Page 130 of Past the Broken Bridges

A few students who are walking from that directionlook drunken and stirred as they head to some of the other student housing nearby, all looking behind them.

“What happened?” I ask one of the girls, who smiles at me.

She shrugs. “Somebody said there was an accident. I don’t know.”

One of the guys walking behind her stops beside me as his friends keep going. “My buddy said there was a head-on collision over on North.”

Ice coats every inch of me. “North Street or North Boulevard?”

The guy makes a face. “Uh…I don’t know, dude. Does it matter?”

Yes.Because the party Dixie told me she and Sawyer were going to is on North Street. I step closer, all but grabbing his shirt to stop him from walking away. “What did your friend tell you? Was it near a party? Did he say what vehicle? Who was involved?”

The group is clearly uncomfortable with my prying, and the guy I’m grilling holds his hands up when he sees the look on my face. “I think it was North Street, but I doubt you can get over there easily. If what Trevor said was true, they probably blocked it off.”

This time, I do grab his shirt. “What did he say?”

He winces, trying to get away from where my firm grip wrinkles his tee. “There are two people dead. Supposedly. Supposedly! But that may not even be true. You know how people get fired up. Rumors spread all the time about this stuff when it turns out to be nothing.”

Based on the sirens howling, I doubt it’s nothing.

I release him, letting him stumble backward until he almost falls into the road. One of his other friends catcheshim, cussing me out as I run into my apartment and grab my things.

The next twenty minutes are a blur.

I don’t know how I get across town or how I manage to avoid all the police officers who have multiple roads blocked as EMS and firefighters work on the scene.

But suddenly I’m there, along with a massive crowd of onlookers trying to get a better picture of the mangled mess of metal and debris of two overturned cars that’s destroyed the road.

From here, I can tell one thing for sure.

That’s my truck that’s upside down.

Or what’s left of it.

Elbowing my way to the front of the line that officers have taped off, I say, “I need to get through.” I’m unapologetic as I shove people to the side, working my way to the front until a police officer stops me.

“Whoa,” she says, holding her hands out to prevent me from going farther. “I can’t let you pass this line. You need to stand back, sir.”

I ignore her, grabbing ahold of the tape anyway. “I need to get through. That’s my truck. My friends are there.”

“Sir,” she repeats, blocking me with her body. She barely comes up to my chest, so I could easily overpower her if I needed to. “If those are your friends, you need to let my colleagues do their jobs without getting in the way.”

I can’t keep my eyes off the ambulance putting somebody into the back. It’s too far away to see. Moving my gaze down to the stern-faced blond in front of me, I ask, “Are they okay?”

Something crosses over her face before her expression neutralizes. “I’m not allowed to say, but…” Lowering her voice, she says, “If they are your friends, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

My legs suddenly feel weak. “Sorry?” I whisper.

From the radio attached to her uniform, I hear a male say, “Two confirmed dead. Caucasian male, twenty-one years of age. Caucasian female, twenty-one years of age.”

Somebody beside me gasps.

I drop to the ground.

“Sir,” the officer says, trying to help me up.

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