Page 72 of Sticking Around

“Just get here, Brady. She needs you.”

With fear gripping me, I toss my phone onto the passenger seat, and I grasp the steering wheel harder, my earlier conversation with Melanie hovering in the shadows of my brain and haunting me. She needs me. I need her. Jesus Christ, the things I said, things I accused her of. What the hell was I thinking? Melanie is not the kind of woman to get pregnant on purpose, and hell, it takes two to make a baby, right?

With my heart pounding so hard, I can barely hear or see anything around me, I jerk my vehicle to the left, pulling into traffic. Unfortunately, with fear practically debilitating me, I don’t see the fast moving vehicle in my blind spot, and the next thing I know, it slams into me, hard, crushing my driver’s side door. My car lurches forward, my head banging against the steering wheel. I only come to a stop when I hit the lamppost, and I don’t give a shit about my car, or the fact that my arm and head hurt. All I can think about is getting to the hospital.

A knock comes on my window, and the world spins around me as I struggle to open my door, only to find it stuck. How the hell can this be happening? I fight to get my seatbelt off and when I do, I move to the passenger seat and tug on the door handle. Sirens sound in the distance, and my throat tightens. I don’t have time for any of this. Melanie needs me and I need to be there for her. I can’t fail her.

As every worry I’ve ever had about failing others comes rushing back to the surface, tears prick my eyes. Someone opens the passenger side door and reaches for me.

“Are you okay, man?” He helps me out, and on the sidewalk, I glance up and down the street, the pavement swaying before my eyes as a crowd forms.

“Yeah, I need to go.” I begin to pace, a headache brewing as I try to figure out what to do next. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“You’re hurt?”

I move my arm, which feels bruised but not broken, and I stare at one point on the sidewalk to stop my head from spinning. “I’m not hurt. I need to get to my girlfriend in the city.”

The elderly gentleman puts his hand on my shoulder and I lift my head. His eyes narrow. “You can’t go anywhere, dude. Police are here now, and they need to question you. You cut that guy off. I saw the whole thing, and from the way you’re wobbling, I think you might have a concussion.”

“No, I don’t and I have to go.”

A police car pulls up in front of my car, and two officers get out. Panic overtakes me, and I glance around, my body shaking as I search for a cab, or a bus.

“Are you hurt?” one officer asks me as the other checks the damage on the car.

“No, I need to go. My girlfriend is in the hospital.”

“I need to get some information from you and your vehicle isn’t fit for the road.” His gaze moves over my face, a careful assessment. “Wait, you’re Brady Fisher.”

I nod, hoping he’s a Bucks fan and that will help me get out of here faster.

I scrub my face, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I need to go. Now. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He checks out my car. “What happened here?”

I once again tell him that my pregnant girlfriend needs me, and that I need to go, but he doesn’t seem to be all that concerned about that.

“Okay, let’s get some pictures and paperwork done and this car towed. Then I can let you go.”

As my panic escalates, I briefly close my eyes and try to calm myself down. “I really need to go.”

His voice is much firmer when he says, “This won’t take long.”

I reach into my pocket, and grab my phone to call Noah, but I can’t find it. Where the hell did it go? Did I even tell him I was on my way? Jesus, I don’t even think I hung up before I was sideswiped. I look back into my car, and the world spins around me as I search for my phone. I’m failing Melanie. Jesus Christ, I’m failing her, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Maybe I am no good to anyone.

My legs go weak and the officer puts his hand under my arm to steady me. “I think you need to get checked out.”

Dread moves through me when I can’t focus enough to find my phone. “I will, later. I need to find my phone.”

“Tow truck is on the way,” the other officer calls out.

The officer nods toward my glovebox. “I’ll need your paperwork.”

I drop back down into the passenger seat and open the glovebox to hand over my paperwork. For the next fifteen minutes, pictures are taken and paperwork is exchanged, and a tow truck comes to tow my vehicle away.

After the crowd clears and insurance is called, and I’m free to go, I ask a stranger on the sidewalk to call me a cab. Forty-five minutes later after a very slow and agonizing ride to the city, he drops me at the hospital. I pay him, and hurry inside, even though each step is like a jackhammer to my skull. The place is crowded and I make my way to the nursing station, only to find out Melanie has been discharged.

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