“I’m not broken,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the bed so hard my knuckles turned white. “So stop looking at me like I’m made of glass, Ethan.”

His golden eyes flickered in the candlelight; they were stormy, unreadable. “I never said you were broken, baby,” he replied quietly. “But I saw you fall. I felt it. You stopped breathing in my arms, Summer.”

Silence stretched between us like a drawn bowstring.

The words lodged in my throat like glass. I ...