Jase cast a glance in her direction, got the message and once they were off the bridge, eased onto the shoulder as Brianna scrambled to unbuckle her seat belt, forced open the door and as the pickup ground to a stop in the gravel, flung herself outside. She landed in the dry grass, litter and loose gravel where she took three steps, doubled over and lost what little contents had been in her stomach. Tears ran down her face as she retched violently. Again.

She dropped to her knees as the truck idled and a long shadow fell over her. Jase’s shadow . . . Dear Jesus, how fitting. Hadn’t his damned shadow been cast over her all her life? Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out not only his image but all the pain, the truth, the horrid thought of her sister dying alone and bereft. Guilt consumed Brianna for she knew in some small way, she, like Jase, had failed her twin.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice raw, “I’m sorry.”

“Go away!”

“I can’t—”

“Just leave me the hell alone!”

“Brianna!”

“I—I can’t even think about this,” she admitted, on the edge of hysteria.

“Then don’t.”

“But I can’t freakin’ stop!” She was sobbing now and when he tried to help her up, take hold of her shoulder and pull her to her feet, she threw out her hands. “Don’t touch me,” she warned, then finally looked him full in the face again and saw the agony wrenching his features, the regret pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t!”

He let his arm drop. “Get in the truck.”

“No!”

Again her stomach turned over, but she fought the urge to dry heave and was able to finally straighten.

“Please,” he said softly as over the fading scream of sirens, a motorcycle whined in the distance. “Get into the pickup.”

“I. I. I just can’t.”

He grabbed her then and she fought him, wildly, violently hitting him, wanting to kick and scream and rail at the heavens in her guilt and frustration. Jase held her tight, refusing to let go, allowing her hands to beat his chest impotently, almost as if he welcomed the pain she inflicted as if it were somehow a kind of penance. A balm for all the guilt and torment he, too, had suffered.

Slowly her sobbing subsided and she let her balled fists fall to her sides as she realized what she was doing, how her anger was misdirected.

Still he held her, drawing her even closer, whispering to her. “Let it all out.”