Page 89 of Unbossly Manners

The man had a clipboard and was talking on a phone. His gaze widened when he focused on me, my eyes wild, my breathing winded.

“The man, the men who were in the accident. Where are they? Are they okay?”

“I…” He stuttered, his gaze skittering around. In search of assistance. “Come over here.”

He led us away from the scene, and told me to bend over and breathe. He placed his hand on my back and I batted it away, my nerves unable to handle physical touch.

“Are you getting oxygen in?” he asked.

I was a ball of worry, my blood pumping so hard I could barely get a clear thought. But I nodded because I needed to know who was on those bikes.

“Yes. Please. Who was in the accident?”

The man glanced at his clipboard. “Two men. One was taken to the hospital. It didn’t look good. The other is in the medical tent, I think. I—”

“Where?” I craned my neck, searching for the tent.

The guy motioned for a young man with a golf cart driving up from the race village.

“I think this woman might know one of the cyclists that was in the collision.”

I clambered in, shaking. It was eighty-some degrees outside but I was freezing. The clipboard guy slid a foil blanket over my shoulders. Selena sat next to me as we moved forward, her hand gripping mine.

The shoes.

Those stupid, ridiculous shoes. Why weren’t they on his feet? Why was there so much blood?

I was gulping down breaths when I slammed into the tent. There were several medical beds, most filled with riders sitting up and chatting. Some were hooked onto IVs, some were being checked out by paramedics. But no one looked like they were gravely injured.

An older woman, her graying hair tied into a messy ponytail, came up to me.

“Can I help you?”

My mouth opened but I couldn’t speak. My brain wouldn’t work. A hand slipped over my arm. Selena.

“She thinks… we think we know one of the men who was in the accident.”

I glanced at Selena, tears blurring my vision. Her voice was steady but her face was pale.

“Oh, dear.” The older woman went to a younger blonde woman with an iPad.

“What’s your friend’s name?” The younger woman asked.

“Jax,” I whispered. I’d never used his nickname. Why was I doing it now?

“Jackson Rhodes,” Selena said.

The women exchanged a look.

“Do you want to sit down, honey,” the older woman asked.

“I just want to fucking know if my friend is dead!”

“I’m sorry,” the younger nurse frowned. “Your friend was in the collision. I can’t comment on his condition, but he was taken to Northeastern.”

She spoke more words, said more things, but I didn’t hear them as the world closed in around me.

thirty-three

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