Chapter 3

Rain hammered against the windows.

He pounded on the door, shouting through the downpour. "Lyra! Let me explain!"

Lyra sat in the driver's seat, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. Watching the two of them soaked in the rain, she suddenly found it a little funny.

She slowly rolled the window down. Wesley's voice rushed in. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." Her smile was cold.

Wesley's expression shifted. The words tumbled out fast. "She's the one—Mrs. Brook's daughter. Her power went out, so I came to check on her."

Lyra reached for the window switch. She didn't want to hear another word.

"Lyra!" Irene ran over and planted herself in front of the car. Rain soaked her white dress, leaving her looking fragile and pitiful. "This is all my fault. There's really nothing between us. Please don't be mad at Wesley."

Lyra frowned and turned the wheel, ready to drive around her.

Bang.

Irene suddenly threw herself onto the hood, stumbled, and collapsed onto the wet ground.

Lyra slammed the brakes, her heart jerking hard in her chest.

"Irene!" Wesley rushed over and helped her up. Then he turned on Lyra, eyes blazing.

"I'm fine," Irene said weakly, her face drained of color. "Wesley, go comfort Lyra."

"I've been comforting her for years!" Wesley snapped. "To her, I'm just some pathetic doormat. And now you're hurt, and you're still worried about her? Why are you so darn kind?"

Lyra froze in the driver's seat, fingers curling tight.

She had never heard him sound like this.

The edge in his voice, the raw disgust, felt like a mask finally torn away.

"She threw herself at the car," Lyra said after a beat.

"Enough!" Wesley cut her off. "It's bad enough you misunderstood me. Now you're accusing her? Do you even realize she's pregnant?"

Each word drove straight into Lyra's chest.

"Is it yours?" she asked.

Wesley went rigid, like the question finally caught up to him. His lips parted. "Lyra, don't say that."

"Ah!" Irene suddenly cried out and collapsed.

"Irene!" Wesley panicked. He yanked open the passenger door. "I need the car. I have to get her to the hospital!"

Lyra sat in the passenger seat as Wesley took the wheel, his hands shaking as he gripped it.

In the backseat, Irene lay unconscious—though her lashes kept trembling.

"You're this nervous," Lyra said quietly. "Is the child really yours?"

Wesley floored the gas. "This is about someone's life. Can you stop causing drama right now?"

Lyra turned toward the window.

She knew this road too well.

Three months ago, she'd had acute gastroenteritis. Wesley had driven her to the hospital the same way, tearing through the streets.

He'd been so frantic he put his shoes on the wrong feet, repeating over and over, "Lyra, I've got you."

"Wesley, you've really outdone yourself," she said now, leaning weakly against the glass.

Wesley leaned on the horn and cut past another car. "Whatever you want to say, save it for home!"

At the hospital, he barely stopped before jumping out and lifting Irene into his arms.

Lyra stood off to the side, silent, watching his hurried back.

It looked exactly like the day he'd run through the ER carrying her when she had a fever.

"Move!" Wesley shouted as he slammed into her shoulder.

She stumbled and went down hard, palms scraping against the rough pavement.

When she looked up, all she saw was Wesley's back vanishing into the ER with Irene in his arms.

A nurse hurried over. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

Lyra shook her head and pushed herself up against the wall.

Her knee burned, but it was nothing next to the hollow ache tearing through her chest.

From inside the ER, Wesley's voice cracked with panic. "Doctor! How is she? Is the baby okay?"

The nurse handed her a tissue. That was when Lyra realized she was crying.

She took it, but the tears wouldn't stop.

So even when a heart dies, the body still feels pain.

The ER doors swung open. Wesley rushed out, then froze when he saw her.

He opened his mouth, his eyes dropping to the blood on her palm. "Go home. I'll explain everything later."

Lyra nodded without a word. But as she turned, the world spun—and she collapsed.