Chelsea lay against the starched hospital sheets, her eyelids trembling as she struggled to stay conscious.
“It hurts,” she whispered, each word snagging on a shallow, rasping breath.

Phoebe sat on the edge of the mattress, worry and anger braided tightly in her voice. “You should have known better, Chelsea. You’re not a child anymore. Did it honestly not occur to you how dangerous it is to jump from a moving car?”

Chelsea gave a sharp, contemptuous snort. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to drag me away in the first place.”

Phoebe exhaled, her shoulders folding inward. “Your father and I are trying to protect you. If you really were carrying that boy’s child, your entire future would be ruined.”

The familiar lecture washed over Chelsea like stale air, leaving her soul heavy and exhausted.

“Mom, you don’t understand. Not at all.”

First of all, Jason wasn’t that kind of person. And second—the most they had ever shared was a single, shy kiss. Nothing more.