"You need to go home. Wash up."

Zach slammed the door closed behind him and leveled a threatening glare at Aaron. "No. I need to get to the hospital."

"Like that?" Aaron turned the key in the ignition. The car's engine hummed to life. He shook his head then backed out of the parking lot. "You need—"

"I need to get the hospital. I should have gone with her. I should have never left her."

"You didn't have a choice."

It was nothing more than the truth but that didn't stop the guilt, the regret, the anger. He should have fought the police harder, should have insisted they let him go. And then what? Sit in jail even longer?

The last few hours were nothing but a nightmarish blur, filled with fragments of images. Sounds. Accusations.

Memories of blood.

Zach raised his hand, ready to draw it down over his face, then stopped. Stared at it. At the dried blood around his nails. At the blood caked in the crease of his knuckles. Bile soured his stomach. Twisting, turning. Aaron stopped the car at his urgent demand, just in time for Zach to throw open the door and empty the contents of his stomach on the side of the road. Dry heaves wracked his body and cold sweat drenched his skin.

Fuck. The blood. So much fucking blood.

"You okay?"

Zach wiped a hand across his face and nodded, leaning his head against the back of the seat. Something cold and wet was pushed into his hand. A bottle of water. He uncapped it, took a long swallow and swished it around his mouth then spit out. Another long swallow, the cool liquid coating his raw throat and hitting his empty stomach. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath, willing the water to stay down.

"I need to get to the hospital."

"Yeah, I know. But you need to clean up first." Aaron pulled the car back into the lane of traffic—not that there was any, not at this late hour. Or maybe he should say early hour. The horizon was turning lighter, the dawn of new day minutes away from starting.

But the nightmare would continue.

"I need to see Haley."

"Megan's with her."

"I still need to fucking see her."

"I know. Soon."

Soon. It wasn't soon enough. He should be with her now, should have never left her.

But he hadn't had any choice.

An ambulance had arrived, sirens wailing. Heavy steps on the stairs, hurried, loud in the unnatural silence that had fallen over him as he kneeled there next to Haley. Hands had grabbed him, pulled him away, held him back as the paramedics started working on Haley.

Words like unconscious and fracture and possible concussion and loss of blood spun around the room. Questions were thrown at him, questions he couldn't answer because he could barely remember his own fucking name.

And then the police were there, asking more questions. Accusing him. Wanting to know how Haley had been hurt. Asking about the cuts on his knuckles and the bruise around his eye and why he smelled of beer. And fuck, they had looked at him with cold eyes, judging him, finding him guilty.

They fucking thought he'd been the one to hurt Haley. To do that to her.

He tried to tell them no. Tried to explain, tried to tell them about her ex, how he'd been harassing her. But they weren't listening, didn't care. Didn't believe him.

Because they fucking thought he'd been the one to hurt Haley.

He must have called Jason at some point, although he didn't remember doing it. Zach just remembered Jason's car skidding to a stop in front of Haley's apartment as they were leading him out in handcuffs.

Because they fucking thought he'd been the one to hurt Haley.

Megan had been frantic, nearly as out of control as Zach had been. He'd told her to get to the hospital, to be with Haley, that someone needed to be with Haley.

And then they had shoved him into the back of the car and driven to the police station. He'd been escorted to a small room, his pleas and threats ignored. They left him there, alone, for what seemed like hours, the handcuffs still in place, the metal biting into his flesh.

More faces. More accusations. Torresi had shown up—who the fuck knew how he'd found out about it—followed by Aaron. Then another police officer had come in, accompanied by an older man who introduced himself as Megan's father. They apologized for the mix-up, explained why it happened.

Then they asked about Haley's ex. Asked for every single detail Zach might know, no matter how small.

Not one single person would tell him how Haley was. It wasn't until he threatened Aaron that he got his answer and then only barely. Haley was stable.

Stable.

What the fuck did that even mean?

Aaron pulled the car into a parking lot and cut the engine. Zach looked at the familiar surroundings, his mind struggling to make sense of where they were.

His place. Not the hospital.

"I said—"

"I know what you said. You're in no shape to see her right now, not like that. Ten minutes. Just wash up and change, that's all you need to do."

Zach nodded and climbed out of the car, his mind on autopilot as he followed Aaron inside and upstairs to his place. He must have given his keys to Aaron at some point because the other man unlocked the door, ushered him inside and steered him in the direction of the bathroom.

Hot water poured over him, seeping into fatigued muscles, washing the numbing haze from his mind. He closed his eyes and choked back a strangled cry, the same cry that he'd heard at Haley's as he knelt next to her, helpless and torn. The cry of a dying animal, filled with anguish and torment.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why the fuck would someone do that to Haley? Witty, sarcastic, fiery, vivacious. Full of life, never afraid to back down. Why? Why the fuck would anyone want to hurt her like that?

Zach should have been there. If he had been there, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't be fucking hurt in the fucking hospital. She wouldn't be stable—she'd be in his fucking arms.

He should have been there—but he hadn't been. He'd been at the bar, hanging out with his buddies after the game, celebrating and fighting over shit that didn't matter. None of it mattered, none of it was important.

Not when Haley was in the hospital.

He dried off, put on clothes he didn't remember bringing in with him, jammed his feet into shoes he didn't remember sitting by the sink. Aaron met him by the door, a travel mug in one hand. He held it out to Zach, waited for him to take it.

"What's that?"

"Coffee. You need it."

"I don't—"

"Just fucking take it." He shoved the mug into Zach's hand, along with a toasted bagel wrapped in a paper towel. Zach shook his head, tried to give them back, but Aaron wasn't paying attention, just told him again in that no-nonsense voice that he needed it.

