Page 108 of Shutout
“Black Jeep Gladiator,” Brooke says, panting. That’s probably more from the stress of the situation than from the physical effort of carrying me.
My own heart races faster than a rabbit being chased by a wolf. This is bad. Like really, really bad. I try squeezing Brooke harder to comfort him but instead I sag against his arms. Brooke has to hoist me up again.
“Uh—Uh… Here.”
Brooklyn swings me a bit as he snatches the keys. “Where are we parked?”
The valet points to my left. “That way. Second row, I think.”
Brooke takes off again. The night is cold but above freezing, and the snow’s melted into puddles that squelch under his dress shoes. “It’s going to be fine,” he says harshly. “We’ll make it in time.”
I can’t speak anymore but I try to nod, and that makes me dizzy. I start praying because this is going south at breakneck speed.
Some beeping makes him change tack, and I realize a second later that it’s because he’s found the car. With me in his arms, he maneuvers to open a door. Grunting, Brooke strains forward to sit me down. My arms automatically grab at whatever they find. I squeeze my eyes shut against the noises. The car’s swaying worse than the earlier bounce in Brooke’s arms.
I try to say his name but it’s a gurgle.
“I’m here.” Brooke appears before me again and dumps something on my lap.
It’s my clutch and he’s fiddling with the tab. He rips it open on pure strength alone and everything goes flying. The EpiPen lands between me and the seat and he fishes it quickly. He’s done this enough times that he’s as efficient as a doctor when popping it open. But I’m sprawled weird on what I now recognize as the backseat. He bites the device to drag me closer to the edge of the seat by my hips, and lifts my dress so fast a tearing sound echoes through the cabin. Without needing a warning, he stabs my thigh with the EpiPen with clinical precision and we hear the click that tells us he did it right.
We’re both breathing hard as we wait for the adrenaline to be injected into my system. A strand of blond hair escaped his pomade, and it flies up and down with his breaths. After three seconds, he chucks the injector away.
“You doing all right?” he asks, his hand massaging my smarting skin. The only response I can give him is to cringe. “Okay, lift up your legs. We’re going to the ER.”
A pained little moan escapes from my chest but I manage the task. Once my legs are up, propped against the passenger’s and backseat—and who knows what I’m flashing him with—he shuts the door.
I drop my head back and curse myself. Why is this happening tonight? Or at all? It’s not like I was super careless.
The driver’s door opens and the entire cabin rocks as he hauls himself in. A series of noises follow. His door shutting. The click of his seatbelt. The engine roaring to life and the electronic noises of the dashboard lighting up. His A/C swooshes with ferocity, and I feel the heat hit me right away. My muscles relax a tad. Sweat trickles down my skin but it’s the cold kind.
He peels out of the parking lot so fast that the tires squeal. After working my throat a couple of times, I manage to say most words of a sentence. “Sorry. Will be fine. Slow.”
“No, I’m not going to slow down.” I can tell he’s speaking between his teeth. “I’ll get you to the damn ER and deal with the speeding ticket later.”
“No! Your… career?—”
“Screw that. You’re in danger!”
“Just… careful.”
“I am. I will be.” He gathers a deep breath. “I’m just going to drive ten miles per hour over. Maybe twelve, okay? Fifteen at most.”
“Brooke…”
“Hey, you’re talking more. The adrenaline’s working, right? Did you keep your legs raised?”
“Ye…” I can’t manage thessound, but a wheeze fills in the blank.
“Okay. Hang on, Liv. We’re almost there.” The car jerks abit at a sharp turn and we must really be almost there. The hotel was downtown and the main hospital in town is probably ten minutes away at most. “What do you think caused it?”
I cough out the word. “Peanuts.”
“Shit.” After a pause he says. “I have to come clean. I’m going faster now.” I clear my throat aggressively. “Okay, I’ve slowed down a notch.”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t technically dying right this second.
“I’m going to sue the shit out of that caterer.”
