by Scott, S. L.
The door.
The Mercedes key fob.
The steering wheel that should be in front of me.
Nothing’s where it should be.
The ding from an ajar door gets louder as the fog clears. Shit! I grab the side of my head as a sharp pain shoots through my temple, causing me to close my eyes again. Visions flash through the darkness . . .
Her smile.
Thump.
Those eyes that see beneath the townie.
Thump. Thump.
A deer. Her scream.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
When I look down, red stains the leather, which has me lifting my hand to my head again. I thought it was sweat running down my cheek. Sweat when my body shivers from cold? It takes a second for me to realize that doesn’t make sense.
Why is it red?
I push my palm to my forehead, the ripped sleeve drooping down, and pull back with blood coating my skin. My lifeline becomes a shallow river clinging to the liquid. “Chloe?” I call again, my pain becoming secondary as panic sets in. “Chloe?” My voice is weak, but my determination is strong.
My neck tweaks when I look right too fast. I’m greeted with a tree branch where Chloe should be. Oh, fuck. I try to push up, but my hand slips against the seat, and my body protests. “Chloe?”
A shattered windshield.
Broken glass. Shards glisten against my skin.
An ounce of relief is found in a small detail—I can feel my legs pinned beneath the airbag though the memory of what happened is failing me.
Her Mercedes.
Her birthday.
A missing heart holds no beat. My chest is hollow as I search the car for the only thing that matters—her. Her name comes in waves of shallow breaths being exhaled.
The car is crushed, so I start praying that she’s alive. I search for a way out, for a way to find her. “Chloe?” My voice is scratched, the sound not traveling to where I need it to be.
Leveraging my arm against the middle console, I put all my weight behind the effort. Fuck pain. Fuck tears. Fuck this whole world if I can’t get to her. “Can you hear me, Chloe?”
My heart. My whole fucking life. My soul. “Please answer me, Chloe.”
Wedging my way out from under the airbag, I fall out of the car, my back hitting the frame before I land on the gravel. “Fuck!” I cry, squeezing my eyes closed to stave off the pain. I don’t have time to waste, groaning until my legs fall beside me. Where is she? “Chloe?”
I hold on to one ounce of hope—my phone. I pat my pockets but come up empty. The gravel cutting into my back doesn’t bother me. Not knowing where the fuck Chloe is does. “Chloe?” No response in return messes with my head. I fight. I push the fuck up and crawl to the front of the car.
Pain can’t stop me.
Blood running down my face won’t.
I have to find her, to get to her. To save her.
“Chloe? Answer me, dammit!”
A phone rings in the distance—her ringtone, not mine. “Fuck.” I scramble to stand on my feet and then cover the ground that separates me from the lit-up screen. Not a car passes, no signs of life anywhere. I’m barely here, but I manage to yell, “Help!” hoping to hear it echo to someone else’s ears.
Stumbling down to my knees, I land in front of the phone. “Ruby?” I answer, repeating the name on the screen. “Help. Call 9-1-1.”
I hold the phone to my ear, searching for any sign of Chloe.
“Josh? Josh, where are you?”
“Call an ambulance.” I wrestle the words out, my vision fading.
“Where’s Chloe?”
It’s such a simple question. One I should easily know the answer to. I’ve failed her, cost her a life, a future . . . Tears stream down my cheeks as I search frantically in the area.
A vision of her content and whispering chasing the moon cuts through my mind, keeping me from thinking coherently. “Help me find her . . . There was a deer—”
“Where are you?” Her voice pitches, hurting my ear.
“I don’t know. I can’t find her, Ruby. I can’t find her.”
My mind spins, lightheadedness setting in while the muscles in my arm give way, and I hit the ground. The phone bounces out of reach, but I can hear Ruby’s voice still calling me. “Josh? Josh! Stay on the line.”
It’s not the phone that gets my attention, though. Something sparkles nearby. “Chloe?” I rush, fighting against my body wanting to stall. Just beyond the shoulder’s edge, drenched in moonlight, I find my sweet angel. “Chloe. Chloe. Can you hear me?”
