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“It was raining,” I prompted.

“The blacktop glittered, the world was a blur, even with the wipers on high. The highway was deserted at that late hour. At least, it seemed that way. I drove fast, too fast, but ‘what was the harm?’ I stupidly thought. It was just me and the night, and the rain and my tears, and then the tires lost their grip. I was suddenly flying sideways.”

“You hydroplaned.”

“The car spun,” he said, seeming as if he didn’t even register my words. “I remember letting go of the wheel, this surreal feeling hitting me that I had no control. I couldn’t stop it, not even when there was a flash of headlights.”

“Dakota’s car.”

“I stomped the brakes, but there was no point. I had no traction.” His voice shook. “There was the terrible screech of metal, and the next thing I knew, I was at a standstill. My chest was on fire.”

“You broke your collarbone,” I said, remembering the one glimpse I’d gotten of him in a hospital bed. I’d read his chart when no one was around, had been so angry that he’d walked away from the accident with so little damage.

But I’d been wrong. He’d been damaged too—just on the inside.

He blinked, tears spilling down his cheeks, but he wasn’t looking at me. His focus was distant, as if he was watching it all play out again before him.

“My seat belt was jammed. I managed to cut through it with a pocketknife. I cut the shit out of my arm in the process, because my hand was shaking like crazy, but I didn’t even notice.”

I’d seen the silvery scar on his forearm, but I’d never realized it was connected to the accident.

He raised a hand to brush away the tears. “I climbed out the passenger door because mine was jammed. Dakota’s car was on its side, the front driver’s side crumpled in like a broken toy. I panicked at the sight of it.”

I braced myself for this next part. If he ran, if he left my sister⁠—

“I went to her door. I tried to open it. I knocked on the window. She was unconscious. I was terrified she was dead. I got the rear hatch open and climbed in and she woke up while I was calling out to her. She was confused and disoriented. I climbed into the passenger seat and I held her hand until the paramedics arrived.”

“You could have driven away,” I said, my voice strangely distant. “Before the cops got there. We might have never known…”

Joey wiped at his eyes and gave me an incredulous look. “I could never do that. It was my fault, my responsibility. I thought Dakota might be dying. I wasn’t going to leave her alone to face that.”

“You could have avoided prison.”

“That didn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “Actually, to be honest, it never occurred to me. But even if it had…” He shook his head. “No, my prison time was nothing compared to Dakota’s pain and suffering. I’d go back for another five years—ten years—hell, the rest of my life, if it would undo the damage I’d done. I’d do anything to erase your family’s pain.”

My heart twisted, and I grabbed his face and kissed him, tasting his tears. Letting mine join his.

I’d poured so much time and energy into Dakota’s care that I never let myself think about the cause of it. Not until Joey surfaced in our lives. Then I was worried and angry with myself for wanting him, anyway. But he wasn’t a bad person.

He could have fled the scene. He could have stayed in his car instead of running to Dakota.

And hearing the details of the accident from his point of view, how could I continue to treat him like a criminal who’d assaulted Dakota? He was a kid, driving a car in the rain, and he’d lost control.

It was an accident.

A horrible accident.

I squeezed him tight, never wanting to let go. Wanting to protect him from his past.

“Thank you for telling me,” I murmured into his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” I tugged him down to lie beside me. “Let’s just sleep, okay? You look wrung out.”

His eyes searched mine for a long minute.

The words were there on my tongue.