Page 119 of The Devil of Downtown

God, I hope he forgives me for leaving like that.

We were so close tonight. Closer than we’ve ever been. The way he held me on the dance floor, the warmth of his hands tracing slow lines up my spine, the brush of his mouth against my temple when he told me he hoped the night wasn’t too much for me... it all felt like a turning point. Like he was ready, finally, to stop living in the past, that he was ready to fall in love like I am with him.

And now here I am, running in the opposite direction.

“Don’t be dramatic,” I mutter to myself, dragging in a shaky breath. “You’re going to help someone who needs you.”

But the guilt sits heavy and immovable in my chest. Because a part of me knows the truth.

I’m afraid.

Afraid of what Jennie said.

Afraid of Brody’s panic.

Afraid that maybe Dane isn’t who I’m letting myself believe he is.

I rub my hands over my face. “God,” I whisper to no one, “what am I even doing?”

By the time the cab pulls up in front of Jennie’s building, my throat feels scraped raw.

I pay, step into the cold, and ring the bell.

It opens instantly.

Jennie yanks the door open, eyes wide and frantic. She doesn’t even greet me—she just grabs my wrist and pulls me inside, then shuts the door quickly and turns the lock, checking it twice.

“He’s in here,” she murmurs, voice as tight as a coiled spring. “Prepare yourself.”

The sight of Brody knocks the air from my lungs.

He’s slumped on the sofa like he’s barely being held together. One eye is swollen completely shut; the other is red and glassy. There’s a gash above his brow, crusted and ugly. His shirt is ripped at the collar, exposing bruises that haven’t even settled into full color yet. And beneath everything—beneath the injuries and the shaking and the sweat—he is unmistakably, painfully high.

“Brody,” I whisper, moving to him immediately.

He lifts his head with effort, like dragging it through mud. When he sees me, a strange, cracked smile tugs at his lips.

“You came,” he says, voice slurred and raw.

The guilt hits harder this time, sharp and unexpected.I left Dane. I left him without a word.And yet—how could I not come? How could I ever turn away from someone in this state?

I kneel beside him and help steady a water bottle in his hand. “Drink slowly.”

He tries. Water dribbles down his chin, and I wipe it with the sleeve of my dress, not caring in the slightest.

“What happened to you?” I ask gently. “Brody, we need to take you to a hospital. You’re hurt—badly.”

The change in him is immediate and terrifying.

“No hospital,” he snaps, recoiling as if the word itself could strike him. His entire body tenses, pain rippling through him.“No—no, Ivy. You don’t understand. They’ll come back. They said that they’ll come for me again.”

My blood runs cold. “Who? Who said that?”

He shakes his head too fast, like trying to outrun the question. “The accident,” he mumbles. “They caused it.”

A spike of confusion shoots through me. “Brody... you’re not making sense.”

“Iam,” he rasps, almost offended. “You don’t know—you never knew...”