by Wild, Cassie
I screamed as I jerked to the right, my seatbelt keeping me in place and pulling tight against my chest. I felt new pain shoot through my ribcage and wondered if they’d broken too. The windshield collapsed inwards, showering me with glass, and I closed my eyes to keep them safe. Not that it really mattered because there was no way I was going to survive.
I felt the car flip, spinning in the air. I was too dizzy and disoriented to be sure how many times before colliding with a large object with another bone-jarring thud. Pain, and then black as my temple slammed against the doorframe. Darkness.
I looked up at the car that had come to a stop in front of us. A laughing couple got out and the driver tossed his keys to a valet. I dragged in a shaky breath as I tried to orient myself. There’s no danger now. There’s no danger now, I kept telling myself.
“God, Pres, you’re shaking.” I could only imagine how haunted I looked.
Dan went inside to get my coat – and to give Ava and me some privacy. I shook, rattled by the memory replaying in my head. Ava wrapped her arms around me and held me close.
“Ava,” I whispered. “I think I’m remembering stuff from the crash. I think it’s coming back.”
“Oh my god.” She squeezed me tighter and laid her head on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie. I promise.”
I closed my eyes and remembered the feeling of certainty that I was about to die. “I saw it coming,” I told her quietly. “I didn’t see the car until too late to swerve out of the way. There were no headlights on. I put my arm up over my face right before it happened. I thought I was going to die.”
“Pres,” she whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
I nodded, unable to speak. I knew she was right. But I couldn’t shake that feeling of desperation, the feeling that, no matter what I did, I was going to die.
“I think we should go home,” I murmured and felt Ava nod.
Dan reappeared, holding our coats. He offered to drive us back to the apartment since we’d taken the bus, and I was thankful that Ava agreed. I could trust her judgment more than my own right now.
Now that I remembered it, I knew I’d never forget what I’d felt that night. Or the realization that I’d been given a second chance. I needed to seize it, stop worrying about the past and get on with the future.
To my chagrin, Kris immediately popped into my head. For all my talk about wanting to keep myself at a distance, I knew I’d fallen in love with him. That was the most painful part of all, feeling betrayed by someone I’d fallen for. I’d started to believe that he’d fallen for me too. Clearly, I was kidding myself.
But was I?
I thought back to the things he’d said the last time I’d seen him. The heartbroken expression on his face.
Now, I wasn’t so sure that it’d all been a lie.
Chapter 20
Kris
I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that moment, reliving the instant everything had changed. It’d been bad enough when she’d tensed under my touch. Hard enough to look at her and know she thought I’d hurt her. But then to see the betrayal in her eyes when I’d said my real name and she realized just how deep the lies had gone.
I’d been a fool to think that anything I did could make amends for the deceit. I’d had the best of intentions. When she’d shown up at Quaid’s office and I realized she was there to see Kris, I’d immediately wanted to protect her. I’d known the Fields family my whole life, since Quaid had been my father’s lawyer before he’d become mine. While his son wasn’t a total ass, he wasn’t the sort of person Preslee should place her trust in.
Then again, I wasn’t really someone who should be talking about trust.
I’d taken it upon myself to try to help her because I’d thought it would be better for her. That I could take care of her.
And now she hated me. She wouldn’t take my calls, wouldn’t answer texts. I hadn’t gone to Ava’s apartment out of fear of what she might do to me. I had a feeling she would be pretty vicious after she found out I’d lied to Preslee. After seeing how protective she was of her best friend, I wouldn’t have put it past her to murder me...and be crafty enough to get away with it. Except I couldn’t stop worrying about her. The worry was almost worse than knowing she hated me.
When it became clear that I wasn’t going to get to sleep, I gave up and tried to get some work done. I’d only been running my family’s corporation for a couple of years, so I still felt I had something to prove. I refused to sit at the head of the board until I had an MBA under my belt. I wanted to be certain that any decisions I made were educated ones. I wouldn’t be just another trust fund kid who ran the family name into the ground.
I worked through the morning, trying to put the thoughts and worries out of my head by immersing myself in my own world, the world that Preslee had never gotten the chance to see. Unsurprisingly, no amount of answered emails or proofread documents were powerful enough to get Preslee out of my head.
Finally, I decided to take action, just to answer the question that had been buzzing in my head since yesterday. Preslee’s entire demeanor had changed while we were at the bar, before the cops had even come in.
I knew she had called them, and I knew they thought I was Kris Fields because she’d told them so. She said she’d found proof that I’d been at that bar the night of the accident, but we’d never gotten the chance to talk about what that proof was. Even though I had no real desire to see that place ever again, I drove to the bar.
The bartender was the same as yesterday, and I thanked God for small favors. It was embarrassing to have to face him again, but I had bigger things on my mind.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I told him. “It was all a mistake.”
He nodded. “Yeah, well, it’s not the first time the cops have been called to this fine establishment. Why’d you come back?”
“I was wondering what you told the girl I was with. What made her call the cops?”
