Chapter 12 Braxton #2
I take a long sip of my drink, savoring the burn as the hot liquid rolls down my throat.
“I’m okay, but I attended a pretty serious car accident a couple of weeks ago.
” I try to say it casually, like it doesn’t matter, except halfway through, my throat tries to choke the words off.
I don’t know why saying it to someone I know feels so different, but it’s almost like speaking the words out loud somehow makes them more real.
Paisley reaches across the table and pulls my hand off my mug, her cool fingers gripping mine. I stare at where they’re joined, knowing I should pull away, but feeling numb enough that I just…don’t.
“I’m so sorry, Braxton. I knew that something wasn’t right.”
I want to ask how, because she doesn’t know me. Not really. Our memories aren’t enough to sustain a friendship, and by all accounts, she erased me from her life when she left.
The hurt of that burns, her rejection thrumming through me in a bitter wave, and I pull away from her, tucking my hand under the table, wiping it against my pants.
“I’m okay. I just…” I grimace. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not after spending an hour talking about it with Martin. And yet… “There was a child involved, and—” I shake my head. “A little girl. Five.”
Paisley’s expression falls as she slumps in her chair, but the grungy-looking server returns before she can say a word.
He sets a hot chocolate down in front of her, and she murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.” When he’s gone, she looks back at me.
“Do you want to talk about it? Or are you all talked out?” There’s a current of understanding in her tone.
I flick up an eyebrow, and she smiles self-deprecatingly, admitting, “I saw a therapist last year. Just when it felt like things were getting on top of me.” She looks away, masking the vulnerability in her eyes.
“No big deal, you know? Everyone needs to talk through their trauma sometimes.”
“I don’t have trauma,” I say sharply. “This isn’t the first car crash I’ve dealt with, or the first death. I’m not…I’m not damaged.”
She watches me impassively. “No one said you were, Brax, but I grew up in this life, same as you. I watched both our fathers bury their pain until it exploded out of them in the worst possible ways. You know better than to hold onto something like this.”
Shame heats my cheeks. “Right.”
“Tell me about it,” she says softly. “If you want to.”
It takes me several minutes to breathe through the constriction around my chest. Paisley doesn’t push me, going into extreme detail about her day of shopping and what else she has left to buy.
Eventually, my coffee is gone, and I’ve taken one bite of my sandwich before pushing it away, unable to stomach the idea of food.
She falls quiet as I lean forward, keeping my voice low so no one will overhear.
“It was a family.” My voice is hoarse, guttural.
“They were driving across the country. Some kind of family vacation or…I don’t know.
It was about thirty minutes out of Sterling Creek, but we were closest.” I close my eyes, smoke filling my nose as I step out of the rig, the asphalt crunching under my boots.
“Another car had drifted across the center line, hitting them head-on.”
I blink, and I’m back in the coffee shop. Paisley’s pressing her palms together, fingers to her lips, but she doesn’t say a word—probably scared of doing the wrong thing and me clamming back up. I’d like to say I wouldn’t, but I don’t feel like myself at all.
“Everyone was okay. Shaken, but the injuries weren’t…
They didn’t look bad.” Under the table, my fingers tremble, and I clench my hands together.
“A couple of broken bones. Whiplash. The mom had a concussion, but she never lost consciousness. The girl was in the back seat, but she wasn’t…
” I drop my chin, unable to keep looking at Paisley.
“She was talking. Responsive. No obvious signs of injuries. The car was stable, so we made the decision not to move her. She wasn’t in any kind of child restraint, so we were worried about a possible spinal injury. ”
Paisley shifts in her seat. “What was her name?”
Was, because she knows how this story ends.
“Allison,” I croak. “I stayed with her. Kept her calm.” I glance up, my vision watery. “She was tiny, Paisley. Had these massive blue eyes. Told me she was a ballerina. She asked me if I was gonna get her out, and I told her I was, that we just needed to wait a little longer.”
“What happened?” Paisley asks cautiously.
It was blue skies that day—still cold, but a bright sunny day that conflicted with the damage the two cars had done to each other. I press my knuckles to my chest. “Allison”—my voice breaks on her name—“was bleeding internally—a laceration on her spleen, they said.”
“The seat belt,” Paisley whispers.
“Right,” I agree, my eyes dropping to the table, remembering how ghostly pale Allison had gotten, her eyes drooping as she told me how tired she was.
“It happened so quickly, and her mom…” I blow out a shaky breath.
“Her mom started screaming. I can’t get that noise out of my head.
The screaming. The dad demanded we pull Allison out.
I reached in, knowing we didn’t have a lot of time, but before I could—”
“Brax…”
“Another car came around the corner,” I rush out, needing to finish this. “They didn’t see the signs or didn’t care, but they were going too fast. Way too fast. Ryan pulled me out of the way. Just in time.” Metal screeching. Burning rubber. Screaming.
I look up just as Paisley squeezes her eyes closed, pain washing over her face. “Oh, god…Brax…”
“If I’d pulled her out earlier…” I shake my head, but Paisley leans across the table, grabbing one of my hands.
“You don’t do that,” she says fiercely. “What happened is not your fault, and you know there was nothing else you could’ve done.”
Feeling exhausted, I just lift a shoulder, not quite meeting her eyes. I won’t argue with her about it, because logically, I know that.
It just doesn’t help.
“Anyway, Monroe insisted I talk to someone, and so here I am.”
Paisley’s still clutching me, her thumb tracing over one knuckle. My attention drops at the sensation, a distant part of me registering that I shouldn’t be letting her do that.
“I’m glad that you did,” she tells me. “And I’m glad I ran into you.
” She waits a beat, watching me carefully.
“You look like you need a distraction, and I still need to buy Nick a present.” She rolls her eyes dramatically.
“Although with his attitude at the moment, he’ll be lucky not to get toilet paper or something. ”
“At least toilet paper is useful.” The humor falls flat, but Paisley gives me a small smile anyway.
“You’re not wrong.” She gives me one last squeeze and then sits back, picking up her scarf and winding it around her neck. “Come on. We’ll get your mind off this, don’t you worry.”
I don’t believe a word of it, but I still can’t bear the idea of getting into my truck and driving home. My head is clouded and dark, still stuck on that day and everything that happened to the family after the smoke cleared from the second car.
My smile is tight and insincere as I stand. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”