Page 1 of Tender Heart
One
EVIE
The air in my lungs is not my own.
The air in my lungs doesn’t belong to me.
Everything is heavy. Still. Black.
I rememb?—
Laughter and family and friends. Rings and words. No, not words, vows. Music and dancing. Wine and?—
The rattle of tin cans.
Speeding down the highway, the night wind in my hair...
A blaring horn,
The semitruck.
Noise piercing my head . . .
Then, the car was too small . . .
Someone was screaming.
My world caved in. Something forces my chest down painfully. I flinch at the assault.
Air floods my mouth, throat, spewing into my lungs.
The weight on my chest sinks again. Then over and over.
I gasp, choking on something copper.
Warmth trickles from my mouth, sending heat down my jaw and neck.
“She’s back,” a gruff voice bites out.
Every inch of me trembles, and I fight to drag my eyes open, fingers cramping into my palms, knuckles scraping the rough surface I lie on. The sting barely registers.
Lights, amber and blue and red, flash overhead. Pain lances up my right. A man leans over me; he’s kneeling.
Middle of the highway.
Stars shine straight above. Another person comes to my side and gloved hands jostle my body. A thin funnel of light shines into my left eye and I wince. It moves to the right.
“Pupils equal and reactive.”
Oh . . . God . . . Paramedic.
The uniform catches my attention. Panic winds its searing heat through my limbs, one inch after another. I startle, clawing at my clothes, trying to move. To get up off the middle of the road. The...
I snap my gaze sideways and turn my head. Something hard and cold digs into my neck.
“Try not to move. We’ve braced your neck, Eve.” The words are light. Kind. She knows my name.
The underside of a car blocks my view. Tin cans and rope.