He pulled out freshly printed credit card receipts. “These were from the night of the accident you two were asking about. She stopped on this page and got really weird. Figured I should print them out in case anyone wanted them.” He handed the stack over to me, the page in question right on top. One name in particular stood out.
“Thank you.” I pocketed the receipts. “Make sure you have a couple extra copies of those.” I didn’t wait for a response as I rushed toward the door.
It was time to pay a visit to my lawyer’s office.
It all made sense now. I’d been wondering how Quaid fit into the big picture. I’d asked myself time and again why he would have offered that money to Preslee. At first, I’d thought it actually could’ve been for a client, but now things made even more sense. Quaid would do anything for his son.
Kristian was a year older than me, so I’d looked up to him for a long time. I even thought it was pretty cool when his dad and mom got divorced, it meant a Christmas with Quaid and one with Monica. He’d have two homes, two sets of toys, two of everything.
But that wasn’t how it turned out. Quaid fought tooth and nail to win custody of his son. Even as a six-year-old, I knew something was wrong. I’d heard my parents talking about the case at the dinner table, and I could tell neither of them approved of the way Quaid painted Monica as an unfit mother.
“He doesn’t want Kristian,” my father had said. “He only wants to punish Monica. He wants to win. That’s all that’s ever mattered to Quaid. It helps make him a good lawyer, but a bad everything else.”
And he had won. Monica moved across the country and remarried. Last I heard, she had two children with her new husband and had found her own version of ‘happily ever after.’ Meanwhile, her son was the biggest mess I’d ever known.
Dad had been right, Quaid didn’t care about being a father. He left Kris in the hands of nannies, cooks, and assistants, as if he was a burden or dog that could just be tossed off to whomever and forgotte
n about.
When Kris got older, Quaid sent him to boarding school and didn’t even bother to drive him to the airport. He paid people for that. One Christmas, Quaid wasn’t even in the country. My parents insisted that Kristian spend the holiday with us. It was the last Christmas I’d had with my father. He died when I was twelve. I wondered sometimes if Kris would have turned out better if Dad had lived longer. Maybe he could have helped steer him in the right direction, maybe given him some fatherly advice because everybody knew he wasn’t going to get it from Quaid.
We’d drifted apart as we got older, so I couldn’t say we were still friends, but we saw each other enough that we weren’t strangers. It still bothered me sometimes to see what’d become of the boy I’d once known.
Kristian was a classic case of a boy trying desperately to get his dad’s attention. Drinking and drugs, got into serious trouble more than once. Of course, his father bailed him out. Couldn’t have the family name besmirched. Quaid showed up when the authorities got involved and disappeared as soon as the checks were signed.
Kristian had even gone to law school in an attempt to get his father’s attention. I knew he had no interest in becoming a lawyer, but Kristian wanted to be a son his father would respect or at least brag about. He’d barely graduated, and there were even rumors that he’d paid people to write his papers.
I remembered my mother saying at one point that she hoped Kristian would find himself before he hurt someone.
Apparently, that hadn’t happened, because he’d finally crossed that line.
“You son of a bitch.” I burst into Quaid’s office and found Kristian sitting opposite his father. “What the hell did you do?”
I turned to Kristian, accusation in my eyes. He wore a cocky smile and a collared shirt unbuttoned enough to show off a smooth chest. His overly styled wheat-blond hair fell into his hazel eyes. He was good-looking and knew it.
“What are you talking about, Kris?” Quaid demanded, his shrewd eyes flickering towards his son then back again.
“You know exactly what I mean, dammit. Your son over here.” I pointed to Kristian. “He hit that girl. He was driving drunk. Again. And he put her in a coma. He could have killed somebody!” I turned to Kris. “You literally could have killed somebody. She was in a coma for months. That head injury might easily have ended her life. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”
“I don’t think either of us has any idea what you’re talking about. Do we?” Quaid looked at his son, who shook his head. Kristian didn’t so much as open his mouth.
“How can you do this?” I asked, incredulous. “How can you be so damn cold? Don’t you get it? You’ve been covering up for him for so long that there’s no reason for him to stop. Well, it stops now.” I turned towards the door, ready to head to the police station when Quaid spoke.
“Kristopher, you’d better think seriously about what you’re saying. Think about the long history we have. All of the years we’ve known each other.”
I laughed harshly. “Just because you were my father’s lawyer, and your son and I grew up together? That means nothing to me now. I have no loyalty toward you.”
“What about that unfortunate situation I was helping you with?” Quaid mused. His green eyes narrowed.
I’d almost forgotten about Samantha. The restraining order he’d gotten had shut her up. Unless Quaid had paid her off as well.
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything to her, and you know it. Any decent lawyer could’ve gotten that restraining order.” I turned back toward him. “Maybe what I need to do is find a different lawyer. An honest one.”
Quaid laughed, and I heard Kristian snicker. “For the big, bad CEO of a billion dollar corporation, you’re a naïve little boy,” Quaid scoffed. “So clueless. An honest lawyer. Talk about contradictory terms. Maybe you should pay Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny to represent you.” He laughed again.
I was furious, but kept my temper under control. I walked back over to his desk and leaned down, my hands on the edge. I looked from father to son and back again.
