Page 125 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“You were in the middle of the road with no warning!” she screams.

“Calm down! His brakes weren’t working,” Ginger argues.

“It had to be a blind spot,” black beard suggests. “Why would you speed on these roads when they’re curved and narrow?”

“I wasn’t speeding!!!”she screams.

“Do you have a dash camera, ma’am?” Gothic nurse asks, and I’m panicking in seconds.

“N-No!! W-We didn’t install one since this is a Tesla. They come with them, don’t they?”

No one can really answer that. I mean, this is a small town.

Who the hell driving those electric shit cars?

Antique cars and trucks are what’s in. At least here in Strattonville.

“Not your model,” Gothic nurse admits.

That allows me to breathe. I’m lucky I haven’t had a heart attack yet.

“Mikay?” Gothic kid calls my girl’s name, but she’s counting and pressing this little girl’s chest again and again.

Compressions.

That’s what it’s called, right?

Fuck.

The kid is dead.

Blue as fuck.

The mom is going to do anything to get me in shit.

I trust my dad will get me out of this. He always snaps his fingers and has everything moved to be in our favor.

This is nothing.

He’ll fix it.

“Jessica… baby, please,” the mother is losing it in sobs. “Don’t die, baby girl. Please?! Come back to Mommy.” She collapses to her knees, all three men being pulled by her weight as she wails loudly.

I bite my bottom lip at that specific name.

Jessica.

Jessica Cross Johnson.

Mikayla’s mom…

I can see how the mere mention of the name makes my girl still. I’m glad I can’t see her face. See her emotions that blossom to the surface so easily and tell a whole different story.

Tells nothing but the truth.

“Dimitri. Help me,” she orders with that stern voice.

That ‘I’ll never give up’ voice.

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