“How’s Jay?” Sara asked at last.

As if conjured by her words, Jay appeared, carrying a Styrofoam cup. There was a bandage on his face, covering the stitches he’d gotten in the emergency room.

“It’s not Starbucks,” he said, handing the cup to Violet. “But it was the best I could find.” He looked ruefully at Sara. “I’d’ve gotten you one, but I didn’t know you were here.”

Violet sipped the bitter liquid, tasting the powdered creamer and wishing he’d have been a little more generous with the sugar.

“Here,” Jay said, reading her thoughts. He unloaded his pocket, which was stuffed full of sugar packets. “I had no idea how much you’d need.”

She smiled at him, as she tore into three of the packets, dumping them into her coffee.

Sara was watching Jay, watching both of them, when she told him, “I’m really sorry you got dragged into this. Both you and Chelsea.”

Jay sat down on the other side of Violet and leaned forward, so he could look Sara in the eye. “I didn’t get dragged into anything. I’d do anything—go anywhere—for Violet. I’m glad I was there, glad I could help stop that creep.”

Violet was glad too. She’d already wondered what might have happened if Chelsea hadn’t told Rafe where they’d been planning to go. Things might’ve ended very differently.

But Jay was still talking. “And as far as Chelsea, I gotta be honest. That girl doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. No one dragged her into this mess. She went willingly. She wanted to be part of Violet’s life. I think she was just glad the secret was finally out in the open.”

Apprehension wrenched her gut as Violet watched Sara’s reaction. Sara didn’t know Violet had confided in Chelsea. Or at least Violet hadn’t told her. And she was learning that Rafe didn’t tell Sara everything.

He hadn’t told Sara about Dr. Lee. Or about their mother being part of the Circle.

Sara didn’t flinch from the news, didn’t respond at all. Still, Violet was grateful when a nurse wearing pale pink scrubs came toward them, interrupting the tense silence.

“You can see your friend now,” she told Violet. They were the sweetest words Violet had ever heard.

“Hey there . . . how ya doin’?” Violet asked, easing her way inside the hospital room. The antiseptic smell stung her nose, and she winced when she heard the incessant beeping of machines all around her.

She stopped short when she saw Rafe there too, standing by Chelsea’s bedside.

“Oh . . . I, um, I’m sorry . . . is this a bad time?” Violet took a half step backward, hating the surge of resentment that rose up her throat like bile.

Chelsea’s head rolled over on her pillow, and her half-lidded eyes widened. “No, don’t go.”

“It’s okay,” Rafe said to Violet, his actions jerky as he rubbed at his neck. “I was just leaving.” Then his gaze fell on Chelsea, and his voice lowered . . . softened. “I’ll come back later, okay?” His hand dropped, and the back of his fingers brushed over the back of hers in a gesture that was far too intimate.

Chelsea smiled blearily up at him, and Violet swallowed hard, forcing herself not to watch the two of them.

“I’ll see you later,” he told Violet as he brushed past her on his way out.

It was true, Violet thought. They would see each other. At school, and at the Center, and maybe even outside both now that he and Chelsea seemed to be . . . getting closer. So why did that thought make her stomach churn? Why did she want so badly to keep them apart?

Didn’t they deserve to be happy?

“I heard I have you to thank,” Chelsea said, drawing Violet’s attention, her lips moving slower than usual. She seemed to have difficulty peeling her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Each word was sluggish and hard fought. “I told you you were a hero.”

Violet forced her smile to remain in place, but inwardly she cringed. “Don’t say that, Chels. I’m just glad my stupid stunts didn’t get you killed.”

Chelsea frowned, her entire face collapsing. “Are you kidding? Look at me. I’m bulletproof.”

Violet looked. At the tubes coming in and out of Chelsea’s arms. At the machines lining both sides of her bed, making noises and monitoring her vitals and who knew what else. Leave it to Chelsea to try to sound tough even when she was half conscious in the hospital.

“Too bad for you it wasn’t a bullet, I guess.”

Chelsea laughed, which turned into a cough, which made her moan and set off a round of monitors, causing a nurse to come rushing into the room. The woman glowered at Violet, who had the good sense to look shamefaced about what she’d done.

“Yeah,” Chelsea said, while the nurse peeled back the sheet and checked the bandage beneath Chelsea’s blue-green hospital gown. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her. “I guess I’m not stab proof.”

The nurse flashed Chelsea a disapproving look, and then shot another one at Violet.

Violet understood the meaning well enough, but the nurse voiced her thoughts anyway. “You need to take it easy. If you can’t, then we’ll have to restrict your visitors. I doubt we’d have a hard time persuading your parents to agree.” Her already arched eyebrows raised almost to her hairline as her warning sank in.

She was probably right. Chelsea’s parents had always liked Violet . . . but that was before. What would they think of her now, after what had happened last night at the club? After Chelsea had almost gotten killed?