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“No. Please. No. They’ll call—they’ll call—”
She couldn’t get her voice to work, and she realized she was crying.
“Shh,” said Tyler. “It’s all right. I’ll just drive you to the hospital. Okay?” He shifted into gear.
“No. No. They’ll make me go to a foster home or something.
Please, Tyler. Please.” She was hiccupping now, ugly crying, full out. “Please. No.”
He stopped at the end of the parking lot and looked at her.
“You need help. She might have broken your cheekbone.” He winced. “Your face is already swelling.”
She knew it was. She could feel it all the way into her eye.
“Can’t you heal it?”
He looked back at the road. His voice was suddenly hollow.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I could.”
“Nick healed me once. Please, Tyler. Please, I can’t—I can’t—”
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.” He rubbed at his temples, then pulled out of the parking lot.
“No hospital,” she said. Her words were slurring, and it reminded her of her mother. That made fresh tears well.
You ruin everything.
Her breath caught and stuttered.
“Easy,” said Tyler. “No hospital, okay?”
“Then where?” He hit a bump and a wave of pain swept through her face, and she almost reconsidered.
“The beach,” he said. “I need fire.”
Quinn felt like time somehow vanished.
Stars scattered overhead, spinning wildly every time she moved her eyes. She lay in the sand, beside a roaring bonfire that seemed to stretch a mile high. The heat was intense, forcing sweat from her skin. Her head pounded like her mother kept swinging that trophy over and over again.
Tyler crouched over her, stroking his finger along her cheek, so lightly that Quinn barely felt it. “She broke the skin, too.”
Quinn sniffed and put a hand to her eyes, but she felt the edge of the swelling and dropped her hand. “I don’t—I don’t know why she hates me.”
“I don’t think she hates you, baby girl,” he said. “I think she hates herself.”
She gave half a choked sob. “I feel ridiculous when you call me that.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head. The motion hurt. She wanted to throw up. Nausea meant broken bones, didn’t it? She was terrified to touch her cheek, to feel whether anything would shift.
“Heal it,” she said. “Please.”
“Quinn—” His voice was tight. Distressed. “Maybe I should just take you to the hospital. This was a bad idea.”
“No. No, I’m okay.” She struggled to get her arm underneath her.
