I blink, and I’m back in the coffee shop. Paisley’s pressing her palms together, fingers to her lips, but she doesn’t say a word—probably scared of doing the wrong thing and me clamming back up. I’d like to say I wouldn’t, but I don’t feel like myself at all.
“Everyone was okay. Shaken, but the injuries weren’t…They didn’t look bad.” Under the table, my fingers tremble, and I clench my hands together. “A couple of broken bones. Whiplash. The mom had a concussion, but she never lost consciousness. The girl was in the back seat, but she wasn’t…” I drop my chin, unable to keep looking at Paisley. “She was talking. Responsive. No obvious signs of injuries. The car was stable, so we made the decision not to move her. She wasn’t in any kind of child restraint, so we were worried about a possible spinal injury.”
Paisley shifts in her seat. “What was her name?”
Was, because she knows how this story ends.
“Allison,” I croak. “I stayed with her. Kept her calm.” I glance up, my vision watery. “She was tiny, Paisley. Had these massive blue eyes. Told me she was a ballerina. She asked me if I was gonna get her out, and I told her I was, that we just needed to wait a little longer.”
“What happened?” Paisley asks cautiously.
It was blue skies that day—still cold, but a bright sunny day that conflicted with the damage the two cars had done to each other. I press my knuckles to my chest. “Allison”—my voice breaks on her name—“was bleeding internally—a laceration on her spleen, they said.”
“The seat belt,” Paisley whispers.
“Right,” I agree, my eyes dropping to the table, remembering how ghostly pale Allison had gotten, her eyes drooping as she told me how tired she was. “It happened so quickly, and her mom…” I blow out a shaky breath. “Her mom started screaming. I can’t get that noise out of my head. The screaming. The dad demanded we pull Allison out. I reached in, knowing we didn’t have a lot of time, but before I could?—”
“Brax…”
“Another car came around the corner,” I rush out, needing to finish this. “They didn’t see the signs or didn’t care, but they were going too fast. Way too fast. Ryan pulled me out of the way. Just in time.”Metal screeching. Burning rubber. Screaming.
I look up just as Paisley squeezes her eyes closed, pain washing over her face. “Oh, god…Brax…”
“If I’d pulled her out earlier…” I shake my head, but Paisley leans across the table, grabbing one of my hands.
“You don’t do that,” she says fiercely. “What happened is not your fault, and you know there was nothing else you could’ve done.”
Feeling exhausted, I just lift a shoulder, not quite meeting her eyes. I won’t argue with her about it, because logically, I know that.
It just doesn’t help.
“Anyway, Monroe insisted I talk to someone, and so here I am.”
Paisley’s still clutching me, her thumb tracing over one knuckle. My attention drops at the sensation, a distant part of me registering that I shouldn’t be letting her do that.
“I’m glad that you did,” she tells me. “And I’m glad I ran into you.” She waits a beat, watching me carefully. “You look like you need a distraction, and I still need to buy Nick a present.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Although with his attitude at the moment, he’ll be lucky not to get toilet paper or something.”
“At least toilet paper is useful.” The humor falls flat, but Paisley gives me a small smile anyway.
“You’re not wrong.” She gives me one last squeeze and then sits back, picking up her scarf and winding it around her neck. “Come on. We’ll get your mind off this, don’t you worry.”
I don’t believe a word of it, but I still can’t bear the idea of getting into my truck and driving home. My head is clouded and dark, still stuck on that day and everything that happened to the family after the smoke cleared from the second car.
My smile is tight and insincere as I stand. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 13
Braxton
Iease the door open, blinking to adjust to the dark apartment, the shadows only broken by the muted glow of the lamp in the living room. A tremor runs through my fingers where they’re clamped around the door handle.
I close the door and flick the lock, beelining for the kitchen. The hushed silence is only broken by the faint hum of the refrigerator, and I head for it, pulling it open to grab a bottle of water. Halfway out, my stomach sours, an acrid taste filling my mouth as I spot the foil-covered plate sitting on the shelf.Fuck.
The neon glow on the microwave warns me that it’s almost midnight, meaning I’m about five hours late. I couldn’t stomach the thought of driving back. Not with the image of Allison’s lifeless body haunting me, and Paisley had seemed to sense that.
We had made our way around the strip mall, her constant chatter filling the silence and giving me some distraction from the bloody horror filling my head. It was like walking through a thick fog—one that clung to my skin and filled my insides, leaving nothing but gray and ice.
Paisley had tugged on my arm, pointing out an old theater across the street. The kind that shows a mixture of modern and classic films. It had been too easy to agree to watching a movie…and then another.
