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I stop. “Oliver?”

His eyes lift to mine. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

He exhales through his nose. “Apparently not.”

His hand is still on my shoulder. I put mine around his waist. He stiffens at first, then some of his weight settles against me. He fits beneath my arm as neatly as the blue sweater will fit in his dresser.

“Where’s your car?” he asks.

“Close.”

“I should probably sit down.”

“You can sit in mine.”

Oliver looks across the lot. Then his balance shifts again. His fingers tighten against my shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

I take his bag from him. By the time we reach my car, his steps have shortened. He stays close enough that our arms keep touching. I unlock the passenger door.

Oliver braces one hand on the roof but doesn’t sit. “You were near my coffee.”

“Yes.”

His focus sharpens despite the drug. “What did you do?”

I open the passenger door wider. “What’s the last thing you remember clearly?”

His hand tightens against the roof. “What’s your name?”

“Heather.

“Heather,” he repeats.

My name sounds right in his voice. Now he needs to learn his.

“Sit down, Oliver.”

“My name is Nathaniel.” His hand moves toward his coat pocket.

I catch his wrist before he reaches his phone.

I didn’t choose him because he’d be easy.

CHAPTER 13

Oliver

The woman who drugged me is holding my wrist.

I look at her hand before I look at her face.

She has a firm grip, thumb pressed against the inside of my wrist, fingers closed tightly enough that pulling away would require more coordination than I currently have. My phone is in my coat pocket. I can feel its weight against my thigh. I can also feel the strange delay between deciding to move and my body carrying out the instruction.

“What did you give me?”

“Something you were supposed to leave untouched until you got home.”