This was a well-orchestrated day from hell. Kudos to whatever devil thought this one up.
I always believed people were being dramatic when they talked about the flashes of memories they had right before an accident. Now, I know they weren’t. That, or maybe I’m dramatic too.
It’s hard to say.
All I know is that Holden keeps flashing into my thoughts. The way he holds me, the way he comforts me, the way he makes me feel more safe and loved than I’ve ever felt. Right now, I don’t care about the mistakes he’s made. I need him.
“Maya, oh my God! Are you okay? Ease off the gas!” Alice’s voice is a mere echo in the background as the truck spins in at least two circles, slides off the road, and slams straight into a massive pine tree.
Chapter Eight
Holden
I can’t see much out here but I know the only person in front of me is Maya, so when headlights spin in two full circles then smash against a pine tree in the ditch, I know she’s gone off the road.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I pull to the side of the ravine and jump out, attempting to send a text out for help as I move, but there’s no service right now. That’s the fun part of the mountains. A snowstorm like this will take us back to the 1800s in minutes. Usually, that’s what I like about living up here.
The solitude.
Now, I can see a few benefits to living closer to town.
Wet snow pounds against my face as I slide down into the ravine and toward the smoking truck. I shouldn’t have let her leave. I should’ve moved faster. I should’ve told her my truth before we even started dating. Then, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
Pushing back a snow dusted pine branch, I pull open the door, my heart hammering hard against my chest. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to her. Hell, I might not forgive myself anyway. I didn’t keep her safe tonight.
“My baby,” I say, leaning into the driver’s side door. “Can you hear me?”
I land my hand on her neck, checking for a pulse before reaching over the top of her to unbuckle her seat belt. She’s got a steady heart rate, and her breathing is intact, but the airbag is deployed and she’s looking a little out of it.
“Hey,” she perks a little and turns toward me as her eyes flicker open, “did you know that I’m pregnant?”
“Pregnant?”I repeat, happy to hear her voice. “How did you get pregnant?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyelids flutter closed again. “I think it’s the woodsman.”
“The woodsman?” I say, my hands roaming her body for any serious damage. “I haven’t heard that story in years. Didn’t realize he was getting women pregnant. I thought he was haunting the woods, looking for revenge against those who betrayed him.”
“He’s a thirsty woodsman too.” She cracks half a smile and shakes her head gently before landing her hand against her temple. “Oh, that hurts.”
“You’ve got a little lump there,” I say, brushing strands of her red hair back to get a clearer view. “We’ve got to get you to town to the emergency center. I’m going to lift you out of the truck, okay?”
She rolls her head toward me and reaches out with half a smile, despite the pain she must be in. “Okay.”
I hate that she’s hurt but I’m glad she’s letting me help. Leaning in, I lift her soft frame into my arms, breathing in the scent of cranberry on her skin as I trudge out into the snow.
I’m not sure how she manages to always smell so damn good, but she does. No matter the circumstance, she smells like the sweetest berry. Hell, I remember her helping with a project a few years back before we were dating, and even after a long day’s work she still smelled angelic.
I tuck her in tight, sheltering her as well as I can as I sidestep up the ravine toward the truck. It’s slippery, and the wind is blowing the accumulated and fallen snow in circles, blurring out the path, but one step at a time and we’ve made it without further damage.
Thank God!
Breath fogs in the cold air as I set her on the passenger seat, buckling her belt before making my way around the headlights to the driver’s side door.
“You smell like pine trees,” she says, leaning her head against the window. “You smell like pine trees and so does your truck.”
The kids on this mountain have always played this game where we’d race each other to the top of a tree. It was never short trees. It always had to be the biggest, tallest ones. On more than one occasion, someone walked away with a concussion. We should’ve learned our lesson and stopped playing, but we never did. We just got used to the symptoms of the fall, and it was always a good sign if someone was talking, even if it sounded loopy and a little messed up.
