Page 120 of The Devil of Downtown

His words dissolve into mumbling. His eyelids sag. Jennie watches from the doorway, wringing her hands.

“I think he’s passing out,” she whispers.

And he does—slumping sideways, breath shallow but steady. Jennie brings a blanket; we settle him as best we can. Neither of us mentions the hospital again. He’s too terrified, too messed up, and dragging him anywhere would be a war.

Hours slip by.

Jennie eventually falls asleep sitting upright in an armchair, head lolling to the side.

My phone keeps lighting up beside me on the sofa—texts from Dane, one after another.

dane

Ivy, where are you?

Are you okay?

Please tell me you’re safe.

Each vibration sears through me, but I don’t answer. Not yet. Not until I understand what the hell is happening.

It’s close to three in the morning when Brody stirs, breathing uneven, head rolling to the side.

“Ivy?” he croaks.

I sit up instantly. “Brody. I’m here.”

He blinks hard, as if he’s trying to clear fog from his mind. There’s fear in his eyes, but something else too—guilt.

“What’s going on Brody? Who did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer straight away. His head drops back, and he stares at the ceiling, like he’ll lose the nerve if he looks at me.

“I didn’t leave you because I stopped loving you,” he whispers.

The breath catches in my chest.

He swallows painfully. “Or because I met someone. Or because I wanted out.” His fingers twitch, reaching for mine, stopping short. “I left because I couldn’t look at you and keep lying.”

“Lying about what?” I whisper.

His throat works. “About the accident.”

The room suddenly feels too small.

“I was there, Ivy,” he says. “I was in the damn car.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “No—that’s not possible—”

“The festival.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was high. Mixed up with dealers. They were driving—fast, reckless—going to buy more. And when that other car wouldn’t get out of their way, they... Jesus.” He swallows. “They forced it off the road.”

Everything inside me goes cold.

“They made the wreck disappear,” he says. “They hid it.” His voice breaks. “And I let myself believe it wasn’t my fault because I wasn’t behind the wheel.”

Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.

His eyes meet mine, glassy, and I see the guilt tearing him apart.