Eager to close the distance between us, I start across the street. When I’m halfway across, Ryder’s expression shifts to one of alarm as his eyes widen and he throws up a hand.
“NOIA, LOOK OUT!”
Confused, I turn my head to see a flash of red as the sound of screeching tires and the blare of a horn fills my ears before the pain takes over.
Then, voices, distant and distorted, start filtering through the black void.
“...need an ambulance...”
“...don’t move her...”
“...bleeding from her head...”
Something warm and wet trickles down my face, and I try to open my eyes, but my lids are too heavy.
“Noia! Baby, can you hear me?”
A siren screams as Ryder’s voice, frantic and broken briefly cuts through the haze. Someone is holding my hand and squeezing it.
“Stay with me, kitten. Please stay with me.”
I want to respond, but my body doesn’t want to cooperate. The darkness is pulling me under again.
The last thing I hear before I slip into complete darkness is Ryder’s voice, thick with emotion.
“I love you. Please don’t leave me.”
FIFTY-SIX
ryder
Then...
Rain is comingdown in sheets. As I round a bend on my way back from Portland, I notice a pair of hazard lights flashing up ahead.
As I slow down, I can see a woman kneeling beside her SUV, struggling with what looks like a flat tire.
I pull over, grabbing my jacket from the passenger seat before stepping out into the downpour.
Approaching cautiously, I splay my hands out and away from me so I don’t startle her. “Need some help?”
She looks up, blonde hair plastered to her face, blue eyes wide with surprise. “Oh, thank god,” she says, relief more than evident in her voice. “I’ve been trying to change this stupid tire for like twenty minutes, but I think the lug nuts are over-tightened or something.”
I crouch down beside her, water immediately soaking through my jeans. “Here, let me take a look.”
“Thanks.” She stands and takes step back. “I’m Noia Wilde, by the way.”
“Ryder Blackwood.” I offer my hand, which she takes. Her hands, warm and smooth, send a spark of electricity up my arm.
Inwardly shaking off the unexpected jolt, I kneel down in the mud and test one of the lug nuts. “Yeah, these are on pretty tight. Let me get my breaker bar out of the truck.”
When I stand, I look over to see her shivering. “Here.” I take off my jacket and hand it to her. “Put this on before you catch pneumonia.”
“Thank you.” She gives me a grateful smile and shrugs it on, sleeves hanging well past her fingertips. “You’d think being born and raised in Oregon, I’d be more prepared for this kind of weather.”
“You from around here?” I ask when I return with my tools.
Watching as I position the breaker bar and apply my weight to it, she hugs my jacket tighter around her. “I just moved from Portland to Lakeside about a month ago. I’m a writer. Needed a change of scenery to get past some writer’s block.”
