Hard Focus

by MariaLisa deMora

Taylor bugged his eyes at her. “Honestly?” He scowled and pointed to the ring of bruising on her wrist. “Honey, he hurt you.”

  Connie shook her head. “I pulled away. He didn’t mean to, Taylor. And besides, if he hadn’t shown up, I would have built it up in my head bigger than it needed to be. I know myself, and if I’d had a lot of time to think, I might have even chickened out. This way I just spoke from my heart, and he heard me. He left when I told him to, Taylor. It’s okay.” She squeezed his hand again. “I’m okay.”

  “I will call your daddy.” His tone held less irritation this time, but he angled his head to show her how serious he was.

  “I know you would, and that’s one of the reasons I love you so much. You wouldn’t care how angry I’d be at you over it. You just want to take care of your friends.” His expression gentled slightly at her words. “Because that’s who you are, and I’m blessed to have friends like you.”

  “Damn straight you are.” He turned his hand over and cupped her fingers in his, tightening for a moment. “And if that man shows up again, I promise to take care of you.”

  “And now—” She pulled back and lifted her glass, waiting for him to do the same before she clinked the rims together. “—we drink and dance, and we wait for your man to make an appearance so we can have dinner. And we don’t talk about he-who-shall-not-be-named again tonight. Can you do that for me?”

  Finally, Taylor’s lips curved in a grin, the mischievous glint she knew so well showing in his eyes. “I can do that.”

  Relieved he’d given up on the topic, Connie let herself be pulled along as Taylor directed the evening. Once Alden showed, they did more sitting and talking than dancing, but the conversation was easy, free of any tough topics. Connie knew Taylor must have warned his partner to leave the subject of the sudden ex-boyfriend alone for the night.

  She really didn’t want Taylor to call her parents. Not just because she was a grown adult living on her own, but because she hadn’t told her parents about dating anyone even semiseriously, and Connie knew her father especially would be hurt to only find out after whatever it had been was in wreckage on the rocks. If she’d talked to her parents about her beau, her father would have been running a background check on him before she’d even hung up from the call, and if Jonas had learned about it, she would have been mortified. Connie hoped she was a good enough judge of character on her own.

  They escorted her all the way to the door of her apartment later that evening, without a word being spoken between them about the difference from normal patterns. Turning in the doorway, the empty apartment at her back, she stretched up on her toes to press a kiss against first Taylor’s cheek, then Alden’s. “Thank you.”

  Taylor leaned against Alden, who told her gruffly, “Lock the door, Connie. We’re just a phone call or text away.”

  Shut inside the silent rooms, she looked around. The only picture of her with Jonas had already gone in a drawer, but there was a wicker basket of toys tucked underneath one end table. Surprised, she realized that would be the only downside to breaking up with Jonas.

  I’ll miss little Addy.

  ***

  Cole

  He sat straight up in bed, staring into the darkness surrounding him and listened closely. A moment later he heard Addy cry one tear-filled word: “Mommy.”

  With a sigh, he climbed out of bed and padded up the hallway to the little room where Addy slept. As he rounded the doorframe, he called out to her, “Hey, honey, it’s okay.”

  The nightmares came and went for her, and he knew from Thompson’s many complaints about sleepless nights, that Addy’s dreams didn’t just disturb her mother. Fortunately, the nightmares were coming less and less frequently, and Audrey had voiced hopes Addy’d outgrow them one day.

  Cole had other ideas because he suspected the nightmares were born out of the stress that surrounded the little girl every other weekend. Take care of asshole, I’d take care of my Addy. He shook his head at the thought. Not my way.

  “Uncle Cole.” She scrambled away and moved up the mattress. Addy stilled there, huddled close to the headboard, holding tightly. Voice quivering, she told him, “I’m ascared.”

  Cole eased onto the small bed next to her, methodically peeling her fingers from the wooden spindles and replacing them with his hands. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped her tightly, wincing at the sweat-chill of her soaked-through pajamas. “I’m here, honey. I got you.”

