Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
I never put much thought into the local legend involving the “magic” water in town that seems to lead to a crazy number of love-at-first-sight matches. Until now. Now, I’m wondering if I am the water’s latest target.
My musing is interrupted by Ashton. “Look, Banks, I get it. You’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But beating the guy senseless here on the highway isn’t going to fix a damn thing.”
I take a deep breath, but it barely tempers my anger as the fire roars through my blood loud enough to drown reason. “She could have been killed!”
“All the more reason to let us handle it properly.” Ashton gestures to the paramedics and officers working the scene, their movements practiced and efficient, more forks in the road of justice than chaos. “You want this dipshit to pay? Fine. But you’ve got to let me do my job.”
His words finally manage to snake through the hot mess of my thoughts. Logic and reason begin to snake themselves through the angry fog, providing a tiny whisper of clarity. I can’t help protect Yvette if I’m stuck answering for assault charges or sitting in a jail cell. I want to protect the curvy little knockout who’s starting to matter more than anything else in the world. Crazy, I know.
With a heavy sigh, I sag slightly, my energy spent. Ashton slowly releases his grip, keeping a wary eye on me for any flare-ups of hotheadedness. “You good?” he asks, less like a question and more like a directive.
“Fine,” I mutter, though the word tastes bitter. My hands clench and unclench at my sides as I glance over Ashton’s shoulder at the smug face of the SUV driver. Hate flows through me followed closely by the determination to make sure he never gets close enough to breathe the same air as Yvette ever again.
“I’ll take it from here,” Ashton reassures me, his voice holding an edge of promise. “This guy’s not getting away with anything. I’ll make sure of it.”
I nod tersely, watching as Ashton approaches the SUV driver, the two engaging in a conversation I can’t hear but hope involves Ashton channeling his inner rule-following bad-cop. It’s a fractured kind of solace, seeing the system at work, knowing Ashton’s got my back while feeling absolutely fucking useless.
Exhaling the last vestige of my anger, I turn back toward the ambulance, where Yvette’s being carefully secured. The EMT gives me a quick nod, a silent assurance she’s in good hands.
The moment they secure Yvette in the ambulance, I feel this ironclad need to be with her. It’s irrational, maybe, but something about her compels me, makes me certain she shouldn’t be alone right now. I insist on riding along and, thankfully, the team knows me well enough not to argue. Maybe they see the determination etched across my face, or maybe they just don’t want to deal with my stubbornness today.
As I climb into the back with her, the hustle of emergency personnel surrounds us, working quickly but methodically to ensure Yvette’s stable. The ambulance rocks slightly with the road’s rhythm as it speeds toward the hospital, sirens slicing through the air.
She’s awake, but her eyes, those stunning violet depths, flicker with confusion and pain. The butterscotch warmth of the late afternoon sun filters through the ambulance windows, casting a soft glow on her face, illuminating the dried streaks of blood that mar her otherwise flawless porcelain skin.
I settle close by, tentatively reaching for her hand. Her fingers feel delicate, wrapped in a comforting blanket of softness that contrasts sharply with the world of metal and movement around us. I half expect her to flinch or pull away, but she surprises me, her fingers curling slightly in response. It’s this small, fragile connection that feels like everything to me.
The EMT works diligently, adjusting monitors and speaking in a calm, reassuring voice. I know him well; we’ve been through countless emergencies together. When we pull up at the emergency room, he remarks over the steady beeping and hum of the ambulance, “I know better than to try to stop you from coming in with us.”
“Good,” I reply, a bit gruffly but with a touch of gratitude.
I focus on squeezing Yvette’s hand gently, a silent promise that we’re not just two strangers thrown together by circumstance. Well, maybe we are, but I’d like to think there’s something more to this moment. Her eyes drift shut intermittently, whether guided by exhaustion or relief, I’m not sure.
“Hey,” I murmur softly, leaning closer, “you just hang in there, okay? You’re doing great.” I’m not even sure what I’m saying, it’s all platitudes and platonic warmth. But each word anchors her to me.
Her response is a faint, whimsical smile, like a ghost of amusement flitting briefly across her face. It’s reassuring, a sign she’s still with me, fighting through the fog.