In his mind he kept seeing the windshield of Steve’s car as it was being winched onto the tow truck. The impact had shattered the glass into a million pieces, but some skinlike safety feature still held the crazy, opaque mosaic in place. Not a single shard had spilled onto the muddy ground. Kieran felt like that now—broken on the inside, but held up, held together, by something he only half understood. So he couldn’t look at Claire. He was afraid that, if he did, he might finally fall apart. “Kieran, talk to me.” “What is there to say?” He didn’t want to be cruel, but it was time to be honest. “Do you want me to say it’s all my fault? It’s all my fault. Do you want me to say I’m sorry? I’m sorry. But it still won’t bring Steve back, will it?” “No, it won’t.” Her hands tightened. “Don’t talk to me, then. Hold me.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “Please just turn around and hold me.” Did she want to comfort him? Did she really believe that he was strong enough to take her comfort—and not take everything else, too?
