Chapter 3

Liam came back an hour later. I was still on the floor, propped against the bed, my ankle swollen to twice its normal size. The pain was a constant, throbbing pulse.

He burst through my bedroom door this time, not even bothering with the window. "I need to borrow your car. Mine won' t start and Sarah..."

He stopped dead when he saw me.

"Chloe? What happened?"

For a split second, I saw real concern on his face. He rushed over, kneeling beside me, his hands hovering over my injured ankle.

"I fell," I said, my voice flat.

"Jesus, it looks bad. We need to get you to the hospital." He started to reach for me, to help me up.

Then his phone rang again. That same special ringtone. Sarah' s ringtone.

He froze, his hand still outstretched. He looked from me on the floor to the phone buzzing in his pocket. The choice was written all over his face.

He pulled the phone out. "Sarah? What' s wrong? Are you okay?"

His voice was a cascade of worry and affection. A voice he never used with me unless he wanted something. I listened as he soothed her, telling her he was on his way, that he' d be there in five minutes.

He hung up and looked at me, a flash of guilt in his eyes.

"Look, Chloe, I' m so sorry," he said, already backing away. "Sarah, she... she cut her hand. It' s bleeding pretty bad. She' s freaking out. I have to go to her."

He didn't wait for me to respond. He just turned and ran, leaving me on the floor for the second time that night. He chose a paper cut over my broken bone.

The finality of it was like a physical blow. There was nothing left to salvage, nothing left to misunderstand.

Tears of anger and humiliation streamed down my face. I crawled across the floor to my purse, my teeth gritted against the pain. I managed to call a ride-share service. The driver, a kind-faced man in his fifties, took one look at me and helped me into the car with a gentle patience that made me want to weep.

"Let' s get you to the emergency room, young lady," he said, his voice full of a simple human decency that Liam completely lacked.

The hospital was a blur of bright lights and sharp smells. They took x-rays, confirming a clean break. A nurse with tired eyes wrapped my ankle in a temporary cast.

"It' s a bad break," she said, her tone professional but not unkind. "You' ll need to be in a cast for at least six weeks. Is there anyone you can call? A boyfriend? Family?"

"No," I said. "There' s no one."

The word hung in the air, heavy and true.

I was sitting in the waiting area, holding a prescription for painkillers, when I saw him.

Liam. He was standing at the admissions desk, his back to me. He looked frantic.

My heart seized in my chest. Did he come back for me? Did he realize what he' d done?

Then he turned, and my foolish hope died. He wasn' t looking for me.

He spotted me a moment later. His eyes widened, and he looked like a deer in the headlights. He walked over slowly, his steps hesitant.

"Chloe," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "What are you... I didn' t know you' d be here."

"Where else would I be?" I asked, my voice dripping with ice.

He had the grace to look ashamed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I' m sorry. I was going to come back. I swear. How is it?" He gestured vaguely toward my cast.

"It' s broken."

"I' m so sorry," he repeated, the words sounding hollow and useless.

I just stared at him, letting the silence stretch. I refused to make this easy for him. I refused to absolve him of his guilt.

Just then, a curtain was pulled back in the bay behind him.

"Liam? Is that you?"

It was Sarah Jenkins. She stepped out, a small white bandage on her index finger. She looked annoyed, not hurt.

Her eyes landed on me, sitting in the wheelchair with my leg in a cast. Then she looked at Liam, her gaze sharp and suspicious.

"Liam," she said, her voice high and demanding. "Who is this?"