The engine’s still running. My hands go back to the wheel and grip it tight. The truck is angled wrong, nose tilted left, the back end caught against the rail.
I blink against the headlights flooding the cab.
A door slams. In the side mirror, he’s a small, frantic figure running toward me.
Miles.
TWENTY-FIVE
I wrench her door open.
“Summer—” My voice cracks. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles are white. Her eyes are wide, and her breaths are coming too fast.
“I’m—” She blinks, and finally turns her head to look at me. “I’m okay. I think I’m okay.”
I’m not convinced.
My hands shake as I reach across her and kill the engine. The silence is deafening—just her hitched breaths and my heart pounding in my ears.
“Can you move?” I run a hand up her arm. “Does anything hurt?”
She shakes her head, then, “No. Nothing hurts. I just…” Her voice wobbles. “What happened?”
“You blew a tire.” I swallow hard. I should’ve swapped her tires to winter ones weeks ago.
I cup her face, tilting it toward me, checking for any sign of injury. A cut. A bruise.Anything. “Look at me. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Her eyes finally focus on mine. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” I force myself to breathe. “Okay. Let’s get you out of here.”
I reach for her seatbelt, but she’s still gripping the wheel.
“Summer.” I cover her hand with mine. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, her fingers uncurl. She holds both hands out in front of her and wiggles them, like she’s taking inventory. I unbuckle her seatbelt and help her turn in the seat. Her legs tremble when her feet hit the ground.
“Easy.” I keep a hand on her waist. “I’ve got you.”
She takes one step, then another. “I think I need to sit down,” she says, then her knees buckle.
I catch her and pull her into my chest. She fists my shirt, and her whole body shakes.
“It’s okay,” I mumble into her hair. “You’re okay.”
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll believe it, too.
“I couldn’t stop it.” Her words muffled against me. “I tried to… but the wheel?—”
“I know.” My throat tightens. “You did good.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, and that’s when I see the tears tracking down her cheeks, catching in the light from my truck. I wipe them away with my thumb.
“I was so scared,” she whispers.
“I know.” My own hands are shaking. I can’t stop them. “When I saw you swerve… Christ, Summer, I thought?—”
