Prologue
THE ACCIDENT
Death used to fascinate me until I stared into its eyes. I couldn’t figure out if I welcomed the relief the darkness offered or if I wanted to spit in its face.
Sheets of rain poured from the sky, blurring the long stretch of road. Every so often, a beam of headlights struck me blind for a heart-stopping moment before passing by, and the grim road would appear again, and yet, I didn’t mind the drive. The radio crooned classic rock, my dad in the passenger seat singing along to every word.
He had a great voice. Always had, and I loved hearing him sing.
For as long as I could remember, it had always been Dad and me. And tonight, we were celebrating. A stupid tradition, and not really a celebration at all, but Dad always made the little things seem big.
Neither of us had any idea how significantly our lives would change in a split second. Nothing would be the same again after tonight.
Tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel in time with the beat, the car glided along the slick road. The conditions were too dangerous to push the vehicle too far over the limit. Dad had a few drinks tonight at dinner, so I drove us home, being the responsible, underage daughter.
A flash of headlights cut through the darkness a mile or so before me. They were brighter than normal and coming closer faster than I anticipated. Squinting, I gripped the leather-clad wheel in a sweaty, tight clasp.
Why does it seem as if they’re right in front of me?
I shook my head, leaning a bit farther in the seat. It had to be a trick of the glossy road and blinding lights. And yet…
My body stiffened.
Holy shit, they’re going to hit us.
My foot immediately went for the brake but a hair too late.
I screamed, the sound meshing with the shrieking of metal crashing into metal, an ear-piercing, unforgettable sound. The car spun, whirling in circles, shoving me against the side of the door. My head rammed into the window as the airbag exploded in my face. Holy fuck . It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Pain knocked the breath out of me, but it was short-lived.
Before I had a chance to fully comprehend what happened, darkness pulled me under.
Death whispered in my ear, a brush of a kiss along my skin meant to coax me to the other side. How easy it would be to follow the cool, calm voice, and yet, another harsher voice nagged in the darkness, growing louder and more insistent until all I wanted was to make it shut up.
My eyes fluttered open, and before the pain registered, I stared at my fingers. Blood covered them and was splattered over the steering wheel and the shattered windshield. A wave of dizziness threatened to take me back under, but I gritted my teeth, forcing my body to stay awake even as my brain finally registered the pain.
I regretted my decision. Perhaps being lost in the unknown was better than the torment every part of me was being subjected to. I was afraid to move. Then I remembered I wasn’t alone.
Dad.
I angled my head despite the pain yelling at me and gasped.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The passenger seat was compacted into nearly half its size, and Dad’s large frame was squashed between the seat and the dashboard. Fear rendered me motionless. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
What should I do? What should I do? Panicked thoughts continued to race through my mind as rain pelted into the car where the window had once been.
911. I needed to call for help. The problem was I couldn’t find my phone. It was in my purse, which happened to be in the back seat. Craning my neck, I scanned the empty seats. Where is it?
My door flew up in a groaning mess of mangled metal, and I turned my head too damn quickly and saw a dark, wet shadow looming over me. “You’re alive,” someone with a deep, husky voice said. Arms went under me, wiggling and shimmying me out of the car.
“Wait,” I rasped, barely able to speak. Every inch of me screamed in agony, but he didn’t listen, and I couldn’t get the words out. Help my dad. Help him, I cried out in my head. “Please.”
The stranger mistook my plea. “It’s okay. I got you,” he assured, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to the side of the road. He laid me on the grassy part of the shoulder with gentleness.
I started to shake; my body so damn cold. Rain soaked my clothes, plastering them against my skin and washing away the blood. The wind carried a trace of something woodsy with a hint of sea salt.
“Hey man, we need to go. Now!” another person with a gravelly voice demanded, and the stranger turned their head toward the impatient command.
My hand reached for his arm, wrapping around a firm forearm. “Don’t leave,” I murmured, the words like glass in my scorching throat.
The figure turned back to me, his fingers prying mine off him. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
I stared into a blurry face, wishing my damn vision would clear, but I coughed, and a searing pain raked through my insides, something sharp and metallic on my tongue.
Fuck, I’m going to pass out again.
I blinked heavily, and the man was gone. Or perhaps I drifted out of consciousness again. I couldn’t tell.
The next time my eyes opened, red and blue lights swirled through the darkness. An older man in uniform crouched down beside me, asking a string of questions I couldn’t hear.
“My dad,” I whispered again. “He needs help.” Desperate to make them understand it was him they needed to be concerned with. I tried to sit up.
Colossal mistake.
“Stay still. Don’t move. Someone else is taking care of him. Don’t worry. Let me take care of you.”
Have they seen the state of the car? I snorted inside my head. We’d be lucky to make it out of here alive. What about the other vehicle? Were they in as bad shape? I thought about the guy who pulled me out. Was he still here? Had he been in another car passing by and seen the accident?
