Page 110 of Love Me Fierce

I reach through the window and grab onto his jacket, the fabric slick in the rain. Moving lights up the hot pain in my sternum and the sting on my arm. The rough edge of the window frame scrapes against my shoulder as he lifts me up. His panting breaths echo in my ears and raindrops tap my hot face.

The sirens get louder and swinging red lights filter through the darkness above.

“Almost there,” Everett says, shifting so he’s got me under my thighs. “Sit on the edge of the window now.”

I lean more than sit and work my left leg from beneath the steering wheel. I cry out as my ankle flexes.

“Hang on to me,” Everett says.

I fling my arm around his shoulder as he rocks back from the window, lifting me out one inch at a time.

Breathing through the pain, I use my good foot to leverage off the seat.

Everett scoops under my knees and rolls me to his chest.

Above us on the road, slamming doors and radio chatter fill the night. Everett’s heaving breaths start to slow. I bury my face in his neck and he curls in close to me, his cheek pressing into mine.

“You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve got you now.”

Lights and voices come nearer. Firefighters crowd around Everett, everyone talking rapid fire. The lights and the noise make my headache explode.

“Vivian?”

I squint from inside the cocoon that is Everett’s embrace to see Hutch’s steady gaze. I start to cry again.

“We’re bringing down a backboard,” he says. “Let me just check you out before we go.”

“Okay,” I manage.

He assesses for bleeding and indications of spinal cord damage—the two biggest life threats after an MVA like this. “I still think the backboard is a good idea,” he says with a grimace.

“It’s fine,” I say.

Once I’m loaded, the crew of firefighters and Everett carry me up the slope. At the back of the ambulance, I snatch at Everett’s hand.

He leans down to kiss my forehead. “I’m not leaving your side,” he says over the crackle of radios and throaty hum of the engines.

Has he read my mind? I don’t want to be alone.

I’m lifted into the ambulance and secured to the gurney, with Hutch on one side and Everett on the other. The back doors slam shut, and the ambulance starts moving.

Hutch starts a more detailed assessment. I cry out when he palpates my chest wall. Then again when he squeezes my left ankle.

Everett and Hutch help remove the raincoat so he can start an IV. “I’ve got a little specialty cocktail for you. Should help with the nausea and your headache,” Hutch says, injecting something into the IV. A cold rushes up my arm, but it’s gone just as quickly. Hutch then drapes warmed blankets over me.

While he goes to work fitting an air cast around my left ankle, Everett strokes my forehead, his worried gaze locked on me.

“I know it hurts,” he says, “tell me what you can. What you remember about the crash.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate as the ambulance rocks. “A tan Suburban. It was behind me at the stop light. Then, just before the bridge, it hit me from behind.”

Hutch and Everett exchange a tense glance.

“It came again, and then…” I draw a shaky breath. “It hit me from the side. I was trying to pull over. I thought he was just in a hurry. But it was wet and dark. I slammed on the brakes. It happened so fast. I was scared of the bridge. I went over the side, and the car started to flip.”

Tears sting my eyes and make my head thump like someone’s inside my skull with a hammer.

Everett uses the soft sleeve of his flannel to dab my eyes. “I’m so sorry this happened, baby.”

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