The feel of her mouth still on my lips, I race across the beach, my shoes sinking into the sand. I peel off my shirt, kick off my shoes, and drop my shorts.

I have to get away from her. She’s too much, too tempting.

It’s too dark to see the edge of the water, but I dive hands-first into the white foaming surf.

Cold.

So cold.

I knew it would be. But I didn’t know it would be like a thousand stabs of ice scraping across my skin and pummeling air from my lungs.

I’ve never been in the ocean before.

I surface gasping and coughing, feeling like I tried to drown myself. The waves crash around me and shove me back under the water, my feet too numb to stand.

Why?

Why did I kiss her? There are no words for the turmoil scalding my gut as fiercely as the freezing water swallows me.

I loathe the sight of her.

I kissed her.

And her mouth was . . . warm, beyond any warmth I imagined.

I crawl to the edge of the waves and flop back onto the wet sand, water still lapping at my toes. At least the sea salt washed away the taste of her from my tongue. Almost.

“Yo, you drowning or something?” a male voice calls from the campfire up the beach—one of the guys I’ve camped next to for the last ten days.

“F—” I cough again. “Fine.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He ignores me as much as I want to be ignored. I don’t need anyone.

I told her. She knows.

She didn’t believe me.

It shouldn’t matter.

It does.

* * *

I spot the bruises on the woman’s arm a second before she covers them with the sheet.

She cradles the suckling baby closer to her chest, her voice pitched high, like she wants to distract me from what I saw. “You think she’ll get enough to eat?”

I force my gaze to hers. “Yes. Switch her to your other breast in another few minutes.” I look more closely at the woman’s neck and see finger-sized yellow dots. I didn’t realize what they were until now: fading bruises.

I’m a nurse. I can help her, but only if she wants to be helped. I put my back to her husband, shielding her face from his view. “Is there anything you’d like to talk to me about privately, Mrs. Toolen?”

She strokes her baby’s arm. “We’ll be okay.”

“My wife and son are going home today, right?” The man’s voice from the corner gives me chills. He seems like a nice enough man, soft brown hair with a cowlick in the middle, his hands hanging loosely in his lap. There’s no animosity from him, no anxiety, nothing pushy or angry—he sets off no alarm bells.

But I can’t help looking at his hands and wondering if his fingerprints match the bruises on his wife’s skin.

His brows knit and he amends, “But I don’t want them to go home early if they’re not ready.” Such a nice man. He would never hurt his wife.

That man I let into my house last night—he’s made me crazy.

“Yes, Mr. Toolen. I expect the doctor will release them today.”

He stands and walks with me to the door. “Thank you for your help. She was nervous about this part.”

“It’s normal. I’m happy to help.”

He shakes my hand, and I walk into the hallway.

He raped her.

More than once.

I nearly scream. I can’t stop myself from putting my hands over my ears, squinting my eyes closed and wishing the clenching fingers in my hair could scrape the words from my brain.

“Penny?” The word is muffled by my covered ears. I have to look up before I know it’s Amisha. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

She gives me her “bullshit” stare and leads me down a few doors to a break room. “You’re white as a ghost.” She urges me into a chair and I sit. “Tell me about last night.”

She squats in front of me, looking up at me like a mom.

I deflect. “You’re supposed to be in NICU.”

“I came to see you, and good thing I did. Are you having a panic attack?”

“No. I just—uh—have a migraine.” I’m a terrible liar. I don’t get migraines.

She knows this but doesn’t call me on it. “How was your date?” I can’t miss the trace of hope in her voice.

“I—he—” Can I tell her? Anything? He said not to tell anyone. But I want to tell her something. I can’t be completely alone in this. I need my friends.

Her pager, an archaic device the hospital insists on using, beeps, and she checks it. “Shit. I have to go.”

The tightness in my chest eases a little. I won’t have to make up lies. But I can’t get any support from her either.

She bites her lip and sighs. “We’re having dinner. Tonight. You, me, and Layla.”

“Layla?” I swallow. Oh God. Layla’s impossible to hold a secret around.

“Yes.”

“I can’t tonight. We’re going out again.”

Her beeper goes off again. “I’m calling you later. I have to go. Take something for your headache?” she says with all the kindness of the great doctor she’ll be someday.

“I will.”

She leaves, and I’m left with shaking fingers and a throat still clogged with the urge to scream. I want to tell her. To tell someone. To scream at the world it isn’t true. Those sickening things Logan said didn’t happen. But if I say it out loud, that makes it more true than keeping it to myself. If I don’t tell anyone, then it’s almost like it doesn’t exist. I can pretend it’s an illusion and there was no man in my condo last night.

I fumble through work. Trying to speak to as few people as possible—succeeding. Trying to think as few thoughts as possible—failing.

I go straight home. I ignore calls from Amisha. I start to type the code in my front door, except . . . it’s unlocked.

I push the door open.

He’s sitting there.

Legs spread wide, arms draped over the table behind him. I shouldn’t be surprised he broke into my house; I gave him the codes last night. It doesn’t stop my heart from accelerating.

The look in his eyes . . . the hatred, the revulsion. If this were a movie, he’d be the villain lying in wait for me, and I’d be calculating my escape to call the police. Except I’m not. I go inside.

I knew he hated me, but I didn’t know how much. Unless he’s grown to hate me more since last night.

Possible.

His eyes—how can they be so light and yet so dark? I can’t tell the color. They could be hazel, they could be green, they could be gray.

There’s nothing between us. Nothing to stop me from getting closer to him.

He is the flame, and I want to be singed, burned, ignited. I’m not sure if it’s despite the bad things he’s said, or because of them.

Maybe I hope even his lies will bring me closer to the truth.

Maybe I hope that in his flames, I’ll be more alive.

I’m almost near enough to tell the color of his eyes before he stands, and then he’s too tall for me to decipher his irises.

He inhales a brisk breath like he’s about to speak, but a voice behind me stops him.

“Who’s he?”

I turn and Blake stands in my open front door, as visibly urbane as Logan is wild. But I’m not fooled by the mirror-shined shoes or the tailored suits my older brother has adopted since finishing law school. Where I am blond and blue-eyed, he is dark. As though every dominant gene my parents possessed was spent on him, leaving only recessive genes for me.

He bristles, his territorial instincts responding to the sight of the man behind me. He slams the door closed, and his strides into the great room are long and quick, his larger-than-life presence bolstered by his annoyingly unstoppable urge to protect me like I’m a child.

But a piece of me is relieved—a small piece. Blake will get rid of Logan the same way he’s solved every other problem life has presented me. The way I’ve hated him for. I want to be happy he’s here. But I’m not. No matter how foreboding Logan is, his silent threats won’t withstand my brother’s authority.

But Logan moves in front of me, blocking my brother’s path.

“Who do you think you are? That’s my sister,” Blake says.

Logan, in his aura of fury, thrusts out his hand for my brother to shake. “Logan Kane. Penny’s boyfriend.”