Page 2 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
In a matter of minutes that feel like hours, we’re in the underground garage and he’s tossing me a new set of keys. No explanation—Red’s never been one to waste words—and I don’t ask. Instead, I follow his lead and swing my leg over a black sport bike, taking a moment to shove the helmet on my head. Red starts his bike, so I start mine, and then I follow him out of the garage and toward the freeway.
Behind Red, I weave in and out of cars, moving onto the shoulder when traffic starts to thicken. It’s late at night, way past rush hour, so it shouldn’t be this congested right now. The coil of anxiety tightens in my stomach, and despite my rational mind screaming at me to stay calm, I can’t. I have to get to her. I just have to make sure she’s okay.
I speed up, blowing past Red and racing as fast as I can down the shoulder of the freeway. So fast that the cars on the road seem gridlocked and at a standstill. Faster than is safe, but all I can think about is getting to Callie. My heart speeds along with the bike. My need to get to her clouding my logic and taking over my instincts.
I can feel it, though.
In my stomach, in my chest, I know something is wrong.
The scene is revealed all at once, but my mind registers it in slow motion, one devastating detail at a time.
The cars are indeed at a standstill. No one on either side of the freeway is moving.
Flashing lights materialize into vehicles, and I slow the bike justenough so I can drop it to the pavement and take off at a run toward them.
A fire truck blares on its horn in the distance. A cop car parks on the shoulder thirty yards away. It’s like scanning a junk yard. It’s like a still from an apocalyptic movie, and I know. IknowCallie is here somewhere.
The smell of burning rubber and gasoline stings my nose. My eyes start to water. More horns blare. Sirens wail. People cry out for help.
Among the wreckage, I hear shouts of first responders arriving, and I want to scream at them. Hurry. Find her. Run faster. How am I here first? Why aren’t they helping? Why aren’t they hurrying? A helicopter arrives overhead as my feet crunch over broken glass.
My eyes scan over the wreckage decorating every lane of the freeway. Skid marks and ashes. Car parts and broken glass. Papers blowing about, soaked with water and stuck to the pavement. A shoe. A child’s car seat. I take note of four vehicles, all with varying degrees of damage, before I find the one I’m looking for.
And when I finally see it, all the air is sucked from my lungs.
1
CALLIE
It’sclose to two by the time I drag myself up the four flights of stairs to my apartment.
The elevator is finally working, but I no longer trust it. Not after last time. The last thing I want is to get stuck in that rickety metal box again. Especially not when I have to be up in five hours. Though, at this point, I’m so exhausted I’d probably just curl up on the dirty floor and fall fast asleep.
I unlock the deadbolt and slip in, kicking off my shoes at the door with a relieved sigh. My feet ache, I smell like bleach and Windex, and my hands are sporting a nice rash from my standard-issue rubber gloves, but I tell myself it’s worth it as I drop my bag on the kitchen table next to our neatly stacked pile of bills.
At least the pile is getting smaller. I think.
In the fridge, I find a plate of food wrapped in plastic with a napkin note on top. In messy capital letters, my sister has scrawledEAT ME. I smile to myself. She loves me even when she acts like she doesn’t. I pull the plate from the fridge along with the plastic containers containing the rest of the dinner leftovers and ignore the soft rumbling of my stomach as I scrape the contents of my plate back into the containers.
Broccoli with broccoli. Rice with rice. Chicken with chicken.
It’s a much more balanced meal than we were eating a few months ago.It’s actualfoodnow that I’ve picked up another job, but there’s still a paltry amount of it. Once I replace my portion, there’s at least enoughfor both Mom and Glory to have lunch tomorrow. I’ll grab a sandwich from the store after my morning shift.
I snag a pen off the counter and writeYum!on the napkin before sticking it to the fridge with a magnet, then I tiptoe into the bathroom to wash the stench of cleaning supplies off my body. By the time I throw myself onto the bed in the room I share with Glory, I’m so exhausted that I don’t move an inch until my alarm goes off four hours later.
“Girl. You pick up another shift at the motel last night?”
I glance up at the other register where Quinton is scanning someone out and shrug. I opened today, and he got to come in at ten. Lucky dick.
“Yeah, I did.”
He quirks a dark brow. “You look like death.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’ve known Quinton since high school, and five years later, he’s still just as obnoxious as ever.
“Gee, thanks Quin. I love you too.”
He winks and makes a kissy face at me. “At least I’m easy to look at.”
