Oliver’s frown was deep and troubled. “What about you and the boyfriend?” he asked. “Were you hurt? And why did you go to prison if he was driving?” Was he suspicious of my story? Who could blame him?

“We were completely okay,” I said. “Physically, anyway.” I thought of the inconsequential scar on my forehead beneath my bangs, then looked down at my hands where they rested in tight fists on my thighs. “But Trey—my boyfriend—ran off. He wanted me to say I was the driver.”

“What the hell?”

“I was an idiot.” I looked up at him. “I was so wasted, Oliver. I knew he was afraid of losing his scholarship to Georgetown Law. And I loved him. And I wasn’t thinking clearly and … it made sense to me in that crazy moment. I could protect him. Protect his future. I thought it was our future. Together. It didn’t seem like such a big deal. So I let the police think I was driving.” I shut my eyes, the miserable scene coming back to me again. “I got out of the car to try to help the driver—the girl—but I was so messed up, I didn’t know what to do. I was screaming my lungs out. Shouting for help. The girl—her name is Emily—she was crunched up against the horn and it was blowing in a steady stream. This horrible sound.”

“You didn’t tell the police your boyfriend had been driving?”

I shook my head. “I thought I was being a good girlfriend. I would have done anything for him. I never in a million years thought I’d end up in prison. When I finally told the truth about what happened, no one believed me. They talked to Trey and he had a friend lie for him. His friend said he was with him at the time of the accident.”

“What a prick.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “What a prick.”

“So nothing happened to him?

“Nothing. He’s in law school now. At least, I suppose he is. I’ve had no contact with him.”

Oliver rubbed his temple. There was such kindness in his face. I wished he’d say something.

“I have nightmares,” I added.

“I bet you do.”

“The whole time I was in prison, I blocked out thoughts of the girl we hurt.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’”

“I blame myself almost as much as I blame him.”

“You didn’t leave the scene.”

I said nothing. Looked down at my hands.

“Have you had any contact with the girl?”

“No. Though … I’ve tried looking her up online, but if she has any social media stuff she’s hidden it.” I looked up at him. “I think about her all the time,” I said. “I worry about her. I hope somehow she’s found some peace.”

He stared at me, his beautiful blue eyes so serious behind his glasses. So pained.