You killed her. All she truly wanted from you was love but you couldn't even do it.
He couldn't give her the amorous affection she covets. He might as well have killed her. He might as well have stuffed her into his car that she took in a fit of rage, guided her hands on that steering wheel as he collided the damn thing into another vehicle approaching speedily.
And though he hadn't done any of those things— Nicky had been the one who snatched up his car keys after that painfully unavoidable quarrel, striding out the front door even while he called after her. But it didn't stop what happened from weighing on him like blobs of cement. By the time the car was recovered, it had been a wreck with Nicky behind the wheel, her blood sopping the seat.
