Page 46 of After We Fall

My last hope slips off the edge. My last hope for Finley. My last hope for me.

“Please.” I lace my whisper with an earnest plea. “Please, Marcus. What if you could have a healthy relationship with Finley? Work together to provide a good life for the two of you? We have resources to help you find a better way.”

“A better way?” he roars. The boy-man in front of me literally roars so loud that my body shakes. “Who do you think you are, telling my woman there’s a better way than me?”

I’ve made a mistake of epic proportions in coming here.

I shift my weight, readying myself to bolt sideways between two parked cars, across the parkway to the next row, and to the safety of my car.

Marcus leans toward me and shoves my shoulders.

Finley screams.

The angle of his push propels me toward the ice machine. I try to get my foot under me, but my high heel hits ice and slides. Fast.

Before my arms can catch anything to gain ground, I free-fall for the fastest second of my life. Then my eyebrow slams against the metal corner. The scorching pain doesn’t last long because gravity yanks me to the sidewalk. My shoulder and elbow make a valiant effort to cushion the blow. But they can’t stop my head from banging against the wet cement.

Striations of blood seep through the cracks.

And then everything goes dark.

12

“Ohmyword. Ohmyword. Ohmyword.”

The mantra echoes through a tunnel.

I don’t want to go anywhere near the sound. It’s accompanied by a fierce pain that pounds closer and closer with each word. I turn my head to distance myself from the agonizing noise. But instead of quieting the problem, it causes a piercing misery to sear through my temple.

I cry out.

“Miss Penelope? Are you awake? Ohmyword. Oh no. It’s so much blood, Miss Penelope. I don’t know what to do.”

Blood.

What?

“Miss Penelope? Can you hear me? It’s Finley.”

Finley.

She needs help.

On an inhale, I take in fumes of gas, hints of iron, and the crisp air of the mountains. For some reason, I’m unable to open my eyes. I grind out a whisper. “Nine.” Oh, help me. That hurt. Gritting my teeth, I continue, “One. One.”

“I can’t—” Her voice, full of distress, rocks toward me with each word. “Marcus. The cops. Oh no. You’re bleeding. It’s so much blood, Miss Penelope.” She shifts, and I hope that means she’s pulling out her cell phone. “Yes. Okay. 911.”

Marcus? What is she talking about? Is he here? Where is here? The simple act of trying to remember causes a vise to grip my skull. I lift my left arm to touch my head, and my shoulder screams so loud, the ambulance should come without Finley’s call to emergency services.

What happened?

I have to figure this out. Have to help Finley.

With extreme care, using just the fingertips of my right hand, I graze the cold, hard cement to test for movement and sensation. I’m relieved I can accomplish this without the protest of pain. All right. That’s a positive sign. Now let’s figure out why I’m bleeding. Without great confidence, my shaky hand crosses my torso and aims for my face.

“No, Miss Penelope. Don’t touch it. You’re—Hello? Are you there? She fell. She needs help. What? It’s Miss Penelope. She fell.”

Yes. Good. She’s talking to 911. What did she mean don’t touch it? Don’t touch what? What’s wrong with me? I can’t keep track of her words. I can’t open my eyes.