I twist myself and turn him as far as possible so I can shift my arms under his, pressing my feet against the center console to drag him over the bench seat a few inches, and it seems to work. I do it again, pulling with all my strength and sliding himover and away from the driver’s seat, but pain explodes in my left shoulder.
Over the years, I have dislocated my shoulder so many times from all the falls to the floor or getting pushed around, and the more it happened, the more easily it would happen again. It is not a new pain, but it is fucking unfortunate timing.
I breathe through my teeth and grip my arm, trying to push it up and outward to get it to relocate again, but I am too panicked, and after three tries, I give up.
“Fuck it,” I say to myself and climb over Xander, sitting on the driver’s side.
The thought of navigating the snow-covered streets fills me with even more dread, but I have no choice. With trembling hands, I grip the steering wheel. I think about taking off the high heels, but I can barely reach the gas pedal as it is, and I am already perched on the edge of the bench seat.
I have to breathe a few more times to think around the panic and pain before I remember how to shift it into reverse to pull back from the streetlamp and onto the road.
Thank God the truck is still drivable.
I shoot a “Grazie, Papa,” to the ceiling for him having insisted on teaching me how to drive a stick, but the Ford makes horrible sounds while I try to shift gears. Let’s hope Xander won’t hate me for treating his ride like this.
The snow is coming down harder now. The flakes swirling in the headlights create a disorienting maze, making it increasingly difficult to see the road ahead. But we were already driving for a while, and I think we were close to the Bronx.
The only hospital I know how to get to is the one in Harlem, so I change direction, hoping like fuck I am not prolonging shit for nothing.
I grip the steering wheel with a vice-like hold, my knuckles turning white with tension. Anxiety courses through me like anelectric current, threatening to send me over the edge. I fight to stay in control, not just of the truck but myself. I can’t afford to lose my composure now. Xander’s life might depend on it.
Xander groans beside me, a sound that both relieves and terrifies me. I steal a quick glance in his direction. He is still lying on his side on the bench seat, exactly as I’d positioned him. There is no movement, but the sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath is a small reassurance in this nightmare.
My shoulder screams with pain, and my heart beats relentlessly, nearly out of my chest, as I navigate the slippery roads and push through the blinding snow.
“Come on, Xander, you can’t just log out like this. Clay will never let us hear the end of it. The one time he lets us go out alone, you get knocked out?” I ask him.
If he does not make it, I will kill them. I can’t say why, but I am sure this was not an accident. Somehow, the Del Moros want to make sure I would stop my digging.
I shake my head, dismissing the thought. Now is not the time for speculation. I need to focus on getting Xander to the hospital. The drive seems to take an eternity, but finally, I see the familiar lights and logo of the Harlem Hospital Center in the distance.
Relief washes over me as I pull into the emergency entrance and nearly run over a paramedic standing there because I can’t seem to press the brake pedal down far enough. I quickly press the emergency brake pedal, jerking us to an abrupt stop.
I open the driver’s door and yell to the paramedic. “He needs help, please!”
The paramedic runs to the hospital’s glass doors, yells something inside, and comes rushing over to open the passenger door.
He looks down at Xander and curses. “Fuck, X?”
My eyes shoot from Xander up to the paramedic. When he turns to yell over his shoulder, I see the side of his neck,where there is a tattoo that Xander unmistakably inked. Another paramedic comes running with a bed with two nurses behind him.
They carefully drag Xander out of the cab and onto the bed while I hop out of the truck, nearly breaking my ankle from the height and the heels. I pull the shoes off, throwing them into the cab before I close the door.
They rush Xander inside, and I try to keep up with them on bare feet, clutching my left arm to my chest.
TWENTY-NINE
Clay and Joshuacome rushing in, looking around frantically while I sit in the waiting room, my body still trembling from the adrenaline rush.
“Fuck, kitten.” Clay comes over to me, eyes brimming with tears when he tugs on my right arm to pull me to my feet and into a hug.
“Ah…” I whimper, pressing my eyes closed, and Clay lets go of me immediately.
“Are you hurt?” Joshua asks, nearly pushing Clay out of the way to look at me. “Haven’t they checked you?”
I was so lost in my thoughts about Xander and the accident, holding my arm still, that I had not thought about my shoulder.
“I’m fine. I just dislocated my shoulder,” I grunt out.
