Chapter 42
The wipers can’t keep up.
They slap back and forth on the fastest setting, and still, I can barely make out the lines on the road. I’ve driven this highway so much I could damn near do it in my sleep, but tonight it feels like a foreign land.
I should have known better than to trust a goddamn app. Slight chance of rain, my ass. The meteorologist in the suspenders always says don’t trust apps. And here we are, driving in a monsoon.
My knuckles ache from how hard I’m gripping the wheel, my hands situated permanently at ten and two, and each breath I take shakes.
Without taking my eyes from the road, I turn down the radio and lean forward to see through the sheet of rain.
I’ve had to slow down just to keep the tires on the road.
Beside me, Cassie’s been mostly silent.
“You okay over there?”
“Yeah, just doing some research. This website here says at thirty-one weeks, survival rates are over ninety-five percent.” She scrolls further, her phone illuminating her face as she reads.
“She’ll probably have to stay in the NICU, but the odds are really good.
” Her voice is a lot calmer than how I’m feeling right now.
If something happens to that baby, or to Penny…
Fuck, I can’t even let my mind travel down that path.
“That’s really good, baby.”
A semi blasts past in the left lane and the spray hits the windshield like a tidal wave.
I swear I can’t see a damn thing for a solid five seconds.
Not the road, not the lines or the cars ahead of me.
My foot eases up even more on the gas until the wipers clear the glass enough for me to make out the faint red glow of tail lights ahead.
“Christ,” I mutter under my breath. “Any updates on Penny?”
“She’s at five centimeters. He said she can start pushing at ten, but the progress is slow. Josie said Penny is already cussing Austin.”
The thought of our sweet Penny cussing Austin makes me chuckle. “I bet that’s a sight.”
We fall back into silence, and I concentrate on the road. This rain isn’t letting up. If anything, it’s beating down harder the closer we get to Creekwood. Lightning crackles, lighting up the sky and a few seconds later it thunders so loud I swear the windows rattle.
“I don’t like this, Liam,” Cassie says. I’m not about to take my eyes off the road to look at her, but if I did, I’d bet anything she’s twisting that little hoop earring.
“No. Me either.” I check my mirrors twice and flip on the blinker. “I think I’ll pull—”
It happens before I have time to react. The SUV jerks.
One second I have control of the wheel and then…
nothing. The tires lose contact with the asphalt and we slide sideways, the back end swinging out like the rain on the pavement has turned to ice.
A sound, somewhere between a grunt and shout, rips from my throat and I grip the steering wheel harder, but it doesn’t matter.
My head slams against the window, immobilizing every single one of my instincts.
I have no traction. No control over this.
Right now, Cassie and I are at the mercy of physics.
Blinding headlights flash in the rearview mirror, speeding closer.
And way too goddamn fast. My body lurches forward from the impact as the vehicle clips our rear bumper, and whatever chance I had at correcting the slide is gone.
The hit sends us spinning, the SUV rotating across wet asphalt, and I hear Cassie scream my name.
A terrifying sound I will hear for the rest of my life.
We crash through the guardrail and the ground disappears beneath us.
The slope is steep, and we’re not just sliding.
Our world flips and all I see is headlights against trees, then sky, then a blur of trees again.
The sound of blood rushes past my ears as glass shatters somewhere around us.
My body slams against the tightening seat belt, then the door, then the seat belt again.
Head spinning, I can’t fucking tell which way is up.
With a sickening crunch of metal, we slam into something that stops our movement.
And nothing. Not the rain. Not the sound of Cassie’s screams echoing in my head. Just darkness moving in around me.
Then the airbags deploy. Late.
A delay that explodes into the side of my face, snapping me awake and filling my mouth with a foul taste that curdles in my stomach. The burn of it sears across my cheek, and for a second everything goes white, the release of chemicals causing my eyes to water faster than I can blink them back.
For several excruciating seconds, there’s nothing but silence and the storm around us.
I blink rapidly and wipe my eyes across the sleeve of my rain dampened shirt in an attempt to ease the burn and clear my vision.
The seat belt is locked tight against my chest, pinning me at an angle my brain can’t make sense of.
Gravity seems to be pulling me to the side and my elbow is pressed against something hard, the console maybe?
