Page 119 of Just Between Us

Glass is everywhere from a branch that busted through the passenger window, narrowly missing Cassie’s chest. The trunk of the tree is what stopped our momentum, and the door behind the passenger seat is crushed inward. The entire back half of the SUV buckled from the impact. I fumble around for my phone and find it on the floor board. Using the flashlight, I shine it on Cassie’s still frame and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Blood. There’s so much of it. The coppery tang mixed with wet earth hits my nostrils and bile climbs up my throat causing me to retch from an all-encompassing sense of déjà vu.

This has happened before.I can’t do this again. I can’t. If I lose her they might as well put me in the ground beside her. This can’t be how we end. It can’t be. Living through this twice is too much for anyone to survive.

My hand wraps around her wrist and the first thing I notice is she’s warm. Then I feel her pulse, still beating strong under my fingertip. A sob rips out of me, doubling me over and my body shakes from the relief. A feeling so violent it hurts.

Keep it together. You need to act. Get help. You don’t know how bad her injuries are. You could still lose her.

My phone screen is shattered, but it still lights up when I tap the screen. I dial 911 with fingers that won’t stop trembling, and when the dispatcher answers I give her the information inclipped, mechanical sentences. Highway 43. About ten minutes north of Creekwood. We hydroplaned. My passenger has a pulse but won’t wake up. Head wound.

The dispatcher calmly instructs me to stay on the line while I monitor Cassie’s pulse. I keep my fingers on Cassie’s wrist now, her pulse tapping against my fingertips like a metronome. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. It’s like a beat with no melody and I count each one aloud to keep from spiraling.

“Help is coming, baby. Can you hear me? Help is on the way.”

Still, she remains motionless, blood trickling down the side of her face and onto her rain-soaked shirt. Rain pounds down on the roof and the dispatcher says something I don’t hear. All I can focus on is the rise and fall of Cassie’s chest. I match my breathing to hers. If I’m breathing, she’s breathing. That’s the deal I make with God, the universe, with whatever or whoever is listening right now.

Somewhere to my left, footsteps crunch, followed by heavy breathing. Someone is scrambling down the embankment toward us. It’s only now that I realize my window is also shattered, and rain pours in drenching everything.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” A face peers in at us. A young face. He couldn’t be more than eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Not much older than the kids we were helping only a couple hours ago. “Are you okay? I couldn’t stop. What can I do? Should I call 911.” Panicked words tumble from his mouth.

A part of me wants to reach through the glass and grab this guy by the throat, but what’s left of my rationality knows he was fighting the same rain we were.

“They’re on their way.” I pull the phone from my ear to show him I’ve already called, but his face has gone ashen. His eyes are fixed on Cassie.

“Is she…”

“She has a pulse. That’s all I know.”

This shocks the guy into silence, jaw hinged open and he just stares at Cassie.

Sirens, a faint wail at first, then louder cutting through the torrent of rainwater. Red and blue lights paint the trees, the ground above us, the inside of the SUV, blinding me.

My mind fights to return to another crash, another rainy night. More sirens and flashing lights. But Cassie’s pulse beats, keeping me here in the present with her.

Paramedics are at my door, pushing the guy aside. “Sir, are you injured?”

Am I? Hell if I know. I pat myself down, checking for any sign of injury. My ribs hurt. There’s a gash on my arm. Sore neck.

“I’m fine. Take care of her.”

All three men assess the scene, looking from every angle, and I see when it clicks on their faces. They can’t get to her from her side. The branch and tree trunk don’t leave enough space.

“Sir, we need to get you out first so we can reach her.”

Every fiber of my being screams no. I’m not leaving her. Maybe I say the words out loud? Or my face says it for me. Either way, the man closest locks eyes with me. “We can’t help her until we’ve moved you. The faster you’re out, the faster we’re in.”

There’s a click and my door is wrenched open. The seat belt is jammed and has to be cut, and then I’m out, my boots hitting slippery wet ground. I let them guide me, one agonizing movement at a time.

The second I’m clear, I turn back to watch one of them climb in. He shines a penlight in her eyes, his voice calm as he calls out to his partner over the rain.

“Pupils are sluggish. Left is larger. Let’s prep the board.”

Sluggish doesn’t sound good. What the hell does sluggish mean? But they’re both so calm. Panic claws at my chest, climbing its way up my throat. They’re too calm.

They work quickly, one in the front seat and another from the back, securing her neck in collar type thing, cutting her seat beltwhile I stand in the rain, shaking and useless while strangers take care of the woman I love.

“On three,” one of them shouts. “One, two, three!” They move her across the console and slide her onto a bright yellow board, securing all the straps across her motionless body.

I catch a glimpse of her face, all the scratches and streaks of blood, rain-soaked hair clinging to one cheek. If they’d let me near her, I could tuck it behind her ear, wipe the raindrops from her skin.