Page 61 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

I look in the rearview mirror again. I need to call the cops.

A man gets out of the car.

The pitch-black darkness of the open field is cut wide open and blinded by his headlights. It’s meant to daze and confuse me. I jump out of my skin when he knocks on my window.

“Oh, fuck!” I gasp and freeze on the spot.

“Roll the window down,” the man calls out. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He sounds calm. I see black jeans and the glint of a belt buckle underneath a leather jacket. He knocks again, but I refuse to budge. I’ve got one hand on the gear shift and my foot is about to hit the gas again.

It will only take a couple of seconds to get out of his reach.

“Suit yourself,” the guy says and leaves a note resting on the windshield, then walks back to his car. I can’t see his face or any other distinguishing detail.

I wait for what feels like an eternity as he gets behind his wheel and drives off with an agitated screech. The crimson taillights fade in the distance, disappearing in the deep of night. When the adrenaline wears off, I start weeping uncontrollably.

I’m certain I already know what the note says.

I roll my window down and reach out to take it.

My fingers shake as I unfold the piece of paper. It’s the same handwriting as before.

DON’T THINK YOU CAN RUN FROM ME. I’LL ALWAYS FIND YOU. —V.M.

“V.M.,” I whisper.

I break into an avalanche of sobs, utterly distraught and overwhelmed with hopelessness. I finally admit to myself that I can’t do this alone anymore. The Hawthornes were right even when they didn’t know the entire story.

My eyes sting, and I can barely see in front of me, but I manage to reach down and retrieve my phone. My hands tremble, but I successfully tap into my call log and scroll until I find Nathan’s number.

I put the phone up to my ear and wait for him to pick up.

“Nate,” I manage. “I… I need your help.”

19

Nathan

I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or upset about the sight before me.

Christa sits on the edge of a hospital bed, still shaking but safe. She hasn’t said much since I picked her up off the side of the road somewhere outside of Portland. She wanted to get to the hospital, which seemed odd as she had no visible injuries, but she was so upset I didn’t argue. I drove her and called Triple A to handle her car.

Deep down, I’m seething. Worried out of my mind.

“You seem calm,” I tell her once the doctor leaves.

“Clean bill of health,” she says with a weak smile. “Thank you for everything.”

I look around, making sure we’ve got enough privacy. Cassius and River already have the hospital room number. I give the attending nurse a slight nod, and she gets the hint. Hurriedly, she jots a few lines down on Christa’s clipboard, then discretely walks out of the room.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Christa.

Fear swirls in the caramel pools of her eyes, and her plump lips quiver ever so slightly. Her appearance tells a story, and I’m not letting her go anywhere until I get the details.

“Better, thank you,” she replies. “I just wanted to make sure I’m okay. Especially after this morning’s fainting spell.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

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