Chapter 45
M arcus
Fuck. The flash drive burns a hole in my palm as I watch Emma flee, her bright hair like a ray of sunlight in a room filled with people dressed mostly in gray and black.
To my right, a business acquaintance starts speaking to me; to my left, two reporters vie for my attention.
But the words coming out of their mouths are white noise, as is the din of the audience waiting for my presentation.
I’ve never seen Emma so pale, so fucking wounded . It’s as if the life drained out of her, all her warmth and fire gone.
The moment I realized what happened, I wanted to hit rewind and forget all about asking Emma to bring the flash drive.
I could’ve made do with the older version of my presentation; so what if a few slides wouldn’t have been as detailed as I liked?
But all I could do was wait for her to arrive, and carry on with the preparations for my speech—as if I still gave a damn about the biotech stock or my reputation…
as if my world wasn’t about to fall apart.
Yet as much as I dreaded this confrontation, the reality of it turned out to be infinitely worse, the pain in Emma’s eyes more devastating than any verbal lashing. I was prepared for her anger, but not that lifeless “good luck” and “goodbye.”
Her bright head disappears through the ballroom doors, and it’s like the sun just set, stealing all the warmth from the room. And I know that if she walks out of my life, this cold will grow and engulf me, coating me in a layer of ice that no amount of joy or happiness will ever penetrate.
I don’t consciously make the choice to begin walking; my feet move forward of their own accord.
All around me are confused looks and murmurs, my name being called out on all sides.
The conference organizer jogs up to me, hissing, “It’s almost eight.
We need you up there now, Carelli,” but I step around him, picking up my pace.
The crowd is thickening with last-minute arrivals, and I push my way through them, muttering “excuse me” left and right. As soon as I’m out in the hallway, I break into a run.
Emma is already crossing the street when I rush out of the hotel, with the conference organizer on my heels.
“Emma, wait!” I call out, but she doesn’t hear me, her small figure weaving in and out of traffic, oblivious to the slow-moving cars.
She’s so upset she doesn’t realize the light has just turned red, I comprehend with a surge of dread, and ignoring the organizer’s attempt to grab my sleeve, I leap into the intersection after her.
It’s rush hour, with the usual insanity on Fifth Avenue—which means any lengthening in the usual two-foot distance between cars is greeted by drivers madly surging forward, desperate to cut in front of others.
And I see such a lengthening happening in front of Emma as a white van accelerates much slower than the nimble sports car it’s following.
“Emma!” I shout at the top of my lungs, but with the noise of traffic, she can’t hear me.
Her head is down as she steps in front of the van, her hands clutching the lapels of her ancient coat to protect her neck against the freezing wind.
She doesn’t see the danger, doesn’t notice the yellow cab revving up its engine next to the van—and with the van blocking the cab driver’s view, I doubt he sees her.
My heart rate skyrocketing, I launch into a sprint, ignoring the panicked honking all around me. My lungs pump like I’m in the last stretches of a marathon, my vision narrowing until all I see is that small, red-haired figure and the cab about to swerve into her.
“Emma!”
I’m now close enough for my frantic bellow to reach her, and she turns, only to freeze in place, her eyes widening as she sees me—and the cab barreling at her.
In a flash, I take in the driver’s terror-stricken face as he registers her presence, hear the squealing of the brakes, and I know he won’t stop in time.
It’s physically impossible.
Time seems to slow to a crawl, each millisecond startlingly vivid as the deafening roar of my pulse separates into distinct heartbeats.
Thump-thump . I put on a burst of speed.
Thump-thump. I launch myself into the air, my arms outstretched.
Thump-thump . Emma’s face, ghost white, her lips forming my name as my hands collide with her chest, the impact throwing her back five feet—and out of harm’s way.
Thump. A massive force slams into my side, and darkness engulfs me.