Chapter 9
9
Jade
T he sound is deafening, a crack so loud it seems to split the earth in half. Immediately following is the crash of glass crunching and a sickening twist of metal. My heart leaps into my throat, and I jump to my feet, spinning toward the direction of the noise. Through the blinding snow, I see the massive tree in my front yard dangling at an unnatural angle, the only thing keeping it upright is Declan’s truck.
The hood is crumpled under the weight, and the windshield has exploded into a glittering shower of glass. The truck rocks violently before settling, steam hissing from under the mangled hood.
“Declan!” I yell, my voice cracking. I don’t even think, I just bolt toward the car, heedless of the power of the storm. The wind tears at me, ice slicing against my face as I stumble through the snow toward the wreckage.
“Declan!” I scream again, my voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. My boots slip on the ice, and I fall hard, the cold seeping through my jeans as I scramble back to my feet. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart pounding as I reach the driver’s side of the truck.
I peer in the window and see Declan slumped against the seat, his face pale and streaked with tiny cuts. He’s spitting out what looks like powdered glass, his movements slow and dazed. He’s not responding, either because he doesn’t hear me or because he’s in shock. A cold chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the weather, and I begin to panic.
“Oh, my God,” I breathe, yanking the door handle. It doesn’t budge. The metal is warped and bent, the frame pinned under the weight of the tree. “Declan! Are you okay?”
He blinks up at me, his green eyes unfocused. “Jade?” he says hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “What the hell just happened?”
“The tree,” I say, my words tumbling out in a rush. “It fell on the truck. You’re bleeding, oh my God, your face—”
“I’m fine,” he says, though his voice is strained. He shifts in the seat, wincing as he tries to move his leg. “Shit. Okay, maybe not fine.”
I grab the door handle again, pulling with all my strength, but it’s no use. “I can’t get it open,” I say, my voice shaking. “Can you move? Can you climb out?”
He tries to shift again, but the door is dented inward, pinning his leg. He grimaces, his jaw tightening. “The door’s jammed. I think,” he pauses, wincing. “I think my leg’s caught.”
The panic claws at my chest, but I force myself to take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I say, just to give myself some time to think. “Okay, we’ll figure this out. Just hold on.”
I move to the other side of the truck, slipping and stumbling in the snow and ice, and manage to get the passenger door open. The inside of the cab is littered with broken glass and bits of tree bark, the air thick with the acrid smell of leaking fluids. I climb in carefully, reaching across to unbuckle his seatbelt.
“Alright,” I say, my voice steadying as I focus on the task at hand. “I’m going to pull you out, okay? Just tell me if anything hurts too much.”
He gives a faint nod, his face pale and tense. “Go for it.”
I slide my hands under his arms and pull with all my might, gritting my teeth against the strain. He was twice the size of me and all muscle, so it was a difficult task. He groans in pain as his leg shifts, the twisted doorframe scraping against his jeans. I keep pulling, inch by inch, until he’s free.
Together, we manage to stumble out of the truck and into the snow. He leans heavily on me, his weight almost too much for me to bear, but I don’t let go. His leg is clearly injured. He’s limping badly, and every step seems to send a fresh wave of pain across his face.
“We need to get to the cabin,” I say, half-dragging him toward the porch. The storm is relentless, the wind tearing at us with icy fingers. “You can’t stay out here.”
He doesn’t argue, though his breathing is labored, and his steps are slow and uneven. By the time we reach the porch, my own legs are shaking, and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him up. But somehow, we make it inside, the door slamming shut behind us, muffling the roar of the storm.
The warmth of the fire is a sharp relief after the freezing cold, and for a moment, we just stand there, both of us breathing hard. Declan leans heavily against the wall, his face pale and streaked with blood. I grab the nearest chair and help him into it, my hands trembling as I reach for my phone.
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” I say, already dialing.
“Don’t,” he protests weakly, but I shoot him a glare that silences him. The phone rings twice before a woman’s voice answers, calm and professional.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s been an accident,” I say quickly, my words tumbling over each other. “A tree fell on my friend’s truck and he’s hurt. His leg, his face, there’s glass everywhere—”
“Ma’am,” the operator interrupts, her tone firm but not unkind. “Is he breathing? Is he conscious?”
“Yes, but—”
“All right. Are there any life-threatening injuries? Is there excessive bleeding?”
I glance at Declan, who shakes his head slightly.
