Page 3 of Love Me Fierce

“No.”

“All right. I’ve dispatched units to your location. Can you stay until they arrive?”

“Yes. I’m a nurse. I’m going to go help.”

I set my phone down, then reach into the back seat, where I was at least smart enough to stash my coat. If only I was wearing something other than the baggy overalls I bought at Goodwill because Kent would hate them and the cropped tee I scored at half price because it made me feel cute. At least I’m wearing sneakers instead of flip-flops.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell Matty. I don’t like leaving him here, but I’ll keep the car on so he stays warm, and EMS is on the way. “Do you need a snack?”

He nods.

I dive into the Trader Joe’s bag and whip out a package of dried mango. “How’s this?”

His eyes light up.

I tear open the package and pry open the zip closure. The sweet, tropical scent of the fruit is so foreign and enticing in the stuffy car. I tease out a small piece and pop it into my mouth. The flavor explodes on my dry tongue.

I slip on my coat and stuff the gloves into the pocket. “Stay in the car,” I tell Matty.

His eyebrows furrow. “Okay, Mommy.”

While his attention turns to prying apart two pieces of dried mango, I open my door. Snow blasts my face and bare hands andwind whips into every crack in my clothing, making me gasp. I step into deep snow that fills up around my bare ankles. The wet and cold on my skin come as a shock. Squinting into the wind, I shut the door and zip my jacket as high as it’ll go, then start walking toward the upside-down truck.

Chapter Two

VIVIAN

Stayingin the swath of churned up earth and snow from the truck’s deceleration leads me to the passenger side, which is better because steering wheels make for tricky extractions. Plus, if I can avoid wading through the deep snow piled up around the front of the truck while also keeping my car within sight, that’s the smarter move.

The icy wind bites at my sides where my coat rides up and whips strands of my hair from its braid to batter my face and eyes.

With my shoulder braced against the side of the truck and my back to the wind, I slip on my gloves. I can’t hear anyone from inside, but I don’t let it stop me from grabbing the handle and tugging the door open. I only get about six inches, but it’s enough that I’m hit with the sharp scent of the airbag powder.

“Hello?” I call into the space.

“In here!” a man calls out in a strained voice.

Relief washes through me.

I wedge myself in behind the heavy door to at least get out of the wind. “My name’s Vivian. I’m a nurse. EMS is on their way.”

“Thank God. I can’t reach my phone.”

With the erratic shadows created by my headlights and the quickly deflating airbags draped like mini parachutes from the dash, steering wheel and sides, I can’t see the man’s face, but he’s against the other side. His boots and pant cuffs extending toward me, like he’s sitting on the upside-down roof, his back to the door-side window.

“I need you to stay where you are and don’t move, okay?” I call over the wind.

“Thank you for stopping. I don’t even know how this happened.”

“What’s your name, sir?” I ask so we can cover some ground before EMS arrives.

“Tucker.”

“Are you hurt, Tucker?”

“My shoulder.”

“Any other pain?”

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