Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(57)

“Police?” I frown and peer out past him. The Weasel isn’t alone. Four cruisers with flashing lights line the parking lot and a dozen officers mill about, scratching notes down as witnesses recount the scene of events. Somehow I hadn’t seen them.

“Ohmigod.” I stumble back, vomit rising into my throat, the bottle slipping from my fingers to tumble to the floor as I clutch my middle.

“I got you before they saw what you were about to do. No one saw anything and if they did, they’ll let it go,” Nate promises, his dark gaze searing deep into my face as if looking for something. For a demon, lurking, perhaps.

“Kacey!” A breathless Trent yells as he catches up with me. I’m hyperventilating by this point, my chest heaving like I’m fighting for my last breath. The one I can never seem to catch. His attention falls to the broken bottle lying by my feet. “God, Kacey. What were you about to do?”

I’m swallowing and struggling for air and shaking my head and trembling all at the same time. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know,” I mutter over and over again. But I know. I know what I almost did.

I almost killed a man.

***

Street lights pass by all at once and not at all as Dan drives us home in his police car. I know Trent is somewhere behind us on his bike and all I can think of is the look of horror on his face. What were you about to do? he asked. And he knew. No doubt he knew.

Storm helps me out of the car as if it were me attacked, not her. How is she acting so normal?

One step forward. One step forward. One step forward.

“Kacey, I’m okay. I promise,” I vaguely hear Storm say as she leads me hand in hand toward the apartment.

I know she’s fine and I’m thankful. But I’m struggling. I’m fighting to keep myself from crumbling into pieces on the sidewalk.

I almost killed a man tonight.

Aunt Darla’s counselors were right all along … One step forward. One step forward. One step—

Fingers snap in front of my face and break my trance. I look over to see an ocean of worry in Storm’s blue eyes. “I think she’s in shock,” she says to someone else, clearly not me.

“No, good. I’m good. Good,” I mumble and suddenly I’m grasping for Storm’s biceps and squeezing, panic surging. “Don’t tell Livie. Please?” She can’t find out what I almost did.

Storm nods. I see her exchange worried looks with Trent and Dan.

“Come on.” The ground disappears as a set of strong arms scoops me up. In seconds Trent has me laying on my bed and he’s pulling the covers over me.

“No, I’m not tired,” I mumble, struggling weakly to get up.

“Just … rest. Please?” Trent says softly. His hand smooths over my cheek and I grab it, holding it tight, pressing my lips against his palm.

“Stay.” I hear the desperation in my voice.

“Of course, Kacey,” he whispers. He kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed next to me.

I close my eyes and nuzzle in his chest, reveling in the warmth of his body, the pound of his heartbeat, the smell of him. “You hate me, don’t you? You must hate me. I can’t help it. I’m broken.”

Trent squeezes me close to him. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Give me your heart, Kacey. I’ll take everything that comes with it.”

I start to cry. Uncontrollably, for the first time in four years.

***

“Pull my finger.”

Jenny giggles hysterically. She giggles every time Billy says that.

And I roll my eyes, just like I do every time he says that. “So hot, Billy. Take me now.”

“Kacey,” my mother admonishes, overhearing me.

Billy winks and squeezes my hand tight and I squeeze back. Mom and Dad are in the front, talking about next week’s game and how I need to get my license soon so they don’t have to cart my ass around anymore. Of course I know they’re joking. They’d never miss one of my rugby games.

“Would you stop being so cheap and just buy me that damn Porsche already, Dad?”

“Language, Kacey,” my dad scolds but looks over his shoulder to throw me a smile. I know he’s beaming inside. I scored the winning try at tonight’s rugby game, after all.

Everything next happens in a fog. My body jerks violently. Something smacks into it. A weight presses down hard against my right side. I feel myself tossed and turned. And then it all just … stops.

And I’m vaguely aware that something is very wrong.

“Mom? Dad?” There’s no answer.

It’s hard to breathe. Something squeezes my ribs. My right side feels numb. And I hear a strange gurgle. I listen closely. It sounds like someone taking their last breath.

I bolt upright, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding against its confines, racing so fast I don’t know where one beat ends and the next begins. For a moment, I curl up into a tight ball and rock, trying to shake that dreaded knowledge that I had caused the accident. That it was me who distracted my dad with my smart ass remarks. That, if I hadn’t distracted him, he would have seen the car coming and could have avoided it. But I know I can’t change it now anyway. I can’t change anything.

I’m relieved to find Trent lying next to me, his bare chest rising and falling slowly. He hasn’t abandoned me yet. The street light outside casts a pleasant glow over his body and I sit quietly and take it in, wanting to mold myself to it. I fight against the urge to touch it, to trace my fingers along its perfectly sculpted curves.