Page 168 of Puck Prince

48

OWEN

The last thing I saw was Callie’s smile.

Mischievous and drop dead fucking gorgeous, it’s the kind of smile that stops your heart and makes everything else fade, including a car barreling at you as it blows through a red light.

She was still smiling as the car slammed into her door. It happened so suddenly that there wasn’t time to be afraid.

Now, my ears ring like there’s a five-alarm fire inside my head. My mouth tastes like copper and my shoulder aches like someone smashed it with a sledge hammer, but all I feel is fear.

“Callie.”

Her blonde hair is spread across my shoulder and chest. Her door is caved in, pushing her into my seat.

I nudge her—right now, it’s as far as my range of motion extends. Glass shards clink to the floor and shake out of her hair, but she doesn’t move.

“Fuck…” I sound like a rusty engine, gravely and struggling to start. The steering wheel is bent and crammed into my ribs, and I can’t breathe.

I wedge a hand under her shoulder to get my seatbelt off. Her’s is still on, but since her chair has been ripped from the frame of the car, it seems a little pointless now.

“Callie, are you—” I can’t even get it out. Words hurt too much. Breathing hurts more. Movement is flat out excruciating.

Still, I lift my arm, even as my shoulder screams in pain, and brush her hair from her face. Then I see the stream of blood.

“Callie!” I don’t want to move her, but I need to see her face. I need to see if she’s breathing.

If she’s alive.

The thought hits me harder than the car. My world tips off its axis at the thought.

I angle forward, and I can see that her eyes are shut and her mouth is parted open. The gush of blood is running from her nose, which is clearly broken. I don’t know what else is broken. Or if she and the baby are okay.

“Help!” I scream. With the windows blown, I know people can hear. They materialize around the car, trying to get the doors open, calling for help, stopping traffic.

I’m grateful for them, but all I can focus on is Callie.

I press my fingers to her throat, holding my own breath until I feel the flutter of her pulse.

I let out a half-laugh, half-cry. “Okay. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

If she’s okay, I’m okay. Which means she has to be okay.

“Help is coming. We called an ambulance.” A woman puts her hand on my back through the shattered window. I don’t turn around to put a face to the voice. I refuse to take my eyes off Callie even for a second.

“Callie,” I breathe again, her face cupped in my hands. She takes in a sudden, harsh breath, and her eyes flutter.

“What…” The word cuts off in a gasp as her face twists in pain.

“It’s okay. I got you, baby. Don’t move. It’s going to be okay.”

“It hurts,” she sobs.

This hurts. Seeing her like this is breaking me. It’s going to kill me.

“I know, I know. Just hang on, okay?”

“The baby,” she whispers before going limp against me again.

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