Her breath is even, her expression fixed in peace. If I weren’t mistaken, I’d think she was asleep, but my eyes must be playing tricks on me. I caress her, taking in the blood streaking her face and then kiss her forehead, nose, cheek, and lips. Her eyes don’t open as I scan for the source of blood smeared across her skin. A cut below her eyebrow appears minor, but her unconsciousness has me worried.
Leaning down again, I hold my ear under her nose just to feel her breath again. “Chloe?” I whisper, silently begging her body with no life inside to wake.
A tear drips from my chin onto her cheek as I repeat her name through my punctured pleas.
Pressing my ear to her chest, I can hear her heartbeat. It’s subtle but there. “Baby. Chloe? Hang on. Please stay with me. Please,” I plead to whatever will bring her back to me. I’d make a deal with the devil if he let her live.
Sirens ring through the trees, the distant sound still too far to count on. The dark night surrounds with little light to keep us company. Worried I might hurt her more than she is already. My ripped jacket is still protecting her torso, so I straighten the fabric to cover her leg, and I lie down next to her.
Taking her hand, I weave our fingers together, the act so simple, but when the anchors press together, I can feel her with me once again. The guilt that bears down clenches my heart as I look up at the stars. I try to speak, but liquid filling my throat has me coughing. I’ve never died before, but I recognize the feeling. Why does it have to happen when I’m finally happy?
The sirens sound closer but still too far for my liking. With my heart beating outside my chest, the dull thrum fills my ears. I lift myself onto an unsteady elbow. Beauty like hers should never be touched by fingers with grime under the nails, but I lean over and kiss her, trying my best to breathe life into her again.
“We almost made it. We almost caught the moon.”
The ambulance arrives, and chaos erupts. Stuck in the blinding brightness of the headlights, I whisper, “Hold on for me, baby. Hold on.”
A paramedic has me lie back just as everything goes black.
* * *
My eyes open, and I gasp for air, needles pricking the rawness of my throat. My heart is heard outside my body, sending a rush of fear through my veins.
“You’re awake, Mr. Evans.” A nurse pushes through the door and rubs her hands before messing with the knobs on the monitor. “This is good news.”
“I—” Speaking hurts, and the attempt sends me into a dry coughing fit. I look around the hospital room, and the blue blanket covering me, trying to tamp down the panic coursing through me by grabbing my throat.
She’s quick to grab the pitcher beside the bed and pour a glass of water. Tucking the straw between my lips, she says, “Drink slowly. Coat your throat.”
I swallow several sips before she returns the cup to the tray. The small action even hurts before she takes a gentle hold of my arm. “Be careful not to pull out the IV when you move.” Her voice is kind, her eyes matching her tone.
She’s not that tall, but her hair stacked in curls on her head gives her a few extra inches. “Dolly,” I read her tag aloud.
Tapping it, she smiles. “I’m Nurse Dolly.”
Despite feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck, I ask, “Where’s Chloe?” The tone of my voice sounds foreign, so I try to clear it unsuccessfully.
“Miss Fox is stable—”
�
��Thank fuck.” I gently scrub my hands over my face, wanting to wipe away the murky brain. Seeing her disapproving twist of lips reminds me of my mom. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Her eyes do a scan of my face as her fingers rub over a small bandage I can feel tugging next to my eye. “Don’t worry about Miss Fox. She’s got the best care. Just like you.”
“Can I see her?”
Sympathy shapes her smile. “You’ve both been through a lot.” She pats my leg. “Try to focus on your healing first. Your mom just stepped out for coffee.”
When she turns to leave, I push up, but my strength escapes me, leaving me pressed to the bed without control of my muscles. “I need to see Chloe.”
“You need food, liquids, and healing. That’s the best medicine to recover. I’ll have a meal brought in.”
“She’ll want to see me too. She’s probably worried.”
