Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Clover screams. I’m pretty sure I do, too, but the sound gets eaten alive by the shriek of tires and the wail of horns erupting all around us.
The car lurches sideways. My seat belt locks hard across my collarbone, cutting deep, and the world tilts violently to the right as we spin-slide-scrape across pavement.
The smell of burning rubber floods my nose.
Bile climbs my throat.
My hands fly to my belly, my fingers spread wide, clutching as much of Bean as I can. She thrashes under my palms, her panic matching mine as the concrete median rushes toward us.
I curl forward, protecting her with my body, because there’s nothing else. Nothing but Mr. Higgins’ ancient metal shell, that suddenly doesn’t seem so charming anymore.
The world narrows to her feet against my hands and the prayer pumping desperately through my veins.
She has to be okay.
She has to.
Please, oh, please…
Chapter Eight
BEATRICE
We hit the median with a slam-crunch that sends a tremor through my bones. For a moment, I’m glued to the car door. Then, just as quickly, the rebound sends me sliding in the other direction, testing the integrity of my seat belt.
It tightens across my hips, lifting Bean higher into my curled arms before relaxing its grip as the car ka-chugs to a stop.
I suck in a breath and hold it, afraid to believe it’s over until one second…two… three passes without another blow.
Silence rushes in, strained and buzzing, broken only by the hiss of something from under the hood and the howl of more horns on the highway behind us. My hands are still locked around my belly, ensuring I’m in the perfect position when Bean gives me a real “one-two” punch, proving she’s fine.
Pissed, but fine.
She’s fine. Thank goodness, she’s fine.
Relief floods through me with enough force to make my vision blur. “I know, I know,” I gasp out. “But you’re okay. We’re all okay.”
We are all okay…
Right?
Realizing Clover hasn’t said a word since impact, I jerk my gaze toward the driver’s side.
What I see makes my heart lurch into my throat.
My sweet roomie is slumped against the driver’s side door, her head tilted at an odd angle, her eyes squeezed shut. The window beside her is shattered. A few jagged chunks still cling to the frame, but most of the safety glass is scattered across her lap like giant, plastic gemstones.
She clearly took the worst of the impact, and then some.
“Clover?” My voice is high and thin, thready over the steady hissing from the hood. “Clover, can you hear me? Are you awake? Clover?”
“I’m awake.” Her eyes slit open, but she looks confused and in obvious pain. “Are you okay? Is the baby—”
“We’re fine. Completely fine,” I rush to assure her, tears pricking at the backs of my eyes as I spot what looks like blood running down her throat from a wound I can’t see from here. “But it looks like you’ve been roughed up some, honey. Can you tell me where it hurts?”
She tries to move, and her face crumples, a whimper escaping the back of her throat. “My leg. Something’s definitely wrong with my leg. And my wrist. No, above my wrist.” She shifts again, her eyes flaring wider with a gasp. “And my hip. Shit, Bea, I’m really messed up, and I don’t think I can get out. This door is fucked.”
“It’s okay. I’ll help you out on my side. I can still open my door.” I reach for the handle, relief spasming through my clenched ribs when it opens with a small shove. “We can both crawl out this way.” I turn back to her, fumbling with my seat belt. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline rush, but finally, the buckle gives, and I reach for her. “Can you put your arm around my shoulders, maybe? Then, I can reach around your waist and—”
Clover cuts me off with a yelp like a wounded animal. “No. I can’t. I can’t, Bea, I can’t.” She sags back against the door, breath coming in shallow gasps, sweat breaking out on her upper lip. “I can’t go that way. My hip and leg won’t let me go that way. I have to get out on my side.”
I nod. “Okay, just a second, and I’ll—”
“But the door won’t open, I know it won’t,” she breaks in, tears shining in her eyes as she grows frantic. “And you have to get out of here. You and the baby. Get out of here. Leave me. Right now, Bea. Before the car explodes or something.”
“The car’s not going to explode, and I’m not leaving you,” I insist, even as I cast a quick glance at the hissing hood.
The hissing, smoking hood…
I don’t think a fire in the engine is going to reach the gas tank and cause an explosion anytime soon, but what the hell do I know about cars?