity I have left and look at both of them standing just outside the door, their eyes wide and filled with fear. I point to the shards of glass on the floor, shattered, just like all my hopes and determination to make everything right. “I dropped the glass,” I tell them, my voice hoarse as I struggle to speak. “I shouldn’t have tried to carry that and the crutches—”

“It’s okay,” Riley cuts in, moving around the glass and sitting next to me. “We’ll clean it up.”

“I’ll get the broom,” Holly says.

I wait for her to leave before looking at Riley, my voice low, my words meant only for her. “You looked at the mirror.”

Her gaze falls. She doesn’t speak.

“So did your mom,” I tell her.

She exhales loudly.

“She thought I’d hurt you.”

She stills.

“I’d never hurt you, Ry.”

She takes the broom from Holly and sweeps up the glass, grateful to not have to respond.

“Are you going to work?” Holly asks her.

“Probably not,” Riley says, focusing a little too much on clearing the mess I’d made.

“Okay. I’m going to try to clear my schedule for the afternoon. I’ll be home early. I’d like to talk to both of you.” Holly glances at me. “I’d prefer if you stayed here or if you need to leave, go over to Mal’s. He’s home just in case you need him. Sydney’s coming by in an hour or so to check in on you.”

“Okay,” Riley answers.

Holly hasn’t taken her eyes off me. “Okay, Dylan?”

I nod. “Yes, Ma’am.”

* * *

Riley’s by the kitchen table, standing behind a chair she’d pulled out for me and fakes a smile when she sees me approaching. There’s coffee, juice, sweet tea and water set out on the table. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” she says.

I take the offered seat and bring the coffee to my lips, watching her walk around me and to the other side of the table. She sits, looking down at her own coffee. “We need to talk,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

She looks up at me through her lashes. “Two minutes,” she says, and my brows pinch in confusion.

A door opens, the sound of Holly’s heels clicking across the hardwood floors gets louder with every step. “Will you guys be okay?” she asks, but I don’t take my eyes off Riley.

She smiles. Fake again. And nods once. She stares at the spot her mother already vacated as I listen to the clicking of heels fade, the front door close, and then her car start and reverse out of the driveway. Riley must’ve been listening too, because it’s not until a good minute later that she finally tears her gaze away from the blank space and focuses on me. She inhales deeply, taking another sip of her coffee. “So.”

“So,” I respond.

“So,” she repeats.

I smirk. “What are you wearing?”

She smiles, then covers it quickly with her hand. “We can’t do this, Dylan.”

“Do what?” I ask, moving all four glasses out of my way and resting my elbows on the table. I lean forward, reaching for her hand.

She lets me take it. Just the tip of her fingers. Her nails are painted a bright blue. She’s never had painted nails before. Or maybe she did. Maybe I never noticed. I skim my thumb across the nail of her index finger, my mind lost, trying to remember.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

She takes her hand away. “I feel like we should talk.”

“About?” I say through a sigh, sitting back in my chair and looking down at the table.

“About what’s happening. You. Me. Here. Now.”

“Whatever you feel, whatever you want to say. I’m right here.” I shrug. “Say it.”

“I’m mad at you,” she says quietly.

“I hurt you. You’re allowed to be mad. I know that. And I can see you’re afraid of me because of how I was. So is your mom. I get it.”

“That’s not—” She pauses to take a breath, her voice even softer when she adds, “That’s not why.”

“Then what?” I try to reach for her again, but she pulls back, hiding both her hands under the table.

“Dylan.” She pauses. Swallows. Then continues. “You could’ve died.”

“It was my job, Ry.”

“No. Not that. Do you know what it was like for me seeing you in that car, not being able to get you out?”

I choke on a breath, realization setting in. “Fuck, Riley. I—”

“I thought you were dead! I thought it was happening all over again and I thought I was losing you, too. And in a way, I did.” She looks up at me. “Right?”

I struggle to swallow. It’s all I can do. “Ry…”

“And then I find out you’d been drinking that day. Not just drinking, but that you were drunk?”

“I wasn’t—”

“How could you do that to me?”

I push my chair back and stand quickly, forgetting my broken leg.

“How could you get behind the wheel without a care for your life or mine and not think about me? How could you not think about me and how it would make me feel if I’d lost—” She breaks off on a sob, one that reaches the depths of my despair.

“Riley.” I limp around the table and over to her, watching her head fall into her hands, releasing her anger along with her tears.

I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m mad at you, Dylan,” she says again, looking ahead. “I’m trying so hard not to be. But I am. I’m so mad at you.”

“I know.”

She stands up, pushing my hand off her shoulder. Then she looks up, her eyes the color of sadness.

I suck in a breath and hold it, a million emotions flooding me at once. “This was a mistake, Ry.” I reach for my crutches across the table, get them situated and turn away from her.

One step.

That’s as far as I get before her hands fist my shirt. “No, Dylan! You can’t just run away. You can’t run away from this. You can’t fucking ignore it!”