Page 68 of Third Strike Smitten

Killian hasn’t spoken since we left the park.

He’s been driving with both hands at ten and two like he’s taking a road test, his jaw so tight I can see the muscles working beneath his skin even in the dim light. His bare chest rises and falls with measured breaths, the kind of breathing I recognize because it’s the same kind I’ve done on multiple occasions.

He’s escalating internally.

“Killian.”

His eyes flick to me for half a second before returning to the road. “Yeah?”

“You know I’ve been hit by a car, right?”

He blinks and the muscle in his jaw stops moving. “What?”

“Twice, technically.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, the silence stretching between us, filled only with the hum of Diane’s engine and the faint sound of some indie rock station Killian turned on low.

“Twice?” he repeats, his voice dropping to something low and incredulous. “You’ve been hit by a car twice?”

“Yeah.” I shift the shirt slightly, checking if the bleeding has stopped. “First time was a fender bender with some guy in a sedan when I was sixteen. Second time was an SUV that put me in the hospital for months.”

Killian’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles going white in the passing headlights. “Jesus Christ, Isla.”

“I know. I have terrible luck with vehicles.” I try to keep my voice light, even though my face is throbbing like a second heartbeat. “The sedan was a hit-and-run. The SUV was...well, you know about that one.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” He sounds like he’s trying very hard not to shout.

“Because a whiffle ball isn’t making my top ten, most hurtful moments, Killian.” I turn slightly in my seat to face him, wincing at the movement. “I’ve survived worse than this. Much worse.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his jaw working again. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head, the catastrophic thinking that I know all too well.

“You’re spiraling,” I say softly, my hand instinctively moving across his thigh as I try to soothe him. “And I don’t want you to spiral over me.”

His muscles tense beneath my palm, but he doesn’t push my hand away. Instead, his breathing changes, becomes more deliberate, more controlled.

“I’m not spiraling,” he says, though his voice betrays him. “I’m processing.”

“Killian.” I squeeze his thigh gently. “You’ve been driving like you’re afraid Diane might explode if you go over thirty-five.”

That earns me a small exhale that might be a laugh if it weren’t so strangled. “I just—” He stops, swallows hard. “I hate myself for hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me. The ball did.”

“I made you bleed.” His voice cracks on the word, and a knot forms in my throat at his vulnerability. “Your face is swollen. Sebastian thinks your nose might be broken. Please don’t pretend like it’s not my fault.”

“Sebastian is a trainer for a football team, not an ER doctor.” I shift in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t make my face throb. “And even if it is broken—which I’m pretty sure it’s not—it’s not the end of the world. I’ve been wanting a nose job anyway.”

I take pride in the smile that appears on his face even if it’s a fleeting one. He shakes his head and glances at me with the most helpless expression on his face. “Your ability to make light of this is unbelievable.”

“It’s not unbelievable. It’s survival.” I adjust the ice pack against my nose, wincing as the cold hits my swollen skin. “When you’ve been through the worst, everything else feels manageable by comparison. If you can’t laugh about it, it will just consume you.”

Killian’s hands tighten on the steering wheel again. “That’s not...that’s not how it works, Isla. Just because something worse happened doesn’t mean this doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t matter.” I reach over and place my hand on his forearm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “I’m just saying it’s not the catastrophe your brain is making it out to be.”

He glances at me, his hazel eyes catching the streetlight, gold flecks bright against the green. “You don’t know what my brain is doing.”

“Don’t I?” I raise an eyebrow, then immediately regret it as pain shoots through my face. “Ow. Okay, note to self: no eyebrow raises for a while.”