Page 51 of The Tryst

I try to grab his arm, but he pulls away and punches me hard with a roundhouse to the jaw. I spin before falling to my knees, dizzy from the blow. I shake my head, rub my jaw and as I look up, I watch helplessly as he gets into his truck and peels out of the driveway, turning right onto the main road.

I stagger to my feet, muttering. “Damn it, Wade!”

I start for my truck to follow, patting my pocket for my keys but remember I left them on the kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running into the house. I grab the keys, bolt back outside and hurl myself into the truck. I’m determined to stop him before he does something stupid.

I pound the steering wheel as I crank the ignition, cursing myself for letting things get out of hand. I should have just left him alone, let him come to terms with everything in his own time rather than trying to push this down his throat.

The roads are dark and twisty, my headlights cutting through the night. My heart pounds as I push the speed limit, desperate to catch up to Wade. He better not be fucking drunk. He knows better than to drink and drive, so I don’t think that’s a real possibility. I’m more worried about him being upset and angry while behind the wheel.

As I come out of a curve, I see headlights angled across the road, blinking yellow lights and steam up ahead. My blood runs cold as I recognize the rear of Wade’s truck and off to the side of the road, a small dark colored sedan. Both front ends are crumpled, the car worse than the truck.

“Fuck,” I snarl, jerking off my seat belt and jumping out. It’s so quiet except for the steam hissing from the small sedan. That car is closer and I run up to look in the passenger window, grimacing at the man slumped against the shattered driver’s door glass, his neck at an unnatural angle and his eyes open but unseeing.

That takes me all of a second to analyze the man is dead and beyond my help, so I rush to the driver’s side of Wade’s truck. “Please be okay, please be okay,” I chant.

I come to a skidding stop, grab the door and jerk it open. Tears spring hot to my eyes as I take in the massive damage, the force of the impact causing the front cab to crush in on itself. The steering wheel has pinned Wade to his seat, the airbags fully deployed. His head lolls on his shoulder and there’s blood coming out of his mouth.

“No, no, no, no.” My words are frantic, my head dizzy as I shakily put fingers to his carotid artery. At first, I can’t feel anything but then… something faint. That’s his pulse, right? I lose it, think I find it again, and fuck… I don’t know. I only know I can’t help him.

I dig my phone out of my pocket, dial 911. It’s all a blur as I pace outside Wade’s open door, telling the dispatcher what’s going on. Another car comes down the road, pulls over and a woman runs up asking me what happened.

I just shake my head, not able to verbalize. I have no clue what happened. Wade’s truck is in his lane of travel and there was clearly a head-on collision, but past that… I just know that my brother is hurt, possibly dying.

“Are you all right?” the woman asks, a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s my brother,” I choke out. “He’s hurt bad.”

She looks at Wade, then back at me. “Sit down, honey. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I can’t,” I say, my voice shaking, moving to stand by him. I put my fingers against his neck again, and yes… I think that’s a pulse. “I need to stay with him.”

The woman gently tries to guide me away, but I resist, my focus solely on Wade. “Help is on the way,” she says sedately. “Just hold on.”

Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder. A police car arrives first, an officer stepping out and assessing the scene quickly. “Everyone all right here?” he asks, but his eyes are already on Wade’s truck.

“He’s hurt,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “The man in the sedan is dead.”

The officer nods, speaking into his radio. Moments later, a fire truck pulls up, followed by an ambulance. The scene becomes chaotic, with emergency personnel shouting orders and moving with practiced urgency.

“Step back, sir,” one of the paramedics commands, but I can’t move. “We need to get in there. Step back now!”

The woman gently pulls me away, her hands surprisingly strong. “Let them do their job,” she murmurs.

I watch, feeling utterly helpless as the paramedics assess Wade’s condition. They call for the Jaws of Life, and the sound of shearing metal fills the air. I can barely hold myself together and I feel like I’m going to puke.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” the woman asks, her voice kind but firm.

“My brother Ethan,” I manage to say, giving her his number. “Tell him it’s Wade. Tell him to get to the hospital.”

She nods, pulling out her phone and making the call. I can barely hear her over the noise, but I know she’s doing her best. I stand back, hands on top of my head, watching helplessly as the paramedics work frantically, finally freeing Wade from the wreckage. As they lift him onto the stretcher, I hear snippets of their conversation. “Severe chest trauma… possible cardiac contusion… need to stabilize him.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I watch as they load Wade into the ambulance, his face pale and bloodied. The world blurs around me.

“We’re taking him to County General,” one of the paramedics says. “Follow us if you can.”

I nod, barely comprehending. The ambulance speeds away, sirens blaring. I walk like a zombie to my truck, my hands shaking so badly I can hardly get the keys in the ignition. The drive to the hospital is a blur, my mind racing with fear and guilt.

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