Chapter 4
Ashton
“Ireally think she’s going to go out with me,” Basher says, as enthusiastic as always discussing his burgeoning relationship with Mabel Crow.
Not that I would call it burgeoning, since there’s been no advance but Basher mooning over her. Unrequited love might be a better description. Or, if I was being mean, a big, bad crush.
“Have you even asked her?” I demand, heading down the hill from the castle.
Once I had the keys to Fenella’s Charger in my hand, I lost all interest in Silas’s birthday party. And despite the big, bad crush he has on Mabel, Basher was right behind me to get his promised ride.
Basher’s really taking the sidekick role seriously. He says that because of me, he’s now fascinated by cars. Understandable, since my profession is that of a race car driver.
I refuse to use past tense.
We head back into town, the headlights on bright because there’s no other cars out this late, and it’s really black once you get past the few streetlights.
I’ve been to Laandia enough times to navigate past the castle to the lighthouse, the area where Silas likes to stargaze and where his new observatory is being constructed.
The sky is bright though, as the green and purple of the Northern Lights flash in the distance.
Not too distant, because Laandia is almost in the Arctic.
It’s cold enough to be.
The heater pumps out warm air, but it’s not enough for me to strip off my gloves. Basher oohs and ahs at the colours of the sky and the forests and the speed of the car.
He also wonders if we’ll see a moose. I guess it’s possible.
“Not yet,” Basher admits. “I’m warming her up to the idea that we’ll be the next power couple in Laandia.”
I think it’s more likely that we run into a moose tonight than Mabel warms up to anything. “Are you still scared of her?”
“Define scared?” Basher counters, and I huff under my breath.
“You say you’re in love with this woman and you’re afraid to ask her out.”
“I’m not afraid. I just want to make sure she’ll say yes. It’s more like intimidation than fear.”
I get it—Mabel Crow is scary. She manages the bar like it’s a class of rowdy schoolchildren, and she doesn’t need bouncers to throw out even the most seasoned, and drunk fishermen.
Those dudes battle the waves and sharks on a daily basis. Full respect there.
Mabel might have more moves than a John Cena film, but I can see what the attraction is for Basher.
I saw her break up a fight using only a dishrag, and it was hot.
Sexy. I may be scared of Mabel as well, but I also can admit the woman looks good.
All that dark hair, dark eyes that don’t take crap from anyone, curves curving everywhere, and …
a possibly dark heart when it comes to Basher.
I think Basher should offer to arm wrestle her for a date. She might respect that.
The car slides a bit on the slick road as we turn back into town. “Did you do that on purpose?” Basher asks. “Like the drift in Fast and Furious.”
As part of Basher’s learn-about-cars regime, he’s taken to rewatching the Fast and Furious franchise.
I drive faster than the speed limit suggests, but I have full control of the vehicle. I’ve only once not had full control of a vehicle, and I don’t want a repeat of that day. “Sure,” I tell him, not wanting to admit the streets in town are icier than when we left.
My toes in my leather Golden Goose shoes suggest it’s gotten colder. If that’s possible. The entire town is frigid, and I did not bring warm enough clothes.
So why do I stay?
Good question.
The car races along the deserted streets with a nice throaty rumble.
I’ll give Fenella credit because it’s a fun drive.
My sister does know her cars, although I’m not about to tell her so.
I really wish I could open it up to see what it can do.
But Battle Harbour, as quiet and empty as it seems, is no racetrack.
“This car needs to be driven,” I say as I circle the downtown, keeping a few streets back to avoid Laandia’s finest. “It’s like a dog that needs to run. ”
“Your sister was telling me Silas found a cat that they want to adopt,” Basher says. “They want to call it Oscar to go with their Ernie cat. Do these people have a Sesame Street fetish or something?”
“Do they even watch Sesame Street? Isn’t that an American thing?”
“Sesame Street is a world-wide thing,” he argues. “You haven’t said much about your sister getting married.”
“Why would I?” My sister is engaged to be married.
I’ve acknowledged this. Congratulated her and bought her the stupid engagement present that she demanded I buy.
I’ve said nice things to Silas, which is not easy for me.
Not that it’s anything about Silas—he’s a great guy.
It’s just that saying nice things isn’t in my MO. Compliments are not my love language.
I have no love language.
Basher seems to think its time for therapy as we drive through the quiet streets. “It’s just that your twin is settling down, getting married, and you—”
“Are not.”
