Chapter 14 #2
“I wasn’t hungry until the car door closed. Now I can’t wait to eat.”
He appears skeptical, but he nods. He names a couple places that surprise me. They’re places only locals would think about. I pick my favorite Chinese place and give the driver the name. I point things out along the way only to discover Joaquin went to MIT and Harvard.
“I never pegged you for Cambridge Community College.”
I grin as he huffs and pretends to be insulted. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the tables on me.
“Did you go to one of those girls’ schools?”
“Women’s colleges, and yes, I did. I went to Mount Holyoke.”
“I didn’t peg you for the Velma type.”
I stare at him before I laugh. “We’re Daphne, thank you very much. You know about that?”
“Of course. You’re not the only MHC alumna in the family. What is it? Go, Yoke?”
“Most people don’t know about the Scooby-Doo legend.”
“But it fits. I had friends who went to UMass-Amherst and Hampshire College and partied hard enough to justify the Scooby-Doo and Shaggy labels. Amherst College guys are pretty but pussies.”
“Okay, Mr. Harvard.”
“Anyway—I thought Smith was supposed to be Daphne.”
“Hardly.” I roll my eyes. “Truth be told, Mount Holyoke is really both Velma and Daphne. Smart and hot. But we have to let the poor Smithies have something.”
We both laugh, and joking about the urban legend passes the time until we get to the restaurant.
There’s no real truth that the TV characters are based on the schools in the Five College Consortium.
But it’s a fun ongoing rivalry. I love that we can have shared life references beyond the syndicate world.
That we can have fun together. That we can chat about everything and nothing.
The driver stands on the sidewalk beside the SUV as Joaquin gets out on the street side.
It’s a one-way street with parking only on one side, so we have to cross it.
The guard follows me as I pass the vehicle’s trunk.
Joaquin reaches out his hand as I squeeze between our SUV and the car parked behind us.
He’s barely got his arm around my waist as we step forward when a car comes barreling over the hill.
They’re going at least twenty over the speed limit.
It’s like everything happens in slow-mo.
It’s like a horrible scene from a movie, but it’s real life.
Joaquin’s arms come around me as he spins to push me toward the guard.
I reach for Joaquin, my fingers barely grasping his suit coat.
I pull as hard as I can, but neither of us moves fast enough.
The driver’s front corner hits us. Joaquin’s curled around me, shielding me from taking the brunt of the force like I would have if he hadn’t reacted so quickly.
It’s still enough to send us flying. He hasn’t let go of me and keeps me tucked against his chest as he twists to protect me from the impact when we land on the ground.
Immediately, pain shoots through me unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
It steals my breath and leaves me dazed.
But I’m still with it enough to worry about my boyfriend.
“Joaco!”
I try to roll, but he won’t let go. Instead, he presses me down as he comes onto his knees and pulls his gun in one fluid movement.
He and the driver shoot and hit the car as it peels off.
I don’t know whose bullet hits where, but the rear windshield shatters, and the back passenger tire bursts.
It doesn’t stop our attacker from driving off.
Our driver yells in Spanish into his earpiece as Joaquin lifts me into his arms. The driver gets the back door open, and Joaquin’s pushing me in before I understand what’s happening.
“?Mass General ya! No me importa cómo nos lleven. Háganlo sin matarnos.”
“Joaco?”
“I said ‘Mass General now! Don’t care how you get us there. Do it without killing us.’ Rest, chiquita. We’ll get you to the ER as fast as we can. Just stay with me, little one?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Joaco. I?—”
The sharpest shooting pain I’ve ever felt bursts through my middle, and I look down. I spot what Joaquin already had. There’s blood on my jeans, and it’s not from a cut or him. It’s along the inside of my jeans pant leg.
“Joaco!”
“I know, chica. We’ll be there soon. I promise.”
I’m too stunned to do anything but stare. It starts as a tremble, but I’m soon shaking. I don’t know if it’s the pain, shock, or fury that someone tried to hurt us. Hurt our baby. When Joaquin’s terrified gaze meets mine, I realize I’m about to make the most stoic man I know panic.
“I’m okay, Joaco.”
“I—I?—”
He keeps me cradled on his lap and strokes my hair as I cling to him.
He has no words, and neither do I. Neither of us says anything as we ride to the hospital.
The driver’s talking to someone through his earpiece, but I can’t understand him.
Joaquin doesn’t weigh in. He just watches me, his gaze shifting between my face and the blood on my pants.
I try not to think about the obvious implications.
A particularly sharp cramp makes me cry out.
“Tre!”