“She’s so busy over there in Deer Drop.”
“Oh, for sure. Especially with a baby on the way.”
I freeze.
Marta makes a choking noise.
And then I’m in motion, leaping to my feet, but I’m under the damn cabinet, and instead of leaping to my feet, I hear a crack, then feel a searing pain, and then everything goes black.
Chapter 10
Tavi
“I thought you meant her mom didn’t know you were in love with her,” I repeat for the millionth time as I pull Dylan’s truck out of the hospital parking lot in Deer Drop.
I cut a glance at him, and he doesn’t look so good.
Who would after suffering from a gash like that?
Also, my pulse will never recover from seeing him splayed out, half on that linoleum floor among cleaning supplies and plastic grocery bags, half under the sink, unconscious, with blood spilling out of his head.
Doesn’t matter that the doctor says it’s just a mild concussion, and that Dylan insists he didn’t pass out but just hurt too bad to move for a minute there, and that they both say he won’t even feel the cut on his head after another day or two.
I thought I killed him.
For only like three seconds, but still.
And now he’s gripping theoh shithandle in his truck like he’s on a runaway roller coaster without a seat belt, and all I want to do is get him back to Tickled Pink and safely tucked into bed, where I’ll feed him chicken-noodle soup and read him books and make sure his woundstays clean and that he has soft enough pillows under his head, no matter how much I want to ask more about him when he was younger.
“But while we were freaking out about you being unconscious—”
“I wasn’t unconscious.”
“—I covered and said I got confused and thought you were talking about your cousin Deanna—”
“I don’t have a cousin named Deanna, and Marta knows it.”
“—and then I had to make up an entire branch of your family tree that poor Marta had never heard of, which probably sounded utterly insane sinceyou were dead and dying—”
“I wasn’t dead and dying.Or even unconscious. Jesus.”
“—but I was still covering for you. Don’t worry. I wrote it all down while you were having your head scanned, and poor Marta probably won’t even remember because we were so worried about you. Are you going to puke? The doctor said I have to bring you back in if you puke.”
“Stop. Talking.”
The request bruises my soul. Dylan’s always so nice, and here he is, needing me to shut up. I know he’s injured. I know this isn’t about me. But I feel a hot sting in my eyes anyway. “You sound like Teague.”
“Not helping.”
“If you’re going to puke, I can pull over.”
I thought he was dead.
For three milliseconds, I truly, honestly did.
And then the Tickled Pink Fire Department showed up—of course we called 911 even though Dylan started talking almost right away after I yammered out his made-up family tree—and the firefighters insisted he get an ambulance to the hospital.
And I will never recover.