“No,” I say reluctantly. “But his leg is hurt. He can’t walk.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and then the operator says, “Due to the storm, emergency response is limited right now. As long as he’s stable and not in immediate danger, it may be a while before we can get to you. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Yes,” I say, frustration bubbling up inside me. “But I don’t know what to do with it.”
“I can walk you through basic first aid,” she says, her tone steady. “Do you have the kit nearby?”
“Yes. Hold on.” I grab the kit from under the sink and bring it back to where Declan is sitting. The operator starts giving me instructions, but my hands are shaking, and every step feels like it’s taking too long. Declan winces as I carefully remove shards of glass and clean the cuts on his face, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t complain.
I’m so flustered that the gauze slips from my fingers. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, though I’m clearly not. I try to keep listening to her instructions, to do what she says, but my hands are shaking too hard to be of any use and my nerves are shot. My frustration boils over, and before I can stop myself, I hang up the phone and toss it onto the table. “This is ridiculous. They’re not even coming.”
Declan looks at me, his expression calm despite the pain I know he’s feeling. “Jade, it’s fine. You’re doing fine.”
I shake my head, pacing the small space. “You’re hurt, and they’re saying, ‘Too bad, he just needs to wait’? What if something gets worse?”
“It won’t,” he says firmly. “I promise it’s not as bad as it looks.”
I stop pacing, meeting his gaze. He’s pale, bloodied, and clearly in pain, but there’s a steadiness in his eyes that makes me pause. “You’re so damn calm about this,” I mutter. “How can you be so calm?”
He gives a faint smile, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Comes with practice.”
I shake my head again, but the tension in my chest eases just a little.
“My cabin isn’t that far from here, I could just walk up the mountain,” he says after a beat, looking slightly uncomfortable. I look down at his leg then turn toward the window where the wind is still blowing so hard it’s rattling the shutters. I imagine the snow is still coming down so hard that nothing is visible beyond it.
“There’s zero chance I’m letting you even attempt that,” I tell him forcefully. “Even if you could walk properly, you’d probably get knocked over by the wind and not found until the storm passes. You’ll stay here until its over.”
“Jade—” he starts, but I don’t let him argue.
“I’m not budging,” I warn him. “You did me a favor by bringing the wood, now I’m going to do you a favor and make sure you don’t die out in that storm. And if you even try to leave and die out there, I’ll just kill you first myself.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips, and he concedes, promising that he won’t bring it up again. As my panic starts to subside, I suddenly realize that I’m shivering. It’s no wonder, my clothes are soaking wet after falling in the snow earlier.
“I’m just going to get changed out of these wet clothes,” I say, glancing down at myself. My jeans are soaked through, my gloves and coat dripping onto the floor. “You should too.”
He looks down at himself, as if just now realizing the state he’s in.
I pause, suddenly realizing the severity of the situation. He doesn’t have anything, no clothes, no supplies, nothing. He came here to do me a favor, he obviously had no intention of being here so long, and he especially didn’t plan to bring an overnight bag. For a moment, neither of us speaks, and then he adds, almost sheepishly, “There’s an emergency duffel bag in the truck. It’s got some stuff in it.”
“I’ll get it,” I say before he can argue.
“Jade, you don’t have to—”
“I’ll get it,” I repeat firmly, already grabbing my coat. He starts to protest again, but I cut him off with a look. “You can barely walk as it is. Stay here. Rest.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just watches as I pull on my boots and step back out into the storm. The wind hits me like a freight train, nearly knocking me off my feet, but I press forward. The truck is barely visible through the swirling snow, its crumpled hood buried under the fallen tree. I grab the bed of the truck for support, my gloves slipping on the icy surface, and manage to reach the passenger side.
The door creaks open, and I grab the duffel bag from the seat, clutching it tightly as I make my way back to the cabin. By the time I step inside, I’m shivering uncontrollably, my fingers numb, but the look of relief on Declan’s face makes it worth it.
“Here,” I say, setting the bag beside him. “Change into something dry.”
I feel like a human icicle, tottering my way to my room on legs that are so cold they’ve become stiff. I go into the bathroom to peel off the wet clothes, which have nearly frozen after my little foray outside. My entire body shivers uncontrollably until I’m able to find warm, dry clothes. Slowly and carefully, I slip on three layers, hoping they’ll help warm me up. As soon as I’m properly dressed, I walk back out to my living area, where Declan is still sitting, waiting for me.