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Why was he so angry? Was it that I was here? With him? The mess on the floor? I didn’t make the mess on the floor…

Did I?

No.

It was him. Tristan.

All I wanted to do was make the pain stop. But Dylan thought… He thought I wanted to kill myself.

Do I?

I should be with them.

I should have died with them.

My grief mushroomed too large for the confines of my aching, still-bruised chest, engulfing everything in its path with pain.

No! Please. Stop. I just want this feeling to stop. That’s all.

I couldn’t bear it anymore.

In the distance, I heard frantic footsteps.

“Emily! Emily!” Dylan shouted, and moments later, he burst into the bedroom. “You’re here. Thank God.” He sagged with relief, his eyes wide and raw. “Jesus Christ, Emily.” He rubbed his forehead as he took in my huddled form, his expression anguished and lost. “I thought you’d taken off again,” he whispered as he crossed the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched with tension.

Oh no. What now?

He took a deep breath, as if collecting himself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But you scared the shit out of me. I’ve asked one of my colleagues from the hospital to come see you. She’ll be here later this morning. She’s a consultant psychiatrist, and I’d really like you to talk to her. If you’re hallucinating, and if you’re”—his voice cracked—“suicidal, she may be able to help. I…”

He paused and looked down at his hands. “I’ve lost my stepsister, my brother-in-law, and my godson. I’ve lost every loving parent I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to lose you too. You’re all the family I have.” His voice was hoarse and laced with sorrow.

Look what you’ve done, Emily!

My guilt vied with my grief, and instinctively, I scrambled to my knees, wanting to reach out to him, but I didn’t know how. He was too distant and too unfamiliar. But he’d held me yesterday, and from my befuddled recollection, it had felt good—more than good. It had been a comfort.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

He turned to face me, and there were tears in his eyes.

“No!” I cried, and I launched myself at him.

He caught me, his arms circling me in his warm and welcome embrace.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” My tears fell unbidden once more.

Dylan dragged me onto his lap and rested his cheek against my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I do. Making you so angry. Making you think…” Words failed me, so I stopped and just held him.

“Oh, Emily,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” My voice was husky with tears and contrition. “It’s very selfish, I know. But I just wanted to stop feeling this awful, awful pain.” I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I meant what I said yesterday. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Dylan,” I sobbed.