Page 3 of Starstruck
I nod. “Yes. I even looked both ways before making the turn because I know that intersection is dangerous.”
Curtis tips his head as Josh writes down some notes. “Good call. Do you remember seeing any other cars coming?”
“No. He came out of nowhere.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he says kindly. “What makes you assume the driver was a he, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I saw him at the scene. After the accident. I was in the back of the ambulance and I saw…” I trail off, wondering if this is really the best time or place to drop the bomb that the other driver was likely intoxicated.
Paige squeezes my cast-free hand and says, “It’s okay, Lens. What did you see?”
I glance between my siblings, clearing my throat. Now is as bad a time as any, I suppose. “I saw an officer on scene hold what I can only assume was a breathalyzer up to his mouth.”
I hear Paige gasp at the same time that Dylan growls.
“Was he fucking drunk?!” Dylan barks in the direction of the officers.
“Calm down, Dyl,” I hiss.
Dylan takes a deep breath, and Curtis continues. “Yes, you are correct in assuming the other driver was under the influence—his blood-alcohol content was zero-point-two. We’ve taken him intocustody. Everything you’ve told us aligns with what we heard from witnesses and saw on the camera, and he will face the appropriate consequences once we have all the information.” He doesn’t need to provide more details—we all know what he means.
All the informationrefers to once we know whether our parents will survive or not. Because I’m assuming thatdrunk driveranddrunk driver who killed two peopleare two very different charges.
“Do you have any questions for us?”
I shake my head numbly. Curtis nods once, motions something to Josh beside him, and turns to leave the room.
“Wait,” Dylan adds before they leave. “Who is he?”
“Sorry?” Curtis turns to face us again. “You mean his name?”
Dylan nods curtly.
Curtis clears his throat. “Logan Jameson.”
[1 ]
ANGELS ARE CRYING
LENNON
Present Day
January
“WORLD ON FIRE” BY DAUGHTRY
Iwake in another unfamiliar place next to another unfamiliar face. Just like last night. And the night before that. And nearly every night since that horrific day three months ago.
To say I haven’t been doing well since the accident would be an understatement.
Physically, I’ve healed. The bruises that once covered my face and chest have faded entirely, and my stitches have fallen out, leaving minimal scarring in their place. My concussion is gone, and I’m breathing normally again, which means my ribs are healing—well enough that the doctor gave me the all clear to return to work this week.
After we get through today, that is.
But no matter how quickly my physical appearance returns to what it was before the accident, I still don’t look like myself. Because the person staring back at me whenever I look in a mirror now is partially responsible for the death of both of her parents, and no matter how hard I try to convince myself that thingswill go back to normal eventually, I am not the same person I once was.
A few hours after we spoke to the cops that day in the hospital, the doctor informed us that our mother had died. The piece of glass embedded in her chest had been shredding her heart every time it beat, and despite their best efforts, they weren’t able to get the bleeding under control in time to save her.
