Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
My mind is spinning with thoughts. Xander’s hand is on my bare knee, squeezing gently while he tries to navigate through the increasing snowfall. The streets are nearly empty. It seems few people dare to drive in these conditions.
Xander is also driving slowly.
“Are you scared? You got so quiet over there. I am used to driving in the snow, so you don’t have to worry. It just takes a little longer,” he tries to reassure me.
“It’s not that. I know you will keep me safe,” I console him, fiddling with the hem of my dress.
“What is it then, Carolina?” he asks, his tone gentle.
“You said I was yours,” I whisper.
“You are,” he confirms, not leaving any room for misunderstandings.
“I just don’t get it. Are you saying all three of you want to be with me? All I do is struggle. I am not worth it. I can’t give anything in return. You will never be just happy with me,” I confess.
“Being happy is easy. I can be happy with anyone. But I want to struggle with you. Have you ever seen the darkness in someone’s eyes and loved them anyway?” he asks, shooting me a glance.
Before I can respond, the world shifts violently around us. The sound of metal colliding with metal echoes in my ears, and my body jerks forward against the seat belt as the truck is struck from behind with a horrifying, bone-chilling crunch.
My heart races as Xander desperately clutches the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the sheer force of the impact. Panic surges through me as the vehicle skids across the icy road. Xander is trying hard to regain control, but it’s too late.
The truck spins out of control.
I can’t stop the scream that leaves me as I try to brace myself for what’s next. My breaths come hard and fast, my gaze shifting to the world passing by my window as we turn.
Xander’s instincts seem to kick in because he puts his arm out over my chest, trying to stop me from being thrown forward.
The world outside blurs to a stop as we crash into a street lamp on the side of the road, the collision sending shockwaves of pain through my hips, where the seat belt digs into my body.
“Holy fuck, what happened?” I holler, but I’m met with an eerie silence.
I muster every ounce of strength I have left to turn and check on Xander. My heart sinks as I take in the sight before me.
He’s slumped over the steering wheel, a trickle of blood visible on his forehead, his body still, and it’s clear he’s lost consciousness.
The shock of the situation grips me, leaving me feeling helpless and terrified.
“Xander,” I yell, panic filling my voice, as I take off my seat belt to turn and take his face between my hands. He has a gash on his forehead, blood trickling down slowly, and he does not open his eyes. “Fuck,” I whisper, my hands starting to tremble.
Why the fuck didn’t the airbag deploy?
In a panic, I search for my phone, but as soon as my fingers touch my dress, I remember it’s at home with Joshua. I swipe over Xander’s pant pockets, only to remember that he hadn’t gotten his phone back from Clay either.
“Cazzo!” I curse, eyes filling with tears.
Thankfully, the truck is still running. It’s dark, and the headlights illuminate the flurrying snowflakes. The windshield wiper dragging across the glass is the only sound.
I turn to look out of the rear window, but there is no one else on the street, no sign of the car that bumped into us, and dread fills my stomach.
Was this really an accident?
Either way, I have to get us out of here.
I have to get Xander to a hospital. Make sure that if someone wanted to make us crash, they won’t come back to check if they were successful in hurting us.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, remembering that my dad taught me how to drive. I was in the middle of getting my driver’s license when they had their car crash. After that, I was done with cars. It took me years to get into a car with someone else driving.
But I have to do this. I have to get him help. There is no time to waste.
I carefully unbuckle Xander’s seat belt and try to push his shoulders back so he sits upright, but he is huge and heavy, and I can barely lift him from the steering wheel.
“Xander,” I whisper, pulling at him, but he doesn’t move. “Come on, big guy, you have to help me a bit here.”
I twist myself and turn him as far as possible so I can shift my arms under his, pressing my feet against the center console to drag him over the bench seat a few inches, and it seems to work.
I do it again, pulling with all my strength and sliding him over and away from the driver’s seat, but pain explodes in my left shoulder.
Over the years, I have dislocated my shoulder so many times from all the falls to the floor or getting pushed around, and the more it happened, the more easily it would happen again. It is not a new pain, but it is fucking unfortunate timing.
I breathe through my teeth and grip my arm, trying to push it up and outward to get it to relocate again, but I am too panicked, and after three tries, I give up.
“Fuck it,” I say to myself and climb over Xander, sitting on the driver’s side.
The thought of navigating the snow-covered streets fills me with even more dread, but I have no choice. With trembling hands, I grip the steering wheel. I think about taking off the high heels, but I can barely reach the gas pedal as it is, and I am already perched on the edge of the bench seat.
I have to breathe a few more times to think around the panic and pain before I remember how to shift it into reverse to pull back from the streetlamp and onto the road.
Thank God the truck is still drivable.
I shoot a “Grazie, Papa,” to the ceiling for him having insisted on teaching me how to drive a stick, but the Ford makes horrible sounds while I try to shift gears. Let’s hope Xander won’t hate me for treating his ride like this.
The snow is coming down harder now. The flakes swirling in the headlights create a disorienting maze, making it increasingly difficult to see the road ahead. But we were already driving for a while, and I think we were close to the Bronx.
The only hospital I know how to get to is the one in Harlem, so I change direction, hoping like fuck I am not prolonging shit for nothing.
I grip the steering wheel with a vice-like hold, my knuckles turning white with tension.
Anxiety courses through me like an electric current, threatening to send me over the edge.
I fight to stay in control, not just of the truck but myself.
I can’t afford to lose my composure now. Xander’s life might depend on it.
Xander groans beside me, a sound that both relieves and terrifies me.
I steal a quick glance in his direction.
He is still lying on his side on the bench seat, exactly as I’d positioned him.
There is no movement, but the sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath is a small reassurance in this nightmare.
My shoulder screams with pain, and my heart beats relentlessly, nearly out of my chest, as I navigate the slippery roads and push through the blinding snow.
“Come on, Xander, you can’t just log out like this. Clay will never let us hear the end of it. The one time he lets us go out alone, you get knocked out?” I ask him.
If he does not make it, I will kill them. I can’t say why, but I am sure this was not an accident. Somehow, the Del Moros want to make sure I would stop my digging.
I shake my head, dismissing the thought. Now is not the time for speculation. I need to focus on getting Xander to the hospital. The drive seems to take an eternity, but finally, I see the familiar lights and logo of the Harlem Hospital Center in the distance.
Relief washes over me as I pull into the emergency entrance and nearly run over a paramedic standing there because I can’t seem to press the brake pedal down far enough. I quickly press the emergency brake pedal, jerking us to an abrupt stop.
I open the driver’s door and yell to the paramedic. “He needs help, please!”
The paramedic runs to the hospital’s glass doors, yells something inside, and comes rushing over to open the passenger door.
He looks down at Xander and curses. “Fuck, X?”
My eyes shoot from Xander up to the paramedic. When he turns to yell over his shoulder, I see the side of his neck, where there is a tattoo that Xander unmistakably inked. Another paramedic comes running with a bed with two nurses behind him.
They carefully drag Xander out of the cab and onto the bed while I hop out of the truck, nearly breaking my ankle from the height and the heels. I pull the shoes off, throwing them into the cab before I close the door.
They rush Xander inside, and I try to keep up with them on bare feet, clutching my left arm to my chest.