Chapter 42
Tracy
Wind whips through the car, mine and Whitney’s hair flying around us as we speed down the road in her Jeep.
The night air kisses my skin as the world passes by in a blur.
She has the top off and the windows down; the humidity causing sweat to bead on my skin, then immediately dry from the wind, sending shivers down my spine.
“Woooo!” Whitney screams, and I look over to see her head and arm out the window. She laughs, the sound warming my chest. “Come on, Tracy!”
I join her, unbuckling my seatbelt and sticking my head out the window. My long blond hair blows behind me, tangling into an absolute mess, but I don’t care because everything is right in the world.
My heart skips a beat, anticipation thrumming through me to talk to Blake. We’re going to do this. We’re really going to do this.
I glance at Whitney again to see her back in her seat, a huge grin on her face.
Somewhere over the last few months, Whitney became a sister to me, and soon, she’ll be an aunt.
Happiness like I’ve never felt before caresses me, so much promise, so much hope for the future enveloping me like a warm embrace.
Whitney reaches across the center console and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze.
Tears well in my eyes again, and this time I don’t try to fight them. I don’t try to keep my emotions in check like I had been fighting to all day. Instead, I embrace them. I let them pour from my very soul as I grip Whitney’s hand tight in my own.
Whitney’s going to be an aunt, Blake’s going to be a daddy, and everything is absolutely perfect in the world.
“I’m so—” Whitney starts, but her words are cut off as a car flies past, laying on its horn.
A second later, headlights flood the vehicle from behind.
And then…
A harsh crunching of metal that tears through my eardrums.
Glass.
Glass and air.
Weightlessness like I’ve never felt before.
And finally, darkness.
I open my eyes, but my lids fall closed again, each of them impossibly heavy.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I open them again, this time forcing them to stay open.
Grass.
There’s grass below me. And something wet, reflecting off the blades and darkening the surrounding earth.
My breathing becomes harsh as I try to comprehend why I’m looking at the grass.
I try to stand, to make sense of where I am, when a pain unlike anything I’ve felt in my entire life sears through my body and makes me cry out.
Breathing hard through my nose, I force myself to focus again, and that’s when I see the metal post.
“Oh god.” My hands come to my abdomen, shaking uncontrollably. “Oh god. No. No, no, no, no, no.”
A metal post pierces my lower stomach, my blood running down the rusted metal and into the grass below. The sight makes me gag and when I jerk against the post, I scream, the pain intensifying as my entire body starts to shake.
“No, no, no, no.” Panic starts to seep in, and I whip my head to the side, in desperate need of help. “Whitney!” I call out the best I can as I start to hyperventilate. “Whitney! Help me! Please!”
The baby. It has to be okay.
It has to be.
It has to be.
It has to be.
I frantically search my surroundings for Whitney. I need her. We need her. She has to help me because I can’t…
My eyes fall on her.
Whitney lays in the grass a few yards from me on her back, her bloody face turned toward me with her eyes wide open.
“Whitney,” I croak, my breath catching and making me cough. Blood comes up, the metallic taste flooding my mouth before spilling down my chin. “Whitney!”
Her eyes don’t move. She doesn’t blink. And her neck…
Why is her neck bent like that? She needs to move it.
“Whitney!” I scream. Why won’t she move her head?
My trembling hands find the post beneath me, and I feel around, the surface slick from my blood. The post enters through my lower left, and when I reach behind me…
Oh god.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
The post sticks out of my back, several inches protruding from my flesh and holding me in place—a captive against my will.
My eyes find Whitney again, and I choke on a sob. Why isn’t she moving? She needs to fix her neck. She can’t keep it like that.
I’ll do it. I have to. I’ll get to her and turn her head and everything will be okay. We’ll all be okay.
I grab the post below me, right where it punctures my stomach, and using every ounce of energy I can find, I push myself up.
“Ahhhhhh!” I sob, the pain unbearable as I lift my body from the post, the rusted, jagged metal tearing at my flesh as I push myself up.
As soon as I see the end of the post beneath me, I hurl my body to the side, collapsing on the ground in a puddle of my own blood.
I cough from the impact, more blood coming up and coating my face, running down my cheeks and into my hair.
Every breath I take feels like a knife being driven into my stomach, my body screaming at me not to move. But I ignore it. I ignore the pain. I ignore the blood. I ignore the distant sirens. I ignore it all as I roll myself onto my stomach and heave my arms out in front of me.
Pushing my elbows into the ground, I drag myself toward Whitney with my forearms, one painful inch at a time.
Dirt and rocks and grass scrape across my stomach wound, every drag of my body setting fire to my nerves. I dig my fingers into the earth, dirt lodging itself under my nails as I try to ignore the pain.
“Whit,” I cry out. “Whit, please. You need to move.”
She stares back at me, her wide eyes never moving. Never blinking.
Why won’t she just move?
Pain sears my flesh, and my vision blurs.
A few more feet. Just a few more feet and I can move her. I can fix her neck.
Sirens wail around me, and I force one arm in front of the other, tears streaming down my face and screams I don’t even recognize falling from my lips.
“Whitney,” I cry. “Move! You need to move.”
My arms give out and I collapse, grass and debris sticking to the blood on my face as I try to force myself back to my elbows.
But I can’t, my body refuses.
Knees land beside me, hands pressing on my back. “You’re okay,” a voice says. “Just hold on for us.”
“Whitney,” I say, dragging a hand up to point at her. “Help her!”
“Shhh.” A voice from my other side, but I can barely comprehend their words as they float around me.
Puncture. Screaming. Lower abdomen. More screaming. Laceration. Calm down. Ma’am. Ma’am.
My throat strains as I realize the screaming is my own.
I’m flipped onto my back, and four faces hover over me, arms and hands moving over my body.
“Give her something,” one of the men says, and then there’s a prick in my arm and the world starts to tilt.
“Whitney,” I croak, my voice cracked and raspy. “Someone help her!”
My body is lifted as the world spins. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is Whitney, her eyes wide and her neck bent at an angle that’s all wrong.