“Where is he?”
“I don’t know all the details, but the police said that the driver of your vehicle stayed on scene. He had some bad injuries but declined to come to the hospital. The officer said that since he wasn’t the cause of the accident, they just took his statement and let him go.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About six hours. They’ve had you on strong painkillers that kept you pretty out of it.”
“Six hours?! Then where is he? Has anyone checked on him? What if he’s really hurt somewhere?” My pulse spiked as I tried to push myself up, but the searing pain in my ribs forced me back down. Rachel grabbed my hand.
“He’s okay, Matty. I spoke to Jas. He’s at hers.” Her tone was clipped, sharp.
“What? Why is he there?” I asked, though dread already prickled up my spine.
“Because he’s a cowardly piece of shit who left you alone in the ambulance and hasn’t even bothered to show his face here to see if you’re alright.” Rachel’s voice cracked with rage, every word a dagger.
“Rachel!” Mum snapped, silencing her, though the fire still burned in her eyes.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I whispered. “He wouldn’t leave me. Something must be wrong. Have you spoken to him yourself?”
“No. I’ve spoken to Jas. He won’t talk to me. She just said he’s pretty shaken up or something.” Rachel’s expression made it clear she couldn’t care less if he was shaken—after all, he wasn’t the one lying broken in a hospital bed.
And part of me got it. I was hurt, I was broken. But still… something wasn’t adding up. I knew how Henry felt. I knew what he said, not just in words but in actions. To leave me now—after this—it didn’t make sense.
But my head hurt too much. The pain, the drugs, the fear in my parents’ faces, and the weight of Rachel’s words pressed down until the dam cracked. Tears blurred my vision and spilled hot and helpless down my cheeks.
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to throw something against the wall. I wanted to go to Jas’s and demand answers. But I couldn’t. I was too heartbroken, too weak.
He left me. Henry left me.
And right now, I had never felt more broken.
Forty Five
Henry
Idon’t know why I’m here.
I haven’t managed to get anything done. Work has been a blur — faces, words, screens, all bleeding into one meaningless smear. I’m completely numb, but this place has always been my distraction. From the moment I opened its doors, I’ve buried myself in it — my safe place, my armour.
It’s been forty-eight hours since the crash. Everything since has passed in a fog. I don’t remember the drive back to London, or who arranged the car to get me there. I barely remember getting to Jas’s flat.
I only remember the sound of rain.
I must have turned up at her door soaked through. I remember her face — pale, confused, and scared — before I just… collapsed.
“Henry?” she whispered, catching my arm before I fell.
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. The second she touched me, everything I’d been holding together snapped.
The next thing I knew, I was on her sofa, shaking. My head in my hands. Every breath scraped my throat raw.
“She’s in the hospital,” I heard myself say, voice hoarse. “I left her. I left her there, Jas.”
She crouched beside me, hand rubbing slow circles on my back like I was a child again. That only made it worse. I’d spent a lifetime trying to bury grief under work and whiskey, and now it had come roaring back — familiar and relentless.
“I couldn’t get in the ambulance.” My words were slurred between sobs. “I froze. Just stood there watching her go. I didn’t— I couldn’t—”
Jas didn’t say anything. She just sat there, silent, eyes glistening. I think that’s what broke me most — the pity. I didn’t deserve it.