  “I had a bad dream.” His heart broke when she pulled in a deep breath that hitched in a half dozen places, her tiny frame lurching with each. “I want Mommy.”

  “Mommy’s not here, honey. It’s just you and me. But, I got you. I promise.” He rested his chin gently on top of her head. “I got you.”

  “I want Miss Connie.” She yawned and pulled in a smaller breath, turning her cheek to his chest and burrowing close.

  Oh, I wish. Recalling again those moments when she’d handed Thompson back as much attitude as he was giving her, Cole gave himself a minute to imagine the feisty woman here now, then shoved those thoughts aside. “I can’t give you Miss Connie, either. You’re stuck with me, Addy.”

  “Stuck like glue.” She yawned again.

  “Yeah, honey. Stuck like glue.”

  Addy dozed in his lap, waking only enough to murmur unintelligible complaints when he laid her back on the sheets, drawing the covers up to tuck in close around her.

  Cole made his way back to his own bed and stared down at the broad mattress, with covers only half disturbed, one pillowcase smooth and undented. It had been a long time since he liked a woman enough to bring her back to his place. Mostly it was a quick couple of hours stopover at their place, or an evening spent in a room at the local hotel. Fun and games, but nothing serious. In his mind, he drew an image of Connie Rowe waiting for him, spread out against his sheets. Cole groaned. “Great,” he muttered as he crawled back into his cold bed, punching his pillow flat. “Now I got that in my head, too.”

  Chapter Five

  Connie

  “Oh, come on,” Connie muttered. She leaned her head backwards against the seat, hands on the wheel. Staring at the ceiling of the car, she counted to ten, breathing slowly, then counted to ten again. Traffic was crazier than ever. With the advent of early fall, there had been a sudden influx of tourists to see the leaves turn colors, which meant the sheer volume of cars downtown clogged the streets in a gridlock. It was Saturday evening, and what should have taken her about fifteen minutes had expanded to nearly two hours already, which meant she was going to be late to the firm’s party.

  Staring at the back bumper of the car in front of her, she tapped her thumbs against the dashboard, keeping time with the music on the radio. Her car was in the right-hand lane, on the approach to the river bridge that connected the east and west sections of town. There was a left-hand lane that exited just before the bridge, giving cargo traffic access to the shore where barges docked just downriver.

  Connie sighed again as the left turn light went green, watching from the corner of her eye as those cars and trucks began rolling forwards to complete their turn. “Finally,” she grumped as the light controlling her lane went green. Connie was focused on traffic in front of her, and the log truck inching up beside her barely registered. Until it began to turn.

  The mechanics of the accident wouldn’t become clear until much later. In order to navigate the downtown streets, the log truck driver had adjusted the rear axle underneath the trailer to shorten the turning radius of the truck and trailer. But the length of his load of freshly-harvested logs meant it hung far over the back of the trailer. So far that when the cab of the truck had completed its turn, and the trailer was pivoting to follow in its tracks, the logs swung out and into the lane Connie occupied, intersecting her vehicle just behind the rear door.

  The log truck was well into its turn when the screech of metal crumpling accompanied a sideways slam against her car’s chassis. Shocked by the uncontrollable movement, Con
nie clutched at the unresponsive wheel, struggling in vain to steer the vehicle away from being crowded towards the edge of the bridge. The vehicle jolted again, hard enough to lock the seat belt around her belly. She screamed when the windows broke, glass spraying in from both sides of the car as the logs skated their way along the side while smashing it against the guardrail. Each strut, each upright piece of metal used in the car’s construction interrupted the smooth progress of the logs, pushing her closer and closer to the short wall separating her from the open space beside the bridge.

  Shards of glass gleamed across the interior of the car as the driver side lifted from the roadway. The radio played on, music changing as the seat belt tightened across her torso, gripping her with force enough to hold her in place. Several logs wedged their way into the empty window, and the end of one hit Connie’s head before rebounding against the windshield and smashing that piece of glass. Confused, she blinked at the raw end of the log only inches from her face, studying how weeping sap covered the surface and held insects in place, ants and beetles torn from the forest floor.