I clamp my eyes shut and try to clear my head. Think, Liam. For fuck’s sake, slow down and think. I can’t catch my breath, but I know I have to do something. Blinking my eyes back open, I try to focus in the dark as rain hits my face.
“Cassie.” My voice cracks on her name. “Cassie, angel. Are you okay?”
Silence.
I have to get this goddamn airbag out of my way so I can check on Cassie, but my hands are shaking so bad I can’t.
You have to pull yourself together.
But I can’t. This has happened before, and I can’t.
The rain. The wreck. Fuck. This has happened before.
“Cassie,” I shout her name, my voice sounding wild, feral.
Through my terror, I somehow manage to get the airbag off, giving me a clear view of my love. My angel. My favorite person on the whole planet.
Glass is everywhere from a branch that busted through the passenger window, narrowly missing Cassie’s chest. The trunk of the tree is what stopped our momentum, and the door behind the passenger seat is crushed inward.
The entire back half of the SUV buckled from the impact.
I fumble around for my phone and find it on the floor board.
Using the flashlight, I shine it on Cassie’s still frame and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Blood. There’s so much of it. The coppery tang mixed with wet earth hits my nostrils and bile climbs up my throat causing me to retch from an all-encompassing sense of déjà vu.
This has happened before. I can’t do this again. I can’t. If I lose her they might as well put me in the ground beside her. This can’t be how we end. It can’t be. Living through this twice is too much for anyone to survive.
My hand wraps around her wrist and the first thing I notice is she’s warm. Then I feel her pulse, still beating strong under my fingertip. A sob rips out of me, doubling me over and my body shakes from the relief. A feeling so violent it hurts.
Keep it together. You need to act. Get help. You don’t know how bad her injuries are. You could still lose her.
My phone screen is shattered, but it still lights up when I tap the screen.
I dial 911 with fingers that won’t stop trembling, and when the dispatcher answers I give her the information in clipped, mechanical sentences.
Highway 43. About ten minutes north of Creekwood.
We hydroplaned. My passenger has a pulse but won’t wake up. Head wound.
The dispatcher calmly instructs me to stay on the line while I monitor Cassie’s pulse.
I keep my fingers on Cassie’s wrist now, her pulse tapping against my fingertips like a metronome.
Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. It’s like a beat with no melody and I count each one aloud to keep from spiraling.
“Help is coming, baby. Can you hear me? Help is on the way.”
Still, she remains motionless, blood trickling down the side of her face and onto her rain-soaked shirt.
Rain pounds down on the roof and the dispatcher says something I don’t hear.
All I can focus on is the rise and fall of Cassie’s chest. I match my breathing to hers.
If I’m breathing, she’s breathing. That’s the deal I make with God, the universe, with whatever or whoever is listening right now.
Somewhere to my left, footsteps crunch, followed by heavy breathing. Someone is scrambling down the embankment toward us. It’s only now that I realize my window is also shattered, and rain pours in drenching everything.
“Oh my god, oh my god.” A face peers in at us. A young face. He couldn’t be more than eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Not much older than the kids we were helping only a couple hours ago. “Are you okay? I couldn’t stop. What can I do? Should I call 911.” Panicked words tumble from his mouth.
A part of me wants to reach through the glass and grab this guy by the throat, but what’s left of my rationality knows he was fighting the same rain we were.
“They’re on their way.” I pull the phone from my ear to show him I’ve already called, but his face has gone ashen. His eyes are fixed on Cassie.
“Is she…”
“She has a pulse. That’s all I know.”
This shocks the guy into silence, jaw hinged open and he just stares at Cassie.
Sirens, a faint wail at first, then louder cutting through the torrent of rainwater. Red and blue lights paint the trees, the ground above us, the inside of the SUV, blinding me.
My mind fights to return to another crash, another rainy night. More sirens and flashing lights. But Cassie’s pulse beats, keeping me here in the present with her.
Paramedics are at my door, pushing the guy aside. “Sir, are you injured?”
Am I? Hell if I know. I pat myself down, checking for any sign of injury. My ribs hurt. There’s a gash on my arm. Sore neck.
“I’m fine. Take care of her.”
All three men assess the scene, looking from every angle, and I see when it clicks on their faces. They can’t get to her from her side. The branch and tree trunk don’t leave enough space.
“Sir, we need to get you out first so we can reach her.”