I blink through the rain as I look over at the beam Ella was balancing on and then at the dark water below. “God damn it!” I curse and kick the tire as I yank my fingers through my wet hair. How did everything turn this shitty? How could a beautiful, smart, wildly wonderful girl be handed so many shitty fucking cards. She’s spent most of her life taking care of her parents, and then her mother takes her own life and her father blames her. Why does she have to deal with this? Why can’t something good finally happen to her?

I have no idea how to handle this, but I know I have to try. Forcing my feet to move around the front of the car, I get into the driver’s seat and slam the door. “It’s fucking cold in here,” I say, cranking up the heat as my wet clothes soak the leather seat.

She doesn’t look at me, keeping her forehead against the window and her hands lifelessly on her lap as rain drips from her hair onto her cheeks. “I can’t feel anything,” she mumbles.

My heart sinks inside my chest and I have to take a slow breath before I speak. “Baby, put your seat belt on.”

She shakes her head, her eyes shutting. “I… can’t…” She sounds exhausted, on the verge of passing out.

I lean over and reach across the front of her. When I grab the seat belt, she doesn’t budge even when I pull it over her chest. As I’m buckling her in, she abruptly shifts her weight toward me. The seat belt clicks into the lock as she rests her forehead against mine, her skin as cold as the rain outside.

“You almost… you almost said you love me…” Her warm breath hits my skin as her eyes stay shut.

“I know.” I swallow hard, but I’m still afraid to move and break the connection between us. Water drips down my forehead, across my lips, and runs from my hand as I move my fingers away from the buckle and to her hip.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say, my fingers shaking as I hold onto her.

Her shoulder turns inward and presses into mine as she slumps more of her weight into me. “Did you… did you mean it?”

I slowly nod without leaning away, causing friction between our foreheads. “More than anything.”

“Micha I…” she starts and my chest aches for her to say it. Just say it please. But then her forehead is leaving mine and she’s moving back toward the door. “I’m really tired,” she whispers, slumping her head against the window again.