Maybe if you leave her alone, she will finally find proof of what you haven’t said in so many words thus far: that her sister will always be the love of your life, and she’s the consolation prize.

Bile rises in my throat as I speed up. I try calling her, fumbling with my cell as I chase her, but she doesn’t pick up.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

She’s heading straight to a busy, two-way intersection, and she’s not slowing down. I don’t know if she realizes what she’s doing. She is losing control over the vehicle. My eyes sting, my heart thrashes against my ribcage, and I’m a stupid bastard who is about to pay for his silly fantasy.

Everything happens in slow motion.

Kathleen ignoring the stop sign at the end of the road.

A lorry with a frozen meat slogan blazing straight into her path from her left.

Metal hitting metal.

Big bang.

Silence.

Silence.

So much silence.

The scent wafting in the air makes me choke on my breath. Metallic blood and burned flesh and the end of my life.

I round my smashed car and try to open the driver’s door, but the metal is too hot to touch, and there’s thick smoke everywhere. The lorry driver stumbles out, holding his right leg.

It’s Sean.

God, it’s Sean.

He looks sober—of course, he is, he didn’t drink a drop during the wedding because he had a shift tonight—and in hysterics, running his palm through his buzzed hair, his teeth chattering.

“Oh, Lord.” He runs toward me. “I didn’t see her. She came out of nowhere.”

He’s right. It wasn’t his fault. She did come out of nowhere. But why Sean? Why him? And why am I so irrationally angry right now?

“Is she okay?” he asks dumbly.

“The baby,” I gasp, wrapping my hand in my dress shirt and jerking the door open. The sting of heat scorches my skin through the fabric. “Call an ambulance.”

“She looks dead,” Sean blurts, obviously in shock. “I can’t go to jail. I don’t want to go to jail. Jesus.”

That’s what he is thinking about right now? Going to jail? Kathleen’s life is over. Mine, too. And the baby’s. Please, please don’t let it be the baby.

I have so much to say.

I say nothing.

Sean turns around, looking at me. He is pale as a ghost. “This wouldn’t have happened if she’d dated me. You hurt her, Mal. You did this. It’s all your fault.”

Kathleen is dead.

But the baby is not.

“It was a close call, Mr. Doherty. You are blessed,” the doctors say.

Yeah, I snort. I fecking feel blessed.

I look down at the small, purple thing. Only reason I don’t cry is because someone needs to look in charge.