Chapter Twelve
Pierce
We come to a stop, sliding into the grass at the side of the road, over fifty yards from where I dropped the bike, and for a moment, I just breathe… in, out… in, out.
It only takes three breaths for me to come to my senses.
“Harley? Are you okay?” She’s lying on top of me, her back to my front, her body shaking. I can hear her breathing, so I know the comms are still working. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” Her voice whispers in my ear and I let out a sigh.
“Don’t move. Don’t even try to move.”
“I can’t,” she says. “I’m too scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. Not anymore. You’re safe. I promise.” I hold her a little tighter, in the hope it’ll help. “Does anything hurt?”
“No.”
“Okay. Don’t remove your helmet. Not yet. Just lie here. Lie here with me.”
She must be getting wet, but I don’t wanna move out from under her… not until I’m absolutely sure she’s okay, and for a second, I let my head flop back against the ground behind me.
Man… that was close. It was too damn close.
I’ve come off of my bike a few times before, but never like that… and never when I’ve been with someone I care about. I suck in a breath, holding her closer, before I realize there are things I need to know.
“Can you feel your legs?”
“Yes. They’re wet.”
“Okay. And your feet. Can you move them? Can you wiggle your toes inside your boots?”
She falls silent, and then after a couple of seconds, says, “Yes. What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Tell me you can move your feet and wiggle your toes.”
“I can.”
I’m just wondering if it’s safe to slide out from under her when I hear the distant, vague sound of footsteps.
“Who’s that?” Harley says in my ear.
“I don’t know.” I turn my head to the left. My visor is covered with rain and is misting up a little, but I can still see the truck, lodged against the trees opposite the turning. The driver obviously drove straight into them, although that makes little sense. I wonder if it’s him running toward us, coming back to see if we’re okay, but then I realize there’s another vehicle… a big car, maybe a Range Rover, its headlamps pointing toward the edge of the road. In the half light, I can just about see the outline of a man. He seems to be wearing jeans and a leather jacket, which he unzips slightly as he crouches down. I raise my visor, raindrops pelting my face, although I can still focus enough to know I’ve seen this man before… except I can’t think where, or what his name is.
“Are you okay?” he says, frowning, his face filled with concern as he leans over.
“I think so.”
He nods. “Stay where you are. I’ve called for help already, so lie still.”
“We’ve got no intention of going anywhere.”
I’m happier holding onto Harley than I would be doing anything else, and the man smiles, glancing down at her before he looks back at me. “What you did just then,” he says, shaking his head. “It was something else.”
“I shouldn’t have had to do it in the first place.”
The man glances toward the truck. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“What the hell was he thinking?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he was.”
“Were you behind us?” I say, trying to get my bearings.
“Yeah. I was keeping my distance because of the rain, but I just came around the bend when it all happened.”
I nod my head. “Do you think you should go check on the truck driver? He might have had a stroke, or a heart attack, or something.”
“I guess… as long as you’re sure you’re okay?”
“We’re fine.”
He stands, nodding his head, and is about to wander off when he stops, looking down at us. “You’re soaking,” he says, stating one of the more obvious facts about our current situation.
“Yeah.”
“I think I’ve got a blanket in my trunk,” he says, and before I can comment, he turns and runs away, in the direction of his car. I can’t see him clearly, with the rain falling in my eyes, but before long, he returns, bringing a blanket with him. He lays it over us, saying, “This will help. It’ll keep you warm, too.”
“Thanks,” I say, pulling it up over Harley and tucking it in around her as the man walks off toward the truck. “Are you okay?” I ask Harley. She’s been quiet throughout that conversation, and I wanna make sure she’s all right.
“I’m just cold and shaky.”
“The blanket will help.”
“Who was that man?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I vaguely recognized him, but I can’t remember his name.”
“I couldn’t see him clearly. My visor’s misted up.”
“I wouldn’t open it unless you feel you have to. It’s not a pleasant experience.”
“What happened to your bike?” she asks
“I don’t know… and to be honest, I don’t care. Just as long as you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she says. “You’re holding me.”
I smile, tightening my grip on her, and keeping it that way until the man returns.
“Well?” I say, looking up at him.
“He didn’t have a heart attack, or a stroke,” he says, shaking his head.
“So he’s conscious?”
“Barely. He reeks of alcohol.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I took the keys from the truck,” he says, holding them up. “It seemed like the best thing to do.”
“I can’t see him driving away, although I guess he might try to make a run for it.”
The man shakes his head. “He won’t be running anywhere. I’m amazed he could walk to the truck, let alone drive it.”
At that moment, we all hear sirens coming from the town, the three of us turning our heads in that direction.
“Oh… hell…” Harley says, and I pull her closer.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just raised my visor. You were right. It’s horrible.”