“Yeah. How do you… feel… about that?”
I turn to glance at him. “Are you asking me about my feelings?”
“What’s wrong with that?” he demands. “We’re friends. Friends… talk.”
“You’re definitely not getting Mabel if you ask her about her feelings.”
“Why not? Hettie says—Ashton!”
I see her at the same time as Basher does. The woman appears, her bright red puffer acting like a stop sign, in the middle of the street in the very worst spot in town.
I jam on the brakes, but we hit a patch of ice and skid.
And skid.
Her eyes are wide and full of horror as the car slides closer. Too close.
I can’t do anything but turn the wheel. Pump the brake.
And pray, but it sounds more like cursing.
But it works because we stop moving.
Her hand slaps the hood of the car, and she disappears.
“Holy sh— Dude! She’s— You hit her!”
“I—no!” Throwing it into park, I jump out of the car. “She shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road!”
“You shouldn’t have hit her!” Basher scrambled out the car door, his phone in hand.
“I came around the corner and she was just there. She—” This is bad. This is really bad. This is potentially the end of my career as a racecar driver, bad.
I hit someone.
Only—it’s not someone.
“Sophie! It’s Sophie Laz,” Basher cries like I don’t already recognize the thick dark hair and the always smiling face.
Only she’s not smiling.
Sophie’s face is white and set as she tries to pull herself upright from her position in front of the car. Not under the car. Not with the car at all on top of her.
I hiss with relief.
“Don’t move,” I shout, mainly because I’m glad she seems alright. Or as alright as you can be after being plowed down by an out-of-control yellow Charger. I drop to my knees. “I’m so sorry.”
Basher is right beside me. “Are you alright?” He grabs her hand.
“I… I think so. I just need to get up.”
I put a hand on her chest to stop her, and then realize where my hand is and snatch it away. “No, don’t move.”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” Basher adds.
“Are there even ambulances here?”
“Of course.” Basher looks at Sophie. “There are, aren’t there?”
Battle Harbour is a small town. It’s a valid question. “Yes, but I’m fine. I don’t need—” Before we can stop her, Sophie manages to get a leg around her and lifts herself off the ground, but she collapses as soon as she puts weight on her leg. “Ow.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. With Sophie. What do I do? “It could be broken,” I say with real worry in my voice.
Of course I’m worried. I hit someone.
Fenella is going to kill me. FluxFuel is going to kill me. There will be no FluxFuel because whatever progress I made, I’ve just thrown out the window.
My father is going to kill me.
I hit Sophie.
“Her back could be broken.” Basher has his phone to his ear. “I can’t get service.”
“Dead zone,” Sophie explains. What I can see of her face between the toque and the scarf is still pale, but she’s speaking normally. She’s sitting up.
She doesn’t seem to be broken, and this time I huff with relief, white clouds of warm air blowing in her face.
“Her back is not broken, but her leg might be,” I decide, because I have to do something. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“We shouldn’t move her,” Basher argues.
“I can move myself. If you’d just give me a hand…”
“She can’t sit in the snow.” I help Sophie to her feet, wondering if I really shouldn’t move her. She seems okay… and she can’t stay here on the ground. Already the cold has seeped through the knees of my jeans.
I keep an arm around her waist as she gingerly puts weight on her leg. “I can’t,” she gasps.
I swing her into my arms, and she gasps again. “You don’t have to carry me.”
“I think I do. Bash, get the car door. Front seat.”
“She needs to lie down,” Basher frets but does what I ask.
Maybe she does need to be in the backseat, but I have a strong and somewhat violent urge to keep Sophie near me.
I hit her. I could have…
No, I couldn’t have. I would have stopped in time.
I would have.
The hospital in Battle Harbour is normal-looking, if on the small size. But it might not have the care that Sophie needs. “We should get Gunnar to fly her to Saint John’s,” I say as I pull up.
“Is there a helicopter we can use?” Basher wants to know. He’s out of the car as soon as I stop, pulling open the door.
“I don’t need a helicopter.” Sophie tries for a smile and almost makes it. “I’m fine. It’s just—”
“You could have internal injuries.”
“We’ll get her checked out,” Basher promises. “She’ll be fine.”
I don’t know if he says that for me, or himself.
I scoop Sophie into my arms and carry her into the hospital.