  Seconds ticked past as something boomed, and the car shuddered as it lifted farther, balancing precariously on the edge of the bridge, held there by the tension of that single log jammed in place. The truck drove on down the exit ramp and the log yanked away. Balance broken, her car tipped over and Connie stared in dismay as the roiling, brown surface of the river rushed towards her. The force of water entering the car pinned her against the seat, but the cold, wet wave pulled her out of the fugue the blow had her in. Connie tugged at her seat belt, yanking fruitlessly. She shoved with both thumbs at the unlatch button, but there was no satisfying click of release.

  Water broke over the hood, lapping into the cabin of the car through the broken windshield before drenching her legs and feet. “Help me!” The speakers buzzed with static for a moment when the engine died, stopping with a bone-rattling jerk as something inside froze in place. Without the noise, she heard a drone of a crowd from above, but any individual shouts were drowned in the sound of the water that surrounded her. “Help!”

  In the distance, she saw tall, gray columns of the south bridge spanning the river. They loomed larger and larger, and she watched the water swirl and splash, saw a driftwood log sucked under and then spewed back up to smash and splinter against the cement, helpless against the power of the river’s current.

  “Help!”

  Connie grappled with the seat belt latch again, her hands submerged now as she pressed the button over and over. She yanked at the belt, shoving with her feet to try and dislodge it. Air burbled out of hidden compartments as the waterlogged car was settling into the water. “Help me!” Splashing sounds reverberated from nearby and the car swayed, twisting in the water as the passenger side dipped lower. Connie screamed and lurched away from something coming through the window before she realized it was a man. “Help me, please!”

  “I’ve got you.” His voice was deep and reassuring, familiar in some bizarre way. “I’ve got you.” He shoved her hands out of the way and, accompanied by a muffled tearing sound, with a single yank of his arms loosened the seat belt. “Come on.” Hand on her bicep, he pulled her towards the window, the level of water now halfway up the opening. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

  Free of the car, she thrashed helplessly for a moment in the water. Fear and the cold river had already leeched strength from her muscles and made her movements uncoordinated. Her rescuer was behind her, his voice in her ear soothing, a confidence carried in his words that made her believe. “I’ve got you. Just relax. Let me get us safe. I’ve got you.” The repeated refrain calmed her more than anything. His deep voice telling her over and over, “I’ve got you.”

  They reached the bank and there were a dozen people there, hands outstretched to pull them both to shore. Connie was lifted and passed hand-to-hand up to the roadway. An ambulance was already parked there, and the last person in the line set her on the gurney, a man standing close beside the stretcher. “Easy does it, ma’am.” She looked around wildly for the man with the deep voice, seeing someone being helped from the river. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” As she turned to look at the questioner, she caught sight of her car. It had reached the columns of the south bridge and appeared to be bouncing in place, floating right up against the cement like a beach ball against the side of a pool. Then it upended, trunk rising out of the water as the engine compartment was sucked down. An instant later the car was gone, lost into the dark water. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

  “Constance.” She stared at the rolling surface of the water for another moment, then swung her gaze to the EMT affixing a cuff to her bicep. “Constance Rowe.” A blanket fluttered through the air, settling over her legs. Connie fixated on the sight of her pink toenails disappearing behind the fabric. “I lost my shoes.”

  “How is she?” The deep voice sounded from right beside her, and Connie twisted to look up, reaching out instinctively. “Is she okay?” A warm hand gripped hers and held firm, an anchor in the storm rolling around her. Her vision blurred and she shook her head, staring in disbelief as the man’s face slowly swam into focus.

  “Shocky. Gonna load her up and head in. Wanna ride along?” The EMT flung the clipboard he’d been holding to rest in the narrow space between her legs. “I wanna get rolling. I’ll wait to start a line along the way.” He tied a rubber band around her arm, then did something to the end of the stretcher before pushing hard. Connie stared at the man who had saved her as the gurney rolled away.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Cole Stewart told her. He placed his other hand on top of hers where it was wrapped around the railing.

