I couldn’t tell exactly what his expression meant, but I had a sinking feeling that he was more concerned about his image than about me. Everyone kept fussing over me despite my insisting I was okay. I’d gotten so used to doing everything alone that accepting help from others felt almost foreign.

The ride home was painfully silent. Once we got through the door, Jake exploded.

He was furious—not because he was worried about me, but because he thought I’d embarrassed him. He paced the kitchen, his voice sharp and angry.