Page 100 of Lucky Strike

Nodding, I head over to Liam and climb in beside him. His face is shiny with tears, but he’s silent, clutching a little dinosaur. My heart squeezes as I reach for his uninjured hand. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, Dad,” he whispers, but he still looks terrified.

The crowd around us has multiplied. Some people even have their phones out, filming. Assholes. The woman who called 911 is speaking to an officer, no doubt recounting for them what she told me. I’m grateful she saw what she did, but without a plate number, there might not be much they can do. That truck is long gone.

At the hospital, Bria is wheeled into a separate part of the emergency room than Liam and me. He’s got some color back in his cheeks, but he won’t let go of me, and he won’t stop asking if Bria’s okay.

It’s a punch to my gut every time. “I hope so, buddy.”

The next few hours are a blur of examinations and x-rays. Liam has a fractured humerus. But his car seat kept him from hitting his head on anything, so other than a few minor cuts and bruises, he’s okay. He’s fascinated with his new cast, which his doctor gamely signs before leaving us.

I’m treated for the scratches, bruises, and swelling on my face—thanks to the airbag—and a sternum contusion—thanks to my seat belt. I’m grateful to both of them for keeping me alive.

“Accidents of this caliber usually leave people with whiplash, so it’s important to follow up with your general practitioner,” the doctor explains as I prepare to leave. Tristan and Finn took Liam to get asnack while I was being examined. “I’ve called in a prescription for pain medication to the pharmacy you gave the nurse, so you’re good to go.”

“When can I find out about my fiancée?” Now that I know Liam’s okay, I can focus on Bria.

The doctor gives me a kind smile. “The receptionist out front should be able to give you some information.”

It takes a while, but eventually I’m given permission to see Bria in the private ER room I had her moved to after being stabilized. She gazes sleepily at me from the bed, where she’s connected to a mess of wires and beeping machines. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says, correctly interpreting the panic on my face. “They’re just keeping me under observation until tomorrow. They want to make sure I don’t have any internal injuries.”

I stare down at her, cataloging all of the small cuts and bruises littering her face and arms. The swelling on one side of her face. I know it’s all from the airbag, because I look the same, but seeing her like this is gut-wrenching. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I lean over, dropping a feather-light kiss onto her forehead. “Bria?—”

“Where’s Liam?” she asks suddenly, her face contorted with worry. “Is he?—”

“Tristan and Finn took him to the cafeteria to get something to eat.” I shake my head, forcing a smile. “I can’t believe he’s still awake. It’s tomorrow already.”

“So, he’s okay?”

“Broke his arm, but yeah.” I nod, touching her hair.

“Thank God,” she whispers, closing her eyes for a second. “I was so scared.”

“Me too.”

“How’d you get in here, anyway?”

“I said you were my fiancée.”

She smiles. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

“Not always.” I take her hand between mine, grateful for the warmth that means she’s alive. “I wouldn’t have chosen this. I never would’ve chosen this.”

“I know,” she whispers, tears filling her eyes. It guts me, her pain.

I shake my head, wishing I could climb into the bed beside her andhold her. “Things got kind of scary there for a minute—I thought you’d passed out.”

“I’m slightly concussed,” she says, touching her forehead. “They said I have bruised ribs and a sprained wrist, too. Thank God I didn’t break it, otherwise Liam and I would’ve had matching casts.”

And that’s when I lose it. All of the pain, stress, nerves, and worry come rushing out in a torrent of tears. I collapse into a chair beside the bed, my head falling into my hands.

“Lucky,” she breathes.

“It should’ve been me,” I grit out. “It should’ve been me. It never should’ve fucking been you or Liam.”

There’s a pause. “Why would you say something like that?”

“The woman who called 911 saw it happen, Bria.” The moment of impact plays over and over in my mind, squeezing my insides in a vise. “It was a hit and run, but it wasn’t an accident.”

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