Page 2 of Stolen Summer

My hand reached for his arm, wrapping around a firm forearm. “Don’t leave,” I murmured, the words like glass in my scorching throat.

The figure turned back to me, his fingers prying mine off him. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

I stared into a blurry face, wishing my damn vision would clear, but I coughed, and a searing pain raked through my insides, something sharp and metallic on my tongue.

Fuck, I’m going to pass out again.

I blinked heavily, and the man was gone. Or perhaps I drifted out of consciousness again. I couldn’t tell.

The next time my eyes opened, red and blue lights swirled through the darkness. An older man in uniform crouched down beside me, asking a string of questions I couldn’t hear.

“My dad,” I whispered again. “He needs help.” Desperate to make them understand it was him they needed to be concerned with. I tried to sit up.

Colossal mistake.

“Stay still. Don’t move. Someone else is taking care of him. Don’t worry. Let me take care of you.”

Have they seen the state of the car? I snorted inside my head. We’d be lucky to make it out of here alive. What about the other vehicle? Were they in as bad shape? I thought about the guy who pulled me out. Was he still here? Had he been in another car passing by and seen the accident?

The next hour was nothing but a blur. Certain sounds or smells stayed with me. The sirens of the ambulance. The beeping of the hospital machine in my room. The strong scent of antiseptic.

My injuries and wounds were treated. I was lucky the doctor said. A few bruised ribs, a concussion, cuts, and scrapes. Most of my injuries were superficial. By the third hour with no information about my father’s condition and every nurse assuring me the doctor treating him would be in when he could, I knew it wasn’t good.

How could it be?

I’d seen him—seen the condition of the mangled car. After the initial hit, we’d spun into a telephone pole, hitting it on my father’s side of the car. The collision pinned him inside. I’d been on my way to the hospital while my father remained trapped inside the horrible accident.

Was it my fault?

Had I done something that caused me to lose control of the car?

I tried to remember the details, but all I saw was a halo of bright white lights.

While I carefully sipped on a cup of Sprite through a straw, someone rapped on my hospital door. Moments later, two uniformed officers strolled inside, handcuffs dangling from their belt loops and the static voice of an operator buzzing through the radios secured on their shoulders.

Not a huge fan of cops. Well, pretty much any authority figure to be frank. CPS workers, teachers, school counselors, and basically anyone else who thought they had a say regarding my home life.

It took me a long time to figure out that being the daughter of a single dad who was virtually penniless raised more than a few brows around town. And in Fallen Oaks, too many people believed they knew what was best for me. Whether it was the size of their bank account that made them lofty enough to speak out or the arrogance they thought they knew what was best for me that made them report the lies about my family, I’d never know.

But everyone in Fallen Oaks had something to say about Adam Quinn and his little girl, who wasn’t so little anymore.

No, they were quick to find how sharp my tongue could be.

Unlike my father, I took a different approach to dealing with town gossip. The ignore-it philosophy never seemed to work for him. My attitude was a bit more direct. I had no problem telling everyone to properly fuck off.

The officer who stood just slightly in front of his partner cleared his throat. Why do cops always sport the same bushy mustache? It creeped me out. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. Do you feel up to it?”

I peered at him over my straw, my back rod straight. “Do I have a choice?” The sarcasm couldn’t be contained. They might be trying to help, but my past with the police department, even at only sixteen, made me leery of everything they said.

“Your cooperation would be appreciated, especially if you have any interest in finding the other party involved in the crash unless you tell us you managed to do that all on your own?”

“Wasn’t the other car there?” I asked, confusion creasing over my forehead.

He gave me the sympathetic look I despised. “We believe they ran off.”

A hit and run? What the fuck?

The wheels in my head turned, but the concussion I suffered made forming actual thoughts difficult. A spear of pain stabbed at my temples, and I pressed a hand to the side of my head.

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