Page 11 of From the Wreckage
“Black truck guy,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
And then everything tilts, the world narrowing to him.
CHAPTER 9
Everett
The soundof the crash tears through me like a gunshot. I watch in horror as the silver SUV hits the deer.
By the time I slam my truck into park and hit the asphalt, my adrenaline is already burning through my veins.
The SUV is a crumpled mess along the side of the road, steam rising from the hood. I wrench the driver’s door open, and there she is—the one I’ve been searching for. She’s pale and shaking, blood trickling down her forehead.
“Jesus Christ.” My voice is rough. “You’re bleeding.”
Her wide hazel eyes lift to mine. Recognition flickers in them before she breathes out, “Black truck guy,” like I’m not even real.
For half a second, I just stare at the brunette angel. She’s real, not a daydream or a glimpse through glass. And she’s hurt from the accident.
“You’re gonna be okay.” I crouch down, checking her quickly. “Can you move?”
“I… think so.” She winces, trying to sit straighter.
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
She shakes her head, stubborn even through the shock. “No. I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding. That doesn’t look fine to me.”
“My dad—” Her gaze darts past me toward the hood of the SUV. “He’s gonna kill me.”
“Forget the damn car,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. Her flinch twists something ugly in my chest, and I soften my tone. “You matter more than the vehicle. Cars can be replaced.”
She presses her lips together, blood still sliding down her temple. “Please. No hospital.”
I curse under my breath, fighting myself. Every instinct is screaming to put her in my truck and drive straight to the ER. But she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing tethering her right now, and if I push too hard, I’ll lose her.
“Fine,” I grit out. “But I’m not leaving you like this.”
Before she can argue, I unclip her seatbelt and slide an arm around her, steadying her when her knees wobble. She feels too small and breakable against me, and the idea of letting her go makes me see red.
“I’ll take you to my place,” I tell her, steering her toward my truck. “I’ll clean you up. Then you can call your dad.”
She hesitates, biting her lip, torn between protesting and trusting me.
Finally, she nods.
That’s all I need.
Now that I’ve got her in my arms, I can’t let her slip away. Especially when she’s hurt.
I graba handful of napkins from the glove box of my truck and press them gently to her cut. Blood stains through instantly, and it makes my jaw tick. “Hold this.”
She does, her small hand trembling against her forehead while I tug her seatbelt into place. Once she’s buckled, I slam the door and circle to the driver’s side.
“My car?—”
“It’s fine,” I grunt, starting the engine. “You swerved. It’s on the side of the road. We’ll deal with it later.”
