“You know,” Ryan mentioned as we walked out of the theater, “the one thing that’s difficult about dating someone your age is the heartburn.”

“Huh?” I replied. My blood ran cold. Was he going to dump me? “What do you mean?”

Ryan rubbed his chest and shifted uncomfortably. “The literal heartburn,” he clarified. “I almost never eat pizza. My body can’t handle eating like a nineteen-year-old anymore. I’m old.”

I laughed, feeling incredibly relieved. “You’re not old, Ryan, but we can get you some antacids.” I sighed, feeling silly that I’d panicked so quickly and thoroughly. “Honestly, I thought you were going to say something about the fact that I can’t order a legal drink.”

Ryan shrugged at me and looked away. “You definitely don’t need to worry about that. I don’t drink.”

I blinked at him. “Not ever?”

He shook his head, still avoiding my gaze. “No. I’ve actually never ordered a legal drink, either. You and I are the same where that’s concerned.”

“Why not?” By this point we were sitting in his car.

He turned and looked at me over the console. I sensed he was debating something with himself. “When I was your age, my girlfriend was killed in a drunk driving accident. She went through the windshield.”

I gasped. “That’s horrible.” I’d seen a wreck like that once. I’d been in LA with my dad, and the hills around the city are treacherous. The graphic image had given me nightmares. No wonder he didn’t drink. I wouldn’t either.

“My brother Ian was the driver. I was in the back, passed out drunk. All three of us were at a party together, and we were heading toward another party. We never should have been in that car.”

Ryan was in the car? Ian was driving? God, how awful.

“Were you hurt?” I asked. I looked him up and down, as if expecting to see some indication of the accident.

Ryan’s expression was the only thing I found. He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I had my seat belt on. They strapped me in.”

That wasn’t exactly an answer to the question. I waited.

“I was still very beat up,” he said eventually. “It could have been a lot worse, but I had a severed tendon in my foot, a compound fracture in my arm, three bruised ribs, and a minor cervical fracture.” He grimaced. “It’s probably why I get such bad heartburn now. Ever since having its vital functions performed by machines during my week-long coma, my body has been incredibly picky about what goes into it.”

No. My heart pounded at the list of injuries. Ryan was lucky to be alive.

I bit my lip, trying to wrap my mind around what he was telling me. “What’s a cervical fracture?”

I knew what a cervix was, and I was pretty sure Ryan didn’t have one.

“A broken neck.” He paused. “Specifically, the top of the neck, right under the brainstem.”

Oh god. That’s so much worse.

“I thought people can’t heal from broken necks?” Ryan wasn’t in a wheel chair. He seemed entirely healthy now. Most of what I knew about broken necks came from poor Christopher Reeve. My mom had a huge crush on him, pre-accident. She’d cried when he finally passed away. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen her cry, so it made a lasting impression.

Ryan nodded. “They can’t. It won’t heal if the spinal cord is all the way broken. I was very lucky. I had a minor compression fracture of the bone. The cord was, thankfully, completely fine. But a slightly different angle of impact would have probably had me paralyzed from the neck down. Or, you know, just dead.”

I reached over to touch his shoulder. He felt warm, firm, and healthy. Definitely not dead. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. That sounds like a total nightmare. I’m glad you’re ok.”

He smiled at me. “It was a very long time ago.” His eyes were faraway.

Nine years. The same amount of time between our ages. We both insisted that nine years wasn’t a long time. By definition, that would mean that the accident wasn’t a long time ago.

“Ian was driving that night?” I asked, feeling unexpectedly sick. I had a bad feeling I knew the next part.

Ryan nodded. His eyes darted to mine and then instantly fled out the window. I could feel the tension radiating off him in little waves. Feeling like I already knew the answer, I still asked, “And he was drunk, too?” Ryan nodded again.

“Ian wrapped the car around a tree going sixty miles an hour. As you can imagine, he was hurt pretty badly, too. He was in traction for months. He has huge scars down his arms from the glass and some burns on his torso. That’s why he always wears long-sleeved shirts.” He paused. “My girlfriend wasn’t wearing her seat belt. At least it was quick for her.” He shook his head, maybe to dispel an image.

I was glad I had nothing so personally grisly in my memory. At least the person I’d seen had been a stranger. I couldn’t even tell if the person in the accident I witnessed had been a man or a woman. We all look more-or-less the same on the inside, and most of their insides had been on the outside. I swallowed hard.

“What was your girlfriend’s name?” I wasn’t jealous, more curious, and I felt like I should know her name. This woman, who I’d never met, had buckled Ryan in. She’d probably saved his life. Although, if she had just refused to get in the car and stopped Ian from getting in the car… well, it wasn’t worthwhile to go down that road.

“Jennifer Argento.”

I blinked. “I feel like I know that name.” A quick run through my Jason Kane trivia banks retrieved the information in a flash. “Wait. The original bassist for Axial Tilt?”

Ryan nodded again. My shock was now complete. I knew that he was friends with the members of the band through his brother, and that his profession granted him access, but I hadn’t realized. Jen Argento was widely regarded as a genius, lost before her time in a tragic accident. Her posthumous fame was legendary. Her writing had helped propel Axial Tilt to stardom. If Axial Tilt was Nirvana, Jen was Kurt Cobain. Jason Kane was more like Dave Grohl—infinitely more prolific and still extremely talented, but not the original genius behind his success.

My heart hurt for Ryan. And Ian, who I now distantly remembered from my Jason Kane trivia as having been in a horrible accident. And everybody. Especially Jen.

Ryan looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I never should have brought this up. It really kills the mood, huh? Let’s talk about something else.”

“Ok,” I said, but we lapsed into silence instead.

My thoughts were all over the place. I could scarcely believe that Ryan had been through something so physically traumatic and ended up without any scars or lasting damage. His body looked perfect—strong, tall, muscular. I could only imagine it would have been terrifying to wake up broken in a hospital bed and learn that he was the one who’d had the least damage in the crash.

“Ryan,” I said eventually, “I’m glad you told me about the accident.” I still needed time to think about and process the information. “I can’t imagine how scary that would have been.”

“It’s really fine,” Ryan promised me. “I’m ok. Ian’s ok. I just don’t like to drink anymore.”

It’s not ok that Jen died.

“I don’t think I would drink either if I were you.”

Poor Ryan was still carrying around guilt over the accident. It was obvious. I wanted to help, but I didn’t think that there was anything I could do. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed his hand and held it in mine. I knew it was inadequate, but it was all I had. He smiled at me.