Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Deathly silence.

My heart stopped.

“Dillon?” My heart started again, racing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. “Dillon?”

“What is it?” Michael’s eyes were round with worry.

My face crumpled. “She … something happened.”

“What happened?”

“Michael, we have to go, we have to go. We have to find her. I think she was in an accident.”

I could still feel the panic I’d felt when I realized Dillon was in a car crash. As I sat in Michael’s apartment, feeling his gaze on my face, that memory bled into another and then another …

Being around Dillon almost transformed me into a kicked puppy. I hated that feeling. Guilt made me put up with it. My sister laid in her hospital bed, where she’d been in and out for eight weeks now, and stared balefully at the ceiling.

“I could bring something different to read?” I waved the historical romance paperback in the air that she’d described as unrealistic smut. “What do you want me to read?”

Her jaw clenched. “Something I can relate to. Like a girl whose sister betrays her and causes her to get into an accident that leaves her a fuckin’ paraplegic?”

Hearing the bitterness, the hate, in my sister’s voice hurt but I held stoic. Dillon’s life had been irrevocably changed by the car accident two months ago. She wasn’t a paraplegic, but she had suffered severe damage to her spinal cord, and it would take months of brutal physical therapy to get her walking again. She’d never have the strength she had before. Not to mention she’d suffered a couple of broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and a pretty severe concussion.

I hated that I was the reason she wasn’t paying attention to the road, but it wasn’t my fault she was driving and talking on her phone at the same time. I didn’t make her answer, and she’d pushed me to keep talking.

I did feel guilty about Michael.

I blamed myself for Dillon’s subsequent depression, feeling sure if this had happened without her learning about Michael and me, her attitude would have been way better.

My sister was mad and rightly so. But it was also like she’d given up.

“When is your next therapy session?” I didn’t acknowledge her last comment.

She blamed me.

I got it.

We’d get through it.

“Tomorrow.” Her head turned on the pillow toward me. “You’ll be there, right?”

Either because she needed me there or because she was attempting to keep me away from Michael, Dillon insisted on having me around at her beck and call as much as possible. The only time I couldn’t be with her was when I had class. However, I’d assigned a ringtone to Dillon, so I’d know it was her right away. My teachers were good about letting me take calls from her at school.

Her constant demands were exhausting, but I saw them as part of my penance and hoped that eventually, once she was back on her feet, we’d get back to a good place again.

Maybe when that happened, my mom would get off my back too.

Dillon had told her everything, so Mom was blaming me as much as Dillon was. She couldn’t even look at Michael. I felt terrible because it was causing problems between her and Dad, and I knew things were already strained between them over money. We had insurance, but it didn’t cover all of Dillon’s medical bills. Even though she was talking on her phone and not paying attention, the truck that slammed into her had run a red light. Mom and Dad were talking with a lawyer about getting damages to pay for Dillon’s bills.

My brothers and sister were fine with me, thankfully. And Dermot liked Michael, so they were getting along great.

And Dad was always Dad. Supporting me. He tried to assure me none of this was my fault, but I couldn’t help how I felt.

“You seeing Michael tonight?” Dillon asked.

It enraged her that her car accident hadn’t caused me to break things off with Michael, even though she was sweet as pie to him when he was around.

I got all her vitriol.