“I’ll only say this once. Stay the hell away from Preslee. And don’t worry. I’ll see to it that you both get what you deserve. I promise.”
Quaid underestimated my power and determination. If he wanted to throw around threats, I’d meet him blow for blow.
“We still have no idea what you’re referring to, Mr. Bedford,” Quaid said crisply. “Now if you don’t mind, you’re wasting our time. If you can’t find your way out, one of the security guards would be more than happy to escort you.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t need any help finding my way out of this hell hole,” I spat. “And by the way, you’re fired. Effective immediately. I don’t want to see your face again.”
Chapter 21
Preslee
I wanted to go to sleep, but forced myself to stay awake. I was too afraid of what I might dream. I hadn’t slept last night, not after that flash of memory, and it didn’t look like I’d be getting much sleep tonight either.
I couldn’t keep living this way. I was already more pale than usual, making the dark circles under my eyes stand out. I’d been listless all day, barely able to concentrate on the work I had to do. Ava had felt so bad that she’d offered to cancel her date with Dan, the EMT from the club, but I told her to go.
Then I’d taken a double dose of cold medicine and waited for it to kick in.
The dreams that came were sloppy and disjointed, strange mixtures of what I thought might’ve been memory and some things that were probably just wishful thinking.
Mom sprawled on the sofa, empty alcohol bottles scattered across the floor. The stench of vomit came from the bathroom and I knew I’d have to clean it up before she woke or she’d smack me. While the threat of physical violence wasn’t a bad motivator, it wasn’t as good as knowing that I’d have to smell it all night if I didn’t clean it.
I could hear the McCalls screaming and throwing things, and I looked over at Ava. Her face was scrunched up the way it always did when her parents fought. I told her we’d run away together, find a place where the two of us could live and be happy. A place where no one would scream at us or throw things.
I pulled at my sleeves, but they wouldn’t cover my wrists. My pants were too short too, and my socks showed above my shoes. I shifted uncomfortably as Ava and I walked toward the bus stop. I hadn’t developed as much over the summer as she had, but my shirt was tight enough to show that I had gotten at least something in the way of breasts. Mom said we didn’t have the money to buy me a bra. I sat in the principal’s office, clutching the front of my shirt together and trying not to cry. Mrs. Pryor was a nice woman, and she didn’t even ask me why I was still wearing a shirt that was so tight that the buttons had popped off during third period. Instead, she wrote a note to my mother, telling her to go to the local thrift store where they would give me a discount on clothes that fit. She included a strong threat that there would be repercussions if I had another problem like the one I’d had today.
I felt myself drift toward wakefulness, then slam back down into the dark.
I was walking through a parking lot late at night, and I was alone. There was something cold in my hand, between my fingers. There were keys threaded in my fist.
Now I was driving down a dark road. The window was open a crack and chilly air was seeping through, keeping me awake and alert. I was talking with somebody, and could hear a disembodied voice filling the car’s interior. It was Ava, of course. We were talking about Thanksgiving. I was on my way home from school. My purse and book bag were on the passenger seat, right where I had left them.
Then I hung up the phone. The road was pitch black and twisted in several spots. The engine rumbled softly like the rustling of the leaves, and I hummed some random, tuneless song, completely oblivious to everything that was about to happen.
I wanted to warn her. Warn me. I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t. I was totally helpless. I was torn between wantin
g to leave this memory and wake up, and wanting to see what happened, finally knowing what happened that night. The car came to a stop at a three-way intersection. I recognized this place. It was where Kris had brought me. This was where the crash took place.
No! I screamed silently. He’s coming! He’s coming! Don’t go!
The left arrow turned green and I stepped on the gas, started turning left.
I looked out the left window and saw the car speeding toward me with no signs of trying to stop. A red Porsche. I saw the emblem, clear as day, on the hood. I peered at the man behind the wheel, for a second terrified that I would see my Kris. I threw my left arm up just before impact, but still had time to see what was coming. I’d seen the man sitting behind the wheel. He looked right at me, and I at him.
Then, the crash, the same way it had been in my memory, ending when my head hit the doorframe, driving me into unconsciousness.
I bolted upright. Light was just beginning to filter in through the blinds. It had been a long, broken night, but it was over now. Relief flooded me. I was safe here. And with that thought, I felt hope that I hadn’t dared allow myself before. I remembered my dream clearly and knew that it was more than a figment of my subconscious. It fit everything else I knew about that night.
It was a memory.
I dug through Ava’s desk for a notepad and pen, then wrote down everything I remembered. The color and make of the car, for starters; then, a detailed description of the face of the man behind the wheel. I’d looked straight at him in the moments before his car collided with mine, and thanks to the fact that the interior light had been on, I’d seen the wavy, wheat-colored hair and the thin face with its long, patrician nose. A large ring with a blood-red stone had glinted from his right hand.
I started when I realized that if the features I remembered were placed on the face of an older man with lighter blond hair…I’d be looking at Quaid Fields. The last piece clicked into place. The son bore a strong resemblance to the father.
