Page 89 of Ex Marks the Spot

I can’t breathe.

“Court.”

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her hands move from my shoulders to my face. I feel her wipe my cheeks, then rest her forehead against mine. “You weren’t driving that truck. You didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

“But I made the decision that led them there. I swear I thought I was doing the right thing. If I would’ve known...”

“Look at me.”

I shake my head.

“Please.”

Her voice is filled with far too much compassion for someone who’s responsible for ruining her father’s life. Where’s her anger? Her blame? Why can’t she see I’m the literal reason she’s been unhappy for the last six years?

She says something to the Bombshells, then lifts me by the arm and leads me outside. I spend our short walk picturing her face in the airport when she told me, Treva, and Boyd that she was running her dad’s company. It was like someone took her colors away and gave her a palette of gray instead.

Well, not someone.

Me.

We stop abruptly and she pushes me onto a bench, straddles me, and takes me by the face again.

What is she doing?

“It’s not like that,” she says, reading my unspoken question about why she’s sitting on my lap. “But I need you to see me right now and this is the only way I know how.”

I release a heavy breath and reluctantly drag my gaze to hers.

“My dad wouldn’t have gotten in his accident if I went to one of the other two colleges that accepted me. Or if I got that internship the first year I applied. Or if I chose the flight that came in two hours earlier. Or if, or if, or if. We make thousands of decisions every single day. Most turn out fine. Some don’t. But you can’t spend the rest of your life stuck in the domino effect of someone else’s decisions.

“You are not responsible for that driver’s decision to get in his truck knowing he was already tired, nor are you responsible for his decision not to pull off at any of thesevenrest areas he passed before the site of the accident.”

Damn. “Seven?”

She nods.

“What an asshole.”

Shocked laughter bursts from her lips. “The biggest.”

Despite the lingering heaviness, my next few breaths come easier. “I still feel awful though.”

“I know. And I’ll keep reminding you that it’s not your fault for as long as it takes to sink in.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Three years of therapy and thousands of dollars. You get the abbreviated version for a bargain price of twenty-seven dollars and twelve cents.”

“You are something else,” I mutter as the corners of my mouth quirk up. Only she’d be able to bookend this moment with something positive and make me smile in the process.

“And now I get to tell you the good part.”

Of course there’s a good part. I slide my hands around her hips and lock them behind her. “What’s the bright side, Hartley O.?”

She unleashes a grin as she circles her arms around my neck. “My dad became paralyzed?—”