Chapter 22
Liam
The rain is a cold, relentless enemy, soaking through my jeans and turning the ditch into a muddy, sucking pit. Angela and Rhys are already here, the flashing red and white lights of their fire truck painting the scene in a nightmare.
They work with a quiet efficiency, a well-oiled machine of rescue, their voices low and calm as they assess the crumpled front end of the truck. But I’m not really seeing them. I’m seeing the empty space in the passenger seat of their truck.
The space where Maddox should be.
“Doesn’t it seem weird that Maddox didn’t come?” I ask Millie, low enough that only she can hear over the drumming rain and the hiss of hydraulics. He’s on the engine crew. He should have been the first one here.
She just makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, a soft “mmh” that tells me absolutely nothing.
Her arms are wrapped around herself, her face pale and still.
She looks shaken, and the sight of it sends a fresh wave of guilt and fury through me.
This is my fault. I should’ve been more careful.
I can’t stand the distance between us. I reach out, my hand closing around her arm, and pull her to me. She comes without resistance, her body trembling against my side. She fits like she was made to be there, and the feeling is so right it’s painful.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, the words feeling inadequate and useless. “About everything. About being a jerk. About this.”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, but it’s not. It’s the furthest thing from fine. Her voice is thin, reedy. She’s just saying it to end the conversation.
“No, it’s not,” I counter. “And I’m going to get your car fixed. I promise. And I was thinking… we should go to the hospital. Just to get checked out. Make sure you’re really okay.”
She pulls back slightly to look at me, her brow furrowed. “I’m fine. Angela already gave us the all clear. A few bumps and bruises, that’s all.”
“I know,” I say, cupping her cheek, my thumb stroking over her skin. It’s cold. “Please, just indulge me. We’ll be in and out. I just need to know for sure. For my own peace of mind.”
I hold her gaze, letting her see the naked worry in my eyes. I’m not just asking; I’m telling her. This is happening. She searches my face for a long moment, then her shoulders slump in resignation.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay,” I confirm, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Angela walks over then, pulling out her phone. “I’ll communicate with the tow truck, let them know our exact location,” she says, all business. “They’ll get it to the garage. Don’t you two worry about a thing.”
The hospital is a zoo. The waiting room is a sea of miserable, damp people, all coughing and sniffling. I keep Millie close to my side, my arm a protective bar around her as we navigate the crowd.
I see a nurse behind the reception desk, a woman with exhausted eyes and a tight bun. “Excuse me,” I say, my voice cutting through the din. “What’s going on? It’s like a war zone in here.”
She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen. “Rainy season,” she says, her voice flat and tired. “Brings out everyone. Colds, flu, broken bones from slipping on wet pavement. I can’t wait for the new clinic so at least they can help with all of this.”
I nod, my gaze sweeping over the room. A small child with a barking cough, an old man holding a bloodied rag to his head, a pregnant woman breathing through what looks like a contraction.
It’s a microcosm of the town’s struggle, a constant battle against the elements and their own failing infrastructure.
“We were in a car accident,” I say, my voice lowering. “A skid. We need to get checked out. Blood tests, general tests. The whole nine yards.”
She finally looks up, her eyes assessing us. “Fine,” she says, typing rapidly. “Take a seat. We’ll call you. But I’m warning you, the lab is backed up. Even if we get your tests done, you might not get the results anytime soon. The power’s been on and off all day. It’s a mess.”
“That’s fine,” I say, though it’s not. The thought of a delay, of not knowing for sure if she’s okay, sits like a stone in my gut. But what choice do I have? This is the reality of Driftwood Cove right now. We’re all just making do.
I find us two empty seats in a corner, and we sit. Millie is quiet, leaning her head against my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close. I’m going to take care of her.
The minutes stretch into an hour, then two. The fluorescent lights above hum a monotonous, brain-numbing tune, and the air grows thicker with each new person who walks in, shaking off their wet coats and coughing.
Millie is silent against my side. She hasn’t said a word since we sat down. She just stares at a scuff mark on the linoleum floor, her body a coiled spring of tension.
I watch her from the corner of my eye. The pale, washed-out light makes her skin look almost translucent, and I can see faint blue shadows beneath her eyes. She’s exhausted.
I shouldn’t have kept her up so late. I guess I’m the selfish one.
The reminder of last night’s conversation before… well, everything, makes my chest constrict.
What isn’t she telling me?
Maybe I should’ve just let her talk it out.
I want to shake her, to demand she tell me what’s wrong, to take whatever is hurting her and crush it with my bare hands. But I don’t. I just sit here, feeling useless, and wrap my arm a little tighter around her.
“Cold?” I ask, my voice a low murmur.
She shakes her head, a small, jerky motion. “I’m fine.”
She’s not fine. She’s a million miles from fine, and every second I spend sitting here beside her, not knowing, feels like a failure.
I know I should push it. I decide not to.
My thumb traces circles on her shoulder, a useless, repetitive motion.
The child with the barking cough is crying now, a thin, miserable sound that grates on my already frayed nerves.
The old man with the head wound has been called back, leaving a bloody smear on his chair that no one has bothered to wipe up.
This place is a pit of despair, and we’re right at the bottom of it.
I’m about to suggest we just leave, to take our chances and go home, when a nurse in blue scrubs appears at the entrance to the waiting area. “Millie Harper?” she calls out.
Millie flinches beside me, her head snapping up. I squeeze her shoulder. “That’s us,” I say, helping her to her feet. My own muscles protest, stiff from sitting in the same position for so long.
The nurse gives us a quick, impersonal smile. “We can get you in now. Just for a quick check-up and some bloodwork. The doctor will see you in exam room three.”
Relief, sharp and potent, floods my system. “Thank you.”
Millie is quiet as we follow the nurse down a short, sterile-smelling hallway. The linoleum is squeaky clean under our feet, completely different from the grime of the waiting room.
The nurse stops at a door with a brass number three on it and pushes it open. “Right in here. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
I turn to Millie, my hands cupping her face. Her skin is still cool to the touch, her eyes wide and uncertain.
“I’m right here,” I tell her. “I’ll be right outside this door. Just go get checked out, and I’ll be waiting when you’re done.”
She nods, but her gaze is fixed on my lips. “You should get checked out too,” she whispers. “You were in the accident too.”
“Okay,” I agree without hesitation. “I will.”
I lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead, my lips lingering for a second longer than necessary. A reassurance. But then she does something that sends my world tilting on its axis.
She rises up on her toes and presses her lips to mine.
It’s not a passionate kiss. It’s not a kiss born of desire or longing. It’s quick, almost chaste, but it’s loaded with something I can’t quite name. A desperation. A plea.
And I can’t remember her ever doing that before. Not like this. Not in public, at least.
My mind goes blank. For a split second, all I can think is that she’s kissing me. My Millie is kissing me. But the giddiness, the rush of warmth I should feel, never comes. Instead, a cold, hard knot of dread forms in the pit of my stomach.
This is wrong.
This is all wrong.
She pulls back, her eyes searching mine, and what I see there makes my blood run cold. It’s not love. It’s not affection. It’s fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.
Something is really wrong.
My hand drops from her face, my fingers curling into a fist at my side. I want to ask her what it is. I want to demand she tell me what’s going on. But the words are stuck in my throat, choked by the sudden, overwhelming sense of foreboding that washes over me.
She turns and disappears into the exam room. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone in the hallway with the ghost of her kiss on my lips and a feeling of dread that threatens to swallow me whole.