“I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. You can discuss this with her.”
Frustration tenses my hands, and I slam down a fist. “Make sure she knows I need to see Chloe.”
She never deviates from goodwill—in expression or tone. “I’ll let her know.”
“Dolly?”
Stopping with the door in her hands, she asks, “Yes?”
“Where am I?”
Kissing Chloe.
Holding hands.
Pain . . . everywhere.
“Newport Regional.”
An ambulance.
“Rhode Island?”
Chasing the moon.
A nod of her head is the confirmation I need, but I’m still struggling to remember how I got here. The doctor doesn’t come right away. And even though I put my best efforts into trying to stay awake, I’m too tired to fight the heaviness, so I let my body sink into the mattress, hoping to wake with less pain.
“Joshua.” My name comes in sobs while my hand is squeezed. “Sweetie. Mama’s here.”
I bear the weight of my eyelids and open them to find her standing above me crying. I reach for her hand latched onto the rail. “Mom—” But I forgot how much speaking hurts. She’s there to help me, letting me sip from the straw. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“I remember I wrecked her car. The insurance will go up.”
Her eyes go wide. “You almost died, and you’re worried about my insurance?” A soft smile lies across her lips. “Don’t worry about that. I’d rather pay a higher premium and still have you.”
I try to sit up, angering my tender body as her words begin to populate a distant memory.
Chloe’s brown hair woven into the gravel.
A broken phone.
Tree branch through the windshield.
An airbag.
Oh, fuck. “Did you say died? I almost died?” Her tentative touch isn’t reassuring. “Just tell me.”
“Yes. The broken windshield penetrated your side. Glass had to be removed through surgery. You don’t remember?” She bursts into tears before I can reply. I shake my head, the words not coming. “You lost a kidney, honey. A few inches higher and . . .”
Covering her hand pressed beside me on the bed, I say, “Don’t cry. I’m alive.”
“I’ve never been so scared in my life. I can’t lose you, Josh.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, my body hurting like a bitch just from breathing, much less moving. “But I need to see Chloe.” Her eyes lower. The avoidance causes my gut to twist. “Mom?”
“You can’t see her right now. She’s in the ICU.”
“What?” I try to push up, but pain strikes my lower back like a bolt of lightning. “The nurse said she’s stable.”
She starts a steady pace bedside, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. “She is stable, but you need to keep your stress down because healing is important.”
“So is seeing Chloe. Can I visit her in the ICU?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
I reach for the call button. “Where’s the doctor? They’ll let me in.”
“Josh?”
The morbid sound of her tone stills my arm from reaching any farther. When I turn to look at her again, she says, “Chloe’s in a coma.”
27
Joshua
The metal is bent in seven places, making me wonder how that happened. Fight between family members? Orderlies restraining an abusive spouse? Someone sobbing over the death of a loved one?
Fuck, my mind goes to the dark too fast these days.
These days.
I’m not even sure what day it is or how many I’ve been here. I only know that I’ve been successfully kept from Chloe.
“You need to eat, Joshua.”
Even though it’s my mom, I hate hearing my full name from anyone but Chloe. Chloe. What I wouldn’t give to hear her say it. Closing my eyes, I bargain with the devil.
My soul for hers.
Take me and let her live.
“Any word?” I ask, my eyes returning to the damaged blinds blocking the window.
“No,” my mom says, returning to my side. Her fidgeting—with the blanket, my gown, the room—is getting on my nerves. I struggle not to take my anger out on her. It’s not her fault.
It’s mine.
“I took my eyes off the road, Mom. It was only a split second.”
She sighs and then fluffs my pillow. “You need to stop saying that.”
Her tone catches me off guard. “Why?”
“Because you’re in enough trouble.” Leaning down, she whispers, “The police will be taking another statement from you, but I overheard . . .” She pauses, looking over her shoulder and then back to me again. “They’re looking to pin this on you.”
“There’s no one else to pin it on. The deer—”
“There was no deer at the scene.”