Then they were in Aaron's car again, heading toward the hospital. Zach forced himself to eat half the bagel then washed it down with the strong, sweet coffee, surprised it didn't come right back up again.

Surprised he felt some strength seeping back into his battered, weary body.

They reached the hospital, Aaron taking charge as they went inside. Down one hallway, up an elevator, along another hallway and then another and another, finally pushing their way through a heavy double door.

And then they were in Haley's room, only it couldn't be Haley. It didn't look like her, with plastic tubes sticking out of her, with noisy machines surrounding her bed. But it must be Haley because Megan was there, her hand clasped around long, still fingers that were pale against the stark white of the hospital sheets. Jason was standing behind Megan, his hand on her shoulder. He looked over when they walked in, said something that Zach didn't hear, that he couldn't make sense of. He didn't care, he just needed to see Haley.

He took a hesitant step toward the bed, then another and another, not stopping until he was by her side. And oh God, she looked so fragile. So pale and vulnerable.

A thick bandage was wrapped around her head, covering the gash that had been bleeding so much. The long curls of her once-vibrant hair were stiff and matted with blood. One eye was swollen, the flesh mottled an ugly purple. Her lower lip had been stitched, a neat line of tiny black thread dark against the pale pink of her swollen mouth. Another bruise, this one a little darker, discolored the side of her jaw, between her mouth and ear.

Why? Why would anyone do something like this to her? To anyone?

A cast covered her left wrist, the one that had been resting at such an odd angle against her chest when he found her. He could see another bandage peeking out from the edge of the hospital gown, just below her collarbone. Dried blood still marred her pale skin, flecks here and there as if they couldn't be bothered to clean her up.

Rage went through him, boiling his blood and making his body shake. He wanted to go after the son-of-a-bitch, make him pay for what he'd done.

Make him pay for hurting Haley this way.

He must have made a sound because Megan was suddenly standing next to him, her arm around his waist, muttering words he couldn't hear. He shook his head but Megan kept talking, over and over until the words slowly penetrated the haze of fury that gripped him.

"...don't..."

"...needs you..."

"...stupid..."

He blinked, the words finally coming together, forming sentences that he struggled to make sense of.

"Don't do it, Zach. Haley needs you. Don't be stupid. Let the police handle it."

"Handle it? They thought—" His voice cracked and he nearly choked, had to clear his throat and start over. "They thought I did this. They thought I hurt Haley. I tried to tell them but they wouldn't listen. They wouldn't—"

"I know. I know. It wasn't their fault, Zach. They saw your knuckles, saw you'd been in a fight. They couldn't take the chance. I called my dad, that's why he was there. He knows."

"Why didn't they go after him? Why?"

"They are. Trust me, Zach. They'll find him. He'll pay for this."

"I want to fucking kill him."

"Yeah, I know. I do, too."

Zach looked down, surprised at the viciousness flashing in the depths of her eyes. She was serious, just as serious as he was. And why shouldn't she be? Haley was her best friend. She loved her. Isn't that what you did when you loved someone? Looked out for them? Took care of them? Defended them?

Zach pulled his gaze from hers, afraid Megan would see the guilt embedded so deeply inside him. He should have been there to protect Haley. If he had been there, none of this would have happened.

He ran a hand over his eyes then drew in a deep breath. "What—what happened to her? What did he do to her?"

"Hit her. Repeatedly. She has a concussion. A fractured wrist. They were worried about kidney damage so they're keeping an eye on that. He, uh—" Megan's voice broke and she shook her head, unable to finish. Jason hurried to her side, wrapped his arms around her and held her. His eyes met Zach's, flat and hollow, like he was still struggling to fight his way through a nightmare.

"He kicked her. And he, uh, he stabbed her. In the chest." Jason's mouth snapped closed, a muscle working in his jaw. Long seconds, thick and heavy, passed by before he spoke again. "She put up a fight."

"Did he—" The words clogged his throat, making it hard to breathe. He forced them out anyway. "Did he do anything else? Hurt her any other way?"

Jason stared at him, his face blank. He blinked a few times before understanding flashed in the depths of his pale blue eyes. "No. No, he just—just what you see."

Zach nodded, not knowing what to say. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. He stepped closer to the bed and lowered himself into the chair Megan had been sitting in. He reached out, let his hand drop to the mattress, afraid to touch Haley, afraid he'd hurt her if he did. She looked so frail, so still.

Megan's hand closed over his shoulder and squeezed. "It's okay to hold her hand. They gave her some pain medication so she's sleeping, but you can still talk to her if you want."

Zach leaned forward, praying Megan was right. He wrapped both hands around Haley's, taking comfort in the warm flesh beneath his palm, in the feel of her fingers between his. Then he bent his head and stayed that way for a long time, just listening to the sounds around him.

The quiet beeps of the machines next to her bed.

Someone paging a doctor over the intercom.

Three sets of steps, quietly leaving the room.

The reassuring sound of Haley's breathing, so soft and slow.

He tightened his grip around her hand and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Red. So fucking sorry. I should have been there. I should have stopped him. I'm so fucking sorry."

He kept repeating the words, over and over, until his throat burned. Until his voice grew hoarse. Until he was certain they were nothing more than inaudible whispers that meant nothing.

And then he felt it, just the faintest stirring. So faint, he thought he was imagining things at first.

He looked down, studying Haley's hand through blurry eyes, watching as her fingers twitched against his. Once, twice, the movement slow and weak. Again, until her fingers weakly wrapped his own and squeezed, just the tiniest bit.

Zach squeezed her hand then bent his head and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

He stayed that way for a long time.