The next hour was nothing but a blur. Certain sounds or smells stayed with me. The sirens of the ambulance. The beeping of the hospital machine in my room. The strong scent of antiseptic.
My injuries and wounds were treated. I was lucky the doctor said. A few bruised ribs, a concussion, cuts, and scrapes. Most of my injuries were superficial. By the third hour with no information about my father’s condition and every nurse assuring me the doctor treating him would be in when he could, I knew it wasn’t good.
How could it be?
I’d seen him—seen the condition of the mangled car. After the initial hit, we’d spun into a telephone pole, hitting it on my father’s side of the car. The collision pinned him inside. I’d been on my way to the hospital while my father remained trapped inside the horrible accident.
Was it my fault?
Had I done something that caused me to lose control of the car?
I tried to remember the details, but all I saw was a halo of bright white lights.
While I carefully sipped on a cup of Sprite through a straw, someone rapped on my hospital door. Moments later, two uniformed officers strolled inside, handcuffs dangling from their belt loops and the static voice of an operator buzzing through the radios secured on their shoulders.
Not a huge fan of cops. Well, pretty much any authority figure to be frank. CPS workers, teachers, school counselors, and basically anyone else who thought they had a say regarding my home life.
It took me a long time to figure out that being the daughter of a single dad who was virtually penniless raised more than a few brows around town. And in Fallen Oaks, too many people believed they knew what was best for me. Whether it was the size of their bank account that made them lofty enough to speak out or the arrogance they thought they knew what was best for me that made them report the lies about my family, I’d never know.
But everyone in Fallen Oaks had something to say about Adam Quinn and his little girl, who wasn’t so little anymore.
No, they were quick to find how sharp my tongue could be.
Unlike my father, I took a different approach to dealing with town gossip. The ignore-it philosophy never seemed to work for him. My attitude was a bit more direct. I had no problem telling everyone to properly fuck off.
The officer who stood just slightly in front of his partner cleared his throat. Why do cops always sport the same bushy mustache? It creeped me out. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. Do you feel up to it?”
I peered at him over my straw, my back rod straight. “Do I have a choice?” The sarcasm couldn’t be contained. They might be trying to help, but my past with the police department, even at only sixteen, made me leery of everything they said.
“Your cooperation would be appreciated, especially if you have any interest in finding the other party involved in the crash unless you tell us you managed to do that all on your own?”
“Wasn’t the other car there?” I asked, confusion creasing over my forehead.
He gave me the sympathetic look I despised. “We believe they ran off.”
A hit and run? What the fuck?
The wheels in my head turned, but the concussion I suffered made forming actual thoughts difficult. A spear of pain stabbed at my temples, and I pressed a hand to the side of my head.
“By the time first responders arrived, the only car on Hickory Road was yours, Miss. Quinn.”
I hated formal names. “Arie. My name is Arie.”
The officer nodded. “What can you remember leading up to the accident?” he asked as his partner adjusted his pen and prepared to take notes.
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I can’t.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, frustration ribboning through me.
The officer asking the questions shifted his weight, his mustache twitching under his lips as he frowned. “If there is anything you do remember, anything at all, give us a call. Even something that might seem insignificant could help us track down the other party.”
The tension in my muscles made the already aching parts throb. “My father? No one has been able to tell me about his condition. Is he…” I swallowed, unable to form the words. I didn’t even want to think his death into existence.
“He’s alive. In surgery. That’s all the information we have.” He dropped a business card on the side table beside my bed. “I hope to hear from you, Arie.”
I doubt I’d call him.
Hours later, a very exhausted doctor shuffled into my room. Dark bags shadowed under his eyes. He stopped in front of my bed and raked a hand through his sandy hair. The youthfulness of his features surprised me. “Arie?” he asked in a fatigued voice.
I nodded, eager to finally hear some news. If I trusted my legs and head to behave, I would have already been out of this bed demanding answers, but every time I attempted to get out of bed, the world spun, and I feared I’d end up blacking out again.
“Your father is out of surgery,” the doctor said, but something in his grim expression made me feel as if there was more to come, and the relief tearing through me halted in my chest. “As you know, the accident was severe, as were his injuries. We did all we could, but he suffered spinal cord trauma.” His hands shifted into the overside pockets of his white coat. “I know that sounds scary, and there are some complications, but the positive side is the accident didn’t cause complete paralysis.”
Spinal cord? Paralysis? Those words stood out, echoing over and over in my mind as I attempted to grasp what the doctor was explaining. “What does that mean?” I heard myself ask, but my voice didn’t sound like me. It seemed too far away, the buzzing in my ears blocking out most of the noise in the room.
The doctor readjusted his glasses. “I’m sure this is a lot to take in,” he continued, tailoring his voice to be more sympathetic. “But what I’m trying to prepare you for is the prognosis of your father walking again is slim. Even with treatment and physical therapy, he most likely won’t regain the use of his legs.”
Those words would change the course of my dad’s life and my future forever.