“I swerved. I missed it.”
“That’s not important. It was an accident. You said so yourself, Josh.” Panic rises in her voice. “You need to keep saying that. You have to insist.”
“It was an accident.” My throat thickens as the air in the room goes stale. “That’s still the truth.” It only takes me a few seconds of silence to start connecting the dots. “You would tell me if something happened to her, right?”
“Chloe’s alive. That’s all they’ll tell me.” Squeezing my hand, she adds, “We’re not in New Haven, sweetie. We have no allies here—not your friends, or Barb, T, not even the professor, but he said he’d help if he can.”
“He teaches history.”
I didn’t think her face could fall anymore, but the professor seemed to hold the last string with her hope attached. “They’re looking for someone to pay.”
Although the headache has subsided after a few days, my body is sore, insisting I limit my movements, or it protests in pain, so I remain still. “They’re looking at me?”
The nod is slight, but I catch it. “I can’t lose you, Joshua.”
The dots scatter again, and I can’t seem to collect them. “What are you saying?”
Sitting down next to the bed, she lowers her head, making it hard to see her over the bedrail. “Dr. Fox is pressing charges based on the statement you already gave. The county would anyway. Reckless driving with alcohol in your system. Stealing a car. Kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping? No.” Maybe the concussion was worse than they thought because I can’t seem to comprehend what she’s saying. Yet I know. I’m not sure how long I stare at her head, but it’s long enough to cause her to look up. “I’m missing the part that makes those charges reality. That’s not what happened. Chloe didn’t confirm it either. There’s no way she’d say those things. She’ll clear this up. We just have to wait for her—”
“If she recovers,” she snaps, sending my heart plunging to the pit of my stomach.
“If?”
“You can’t wait for her to come to your rescue, Josh. She’s in a coma, so you have to listen to me.” Conspiracy worries her gestures, and she looks at the door again. Whispering, she adds, �
�Her dad has the hospital wrapped around his finger. I’ve witnessed it. They don’t budge until he gives them the go-ahead.”
“Find Cat, Chloe’s mom. She’ll talk to us.” She glances toward the window, strain working its way into the creases at the corners of her eyes. I hate what this is doing to her, the trouble I’m causing her. “I’m sorry you had to come here, Mom.”
When her eyes return, she tries to smile, but I can tell it’s only for my benefit. Her heart is still burdened. “I’d go to the moon and back for you.”
Moon?
Some fuzzy memory of a moon I can’t reach shelters in the back of my brain.
“You won’t want to hear this, Josh, but it’s best if we put distance between you and Chloe. And we should call your father.”
“My father?” Disgust penetrates the words. “Why the fuck would we call him?”
It’s the first time she doesn’t correct my swearing. That’s when the gravity of the situation sets in. “Your dad can afford a lawyer.”
“I need a lawyer?” A pang hits when I shift too quickly, reminding me of the recent surgery. Restless in this bed, I feel stuck and completely helpless.
“You need someone who can protect you. And as much as it breaks my heart, I can’t.” Dropping her face into her hands, she breaks, her soft cries overwhelming her.
Fuck the pain. Moving closer, I lower the rail and rub her back. “Don’t cry, Mom. It will be okay. I’ll be okay. You’re not going to lose the diner.”
She looks up with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t care about the diner. I don’t care about our home. None of that matters if something happens to you.”
Fear drops an anchor in my chest as flood waters rise above my head. I would normally go for a run, run as fast and as far as I can before dropping to my knees. Or drink until I pass out. But neither is a possibility. Chloe was my hope, my savior, and my haven. Now she and my mom are suffering because of me. “Mom?” Her eyes lift to mine. I ask, “Will you help me see her?”
Her head is already shaking before her anger comes out. “Your entire life is on the line, and you’re still worried about Chloe?”
“Yes. If I can talk her, she’ll help—”
“She’s in a coma! I know you believe that your presence will wake her, but—”