  “You’re soaking wet.” Her observation made him laugh, and she watched with interest as he flung his head back in laughter.

  “That happens when I jump in the river.” He ducked as he stepped up into the back of the ambulance.

  “You saved me.” Her breaths were coming in short pants. “There was an accident and my car…there was a log. A truck, maybe? The river was so cold.”

  “Shhh. You’re okay.” Cole looked at the EMT. “You get a name?”

  Connie felt a sharp poke in the back of one hand and stared as the EMT taped tubing into place before taking the rubber band off her arm. “It’s on the sheet.” Loud beeping sounded through the vehicle as he tipped his head towards the clipboard. “Keep her talking. She’s dropping like crazy.”

  Shaking so hard her teeth chattered, Connie watched as Audrey’s brother collected the clipboard and studied it for a moment. “You saved me. Thank you.”

  “Constance—” Cole’s head whipped around and she felt the full weight of his angry stare. “Rowe. Connie Rowe. Jonas Thompson’s girlfriend.”

  The EMT made a pained noise and she twisted to look at him. He was staring at Cole, then turned the same wide-eyed gaze on her. He swore softly, expression contorted into something like grief.

  “Yeah.” Voice filled with gravel, Cole pulled his hand away and slid down the bench towards the front of the ambulance. “I’ll sit up front,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Connie looked at the EMT who seemed to have shaken off the shock and was back to all business. He piled another blanket on her legs, monitored the machines he’d hooked her to, and relayed numbers and acronyms through a radio, all without speaking to her again. She sat in silence and trembled, trying to make sense of everything.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Connie was surrounded by a flurry of activity, hustled here and there for X-Rays and various tests. She was quietly compliant with every request, still stunned by the accident and everything that followed. Finally, a white-jacketed doctor swept through the curtain-surrounding her bed and stared at her for a moment.

  “Miss Rowe, I’ll be writing discharge orders in a few minutes.” He shook his head as he turned to study the numbers on the machine beside her bed. “You’re a very lucky young woman. The cops tell me it was a million-to-one accident, what
happened to you. I know from the tests we ran that you have a slight concussion from one of several possible impacts. Either the tree trunks slamming into your car, your car flipping over the guardrail, or the impact with the river. Do you know what hit you?”

  “The—” Her voice cracked, sounding unused and tired. Connie cleared her throat. “The logs. One of them broke out the window right beside me and it clipped me here.” She lifted a hand and gently touched the bandage covering a row of stitches directly behind her ear. Half her face was already sore, jaw aching, and she suspected there would be bruising sooner or later, but she hadn’t asked for a mirror. Not yet. She wasn’t sure how much more she could handle today.

  “Another two inches into the car and it would have done irreparable damage.” He tapped his fingers against the folder in his hands. “You’re a very lucky woman.” His tone shifted and he was all business when he asked, “Has someone been called for you yet? You can’t go home alone, not after this. If you don’t have someone to pick you up and stay with you, I’ll have to keep you overnight.”

  “My purse and phone were still in the car. I don’t have a way to call anyone.” She lifted a palm towards him in supplication, pleased it scarcely trembled. “I need someone to call for me. My family lives out of town, and I don’t…I know a couple of friends’ numbers, but most are just in my contacts.”

  “At the bottom of the river.” He nodded. Connie shivered at the matter-of-fact way he spoke about the destruction that she’d somehow survived. “I’ll send a nurse in. She can help you get in touch with someone.” He turned, then paused and looked back at her. His voice was soft, almost musing when he said, “You know, when something like this happens, maybe it’s time to take a look at everything in your life, see what’s worth keeping.”

  With that cryptic statement, he pushed through the curtain, leaving the fabric swirling in his wake. A few minutes later a nurse was next to Connie with a notepad. She took down Taylor’s number and promised to return as soon as she’d reached him. Connie stopped her and asked, “The man who saved me, Cole Stewart, is he okay?”