My phone buzzed.
Again.
Again.
My agent's number flashed on the screen each time. Sneering, I pressed harder on the accelerator as if I could outrun the consequences.
The Lake Chambeau exit appeared on my right. It was a rural road winding through farmland and forest, away from the city lights. Away from everything.
I yanked the wheel. The car swerved onto the exit ramp without signaling, without slowing. Behind me, a horn blared, but I was already gone, eating up the dark country road with reckless speed.
Out here, no streetlights. No other cars. Just me and the darkness and the rage that wouldn't stop burning in my chest.
Get your anger under control, or you're done.
Coach Martin's words echoed in my head, mixing with my father's voice, with the reporter's taunting questions, with years of pressure and expectations, and the constant fear that I was never quite good enough.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. The road narrowed ahead, trees pressing close on either side. A sane person would have slowed down. Would have recognized the danger.
I sped up.
When the phone buzzed again, I grabbed it, ready to hurl it in the back seat.
And that's when it appeared.
Something massive on the road ahead, barely visible in the reach of my headlights. Metal. Horses. A trailer pulled by a truck that had stopped right in the middle of the narrow road.
My brain registered the details in slow motion: the driver outside the truck, hands up in warning. The shoulder was too narrow to swerve around.
My foot slammed on the brake too late and too fast.
The world exploded.
Metal shrieked as my BMW's front end crumpled against the trailer. My seatbelt locked across my chest with bruising force. The airbag deployed with explosive power, slamming into my face like a punch from a heavyweight champion.
The impact spun my car sideways, and for a terrible moment, I was airborne, gravity losing its grip. Then physics reasserted itself. My car skidded off the road, the passenger side scraping against the trailer with a sound like the world ending, before coming to rest in the roadside ditch.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Stunned. Blood on my tongue. My face throbbed where the airbag had hit. My ribs screamed from the seatbelt's grip. Through the starred windshield, the trailer loomed. One whole side caved in; the door hanging at an impossible angle.
And from inside, the sound that would haunt me forever: horses screaming.
My door wouldn't open. The frame had bent on impact. I fumbled with my seatbelt, hands shaking so badly I could barely work the latch. Finally, it released. I crawled out through the passenger side, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through my battered body.
The driver was already at the trailer, yanking the damaged door open. "No, no, no," he kept saying, his voice breaking. "Please, God, no."
I stumbled toward him, my legs barely holding me. "I'm sorry."
"Stay back!" He whirled on me. Weathered face, late fifties, streaked with tears. "You've done enough!"
But I couldn't stay back. Had to see. Had to know what my rage had cost.
My phone. Right.Call for help.
My phone was still in my shaking hands. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been damaged in the crash. It took three tries to unlock it; and even more to dial.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"