“Put it down again, then.”
“No. I want to see what’s going on… and anyway, I need some air.”
That’s understandable, and although I wish I could do more to protect her, I can’t. Not yet. The sirens get closer, and the man glances back at the truck before looking down the road again.
“It’s Brady,” he says, sounding relieved.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But are you from Hart’s Creek?”
He nods, smiling down at me. “Yeah, but I haven’t lived here for very long. My name’s Gabe Sullivan. I work for Ryan Andrews.”
“I know you, Mr. Sullivan,” Harley says. “Sorry. I couldn’t see you properly before, but I work at the doctor’s office.”
The guy’s expression changes slightly and he nods an acknowledgement toward Harley, giving her a half smile, which looks like it took a lot of effort.
“Hi,” he says.
“I hope we’re not holding you up,” I say, sensing he could use a change of subject.
“Not at all. I’m just on my way home from the grocery store.”
“Won’t your wife be worried about you?” Harley says.
Gabe shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. I called Remi already. She knows where I am.”
Brady pulls up in his patrol car, two others behind him, and he gets out of the driver’s side, issuing instructions to his men, two of whom run off toward the truck, before he walks over, pulling his hat down slightly against the rain, and lowering another thick blanket over the two of us. Once again, I tuck it around Harley as he crouches beside us, shaking his head. “I’ve been telling you for years that your bike will be the death of you,” he says.
“I’m not dead yet, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“To be fair,” Gabe says as Brady looks up at him, getting to his feet, “the truck driver gave him no choice. He just drove straight out, even though he must have been able to see the bike coming… and this guy…” He points down at me. “This guy… he controlled the entire fall, dropped the bike, and somehow – although I still don’t know how – he pulled this young lady up on top of him, so he took the brunt of the crash.”
Brady leans over again, tipping his head. “Is that you, Harley?”
“Yes,” she says, raising her voice a little.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I can still feel her shaking, and I whisper, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says, forgetting to lower her voice, and Brady frowns.
“She was talking to me,” I say, and he nods his head, chuckling.
“The paramedics are on their way.”
“Paramedics?” I say, shaking my head at him.
“Yeah. Paramedics. Even if you think you’re fine, you’re both going to the hospital to get checked over.”
“I’m pretty sure there are no broken bones, Brady.”
“I don’t care.” He twists around. “The skid marks from your bike start around fifty to seventy yards over there, and the bike itself is buried in the trees back here.” He points in the opposite direction, and I raise my head slightly, although I can’t see anything. I’m not sure I want to, either. “No-one comes off of their bike like that in my town without paying a visit to the hospital. Okay?”
“Okay.” I know when I’m beaten, and Brady stands, calling to his deputy, Chip.
“Go check on Pierce’s bike, will you? Make sure it’s safe.”
Chip strides off, and although I try to watch him, my neck hurts, and I turn my head back around, keeping it still, my eyes fixed on the two men standing above us.
“Did you see everything that happened, Gabe?” Brady asks.
“Yeah. I was following a little way behind, but I’d come around that bend back there before the truck pulled out. I had a clear view of everything.”
“Then how did the truck end up over there?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve been to check on the driver and he stinks of liquor. I’m pretty sure I saw a bottle of something in the footwell, but it was too dark to see what it was.”
“My men will find it,” Brady says, sounding gruff, before he crouches down beside us again.
“Still okay?” he asks.
“So far. We’re pretty cold.”
“I know, but it won’t be long now. I’ll call your parents and let them know what’s happened.”
“Harley’s mom and dad are on vacation in Europe,” I say and he shrugs his shoulders, like he can’t see a problem with that.
“Please don’t call them,” she says, loud enough for him to hear. “If you do, they’ll only feel they have to come back, and they really don’t.”
“Okay, but what about your dad, Pierce?”
“I’d rather you didn’t tell him. His opinion of my bike is lower than yours.” Brady smiles, shaking his head. “If you call my dad and tell him I’ve had an accident, he’ll give me another lecture, and I don’t need that.”
“Fine. I won’t call, but I suggest you tell him. And you should tell your parents when they get back, Harley. You know what this town is like for gossip.”
He’s not wrong. But that’s a problem for another day.
Chip appears by his side, looking down at me with a sorrowful expression on his face. “Your bike doesn’t look too good,” he says.
“I honestly don’t care.”
He seems surprised, as does Brady, but they’re aware of how much I love my bike, so I guess I can’t blame them, because what they’re not aware of is that I love Harley so much more.
“I’ll have to impound it,” Brady says. “Just until I’ve worked out what happened here. I’m sure you weren’t at fault, and your bike was totally roadworthy, but rules are rules, I’m afraid.”
“It’s fine. Do whatever you have to.”
He nods his head, and we all turn as we hear more sirens in the distance.