Page 137 of Chokehold
Peering inside, I see his unconscious dad trapped between the steering wheel and the seat. Blood trickles from a deep gash on his head, and the seat belt digs into his throat. Static noise fills my ears as I spot Cole in the backseat with his head in his mom’s lap. He’s out cold, by the looks of it, but his mom is slowly coming to. I swallow hard at how pale he is, his hair matted with blood.
“Blaise?” his mom chokes as she blinks her eyes open. They widen when she sees the wild flames.
I don’t need to look to know what she sees—I can feel the heat from the fire. They need to get out of the car before the toxic fumes become suffocating, or worse, the car explodes.
“Blaise…” Her voice is small and shaky. “Help me move him. I can’t… He’s too heavy.”
I spring into action, trying to open the passenger door, but it’s stuck. I try again, yanking hard on the handle. It’s fucking stuck and I can’t open it on the other side either because the car is jammed against a large fir tree. Even if I manage to open the door, the gap is too small to fit through.
“Fuck…” I open the other passenger door beside the driver’s seat and start to climb in, but soon retreat with a loud curse. The windshield smashed when the car crashed into the trunk of the tree, and now the air is too fucking hot. I don’t dare try to haul an unconscious Cole through the middle of the front seats. I don’t even think I can, not on my own, and certainly not before the car is engulfed in flames or goes off like a bomb.
Pacing on the spot, I tear at my hair. Think, Blaise. Fucking think. There has to be another way.
A loud bang comes from the hood, and I duck. Fuck me… What the hell was that? Cole’s mom shouts my name from inside the car, and I whip my head around in search of…something.
A large rock amongst the dried grass catches my attention, and I pick it up before running back over to the car and ordering his mom to shield her face. The window shatters on impact as I drive the rock into it. Glass crunches underfoot as I use the rock to knock out the last remaining jagged edges. After tossing the rock aside, I lean in and lift Cole by the shoulders while his mom shifts to grab his legs. Cole is heavy when he’s conscious and awake, but now? He weighs a ton.
My shoes slide through the dried grass, and I use every ounce of adrenaline to pull him out through the window.
We collapse to the ground, and I scramble upright to pull him to me. Tears gather on my lashes while I run my fingers over the scratches and bruises on his pale face. “I’m sorry…” I brush his matted hair off his brow, then shift his arm out of the way to inspect his gun wound. Nausea rises in my throat as the hole in the blood-soaked material comes into view. I reach for the hem of his T-shirt, about to slide it up when his mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “We need to take him to a hospital, Blaise.”
My first instinct is to hold on to him. I don’t want to lose him again. When his mom crouches down, I tighten my arms around Cole and shake my head.
Soft fingers slide over my cheekbone. “Look at me, Blaise.”
Her eyes glitter with unshed tears. A roadmap of mud streaks and bruises decorates her pale skin.
She smiles softly. “He’s hurt, Blaise.”
My chin trembles, and I start to shake my head again, but she puts her hand on my arm. I drop my gaze to Cole and pullhis unconscious body to me, wishing I could turn back time and protect him somehow. “It’s my fault.”
“No…” Her voice softens even more. “None of this is your fault.”
“I should have done something?—”
“You couldn’t have stopped him.” She casts a fleeting glance at the tall flames behind me, then squeezes my arm. “Cole needs medical attention. Help me carry him to your car.”
The tears in her pleading eyes slide down her mud-streaked cheeks, and I whisper, “Okay,” before climbing to my feet.
We work in silence, carrying Cole to the car and placing him in the backseat. Shutting the door, I stare at him for a moment. He almost looks as if he’s asleep.
In the distance, thunder rumbles.
“Come on,” Cole’s mom says, her hand on my shoulder. “We need to go.”
“You go ahead.” My voice hardens as I look over at the burning car.
She follows my line of sight. The fire has spread to the cabin. “He’s dead.”
“I need to see his pathetic corpse burn with my own eyes.”
“Blaise…”
“Go.” My hard voice doesn’t broker an argument, and she stares at the fire with me for a moment before she drops her hand from my shoulder and climbs into the car.
I focus on the flames. Overhead, a raindrop falls from the sky and hits my cheek.
More follow, soaking my hair and clothing. I can sense Rachel’s hesitation before she steps on the gas.
