Page 32 of Passionate Defense

“I got it,” she replied.

“Love you, baby.”

“Love you to, Ethan. See you soon. If this traffic ever clears.”.

She hit the red button ending the call, and with a protracted sigh, gripped the wheel tight with both hands. With the rhythmic swishing of the wipers while staring at the brake lights of the vehicle in front of her, the traffic still at a complete stop, her thoughts turned to a rainy commute much like this only a few weeks ago.

***

TRAVELING ON THE TURNPIKEat 6 p.m. on a weeknight, the traffic was moving along at a good pace. She hadn’t said it aloud, but just thinking jinxed her good fortune. Brake lights ahead of her blinked on in rapid succession and traffic instantly slowed to a trickle. Lanie slammed on the brakes, but her tires slid on the wet pavement. The truck ahead of her was coming up fast.

Helpless to do anything, she braced her arms and gripped the wheel, preparing for impact. A split second later, everything seemed to happen at once. A loud bang and the crunch of metal. Everything went white, and she felt the heat of the air bag as it exploded. Her body jerked forward then rebounded hard against her seat.

Stunned, she sat motionless, waiting for the inevitable collision with the cars behind her. She heard the squeal of tires, but thankfully there was no contact.

As a cloud of white dust settled around her, Lanie came out of her daze and took a head-to-toe inventory. Her heart raced a mile a minute, but nothing hurt like it was broken and she could move all her limbs. With everything appearing to be in working order, she pushed the deflating air bag out of her way and fumbled in the passenger seat for her phone. All she wanted to do in that moment was to hear her husband’s voice.

Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a blanket the EMT had given her, she sat on the steps of their rig, waiting. She heard her name over the sound of the stop-and-go traffic surrounding the accident scene. Standing on the steps, she searched until she found Ethan.

He skidded to a halt near her crumpled vehicle, his face tight with horror as he surveyed the damage. After a moment, a shaky hand rose to his forehead. His fingers speared roughly through his hair, an unmistakable sign of his agitation.

“Ethan,” she called to him.

He turned, searching. “Lanie?”

She waved. “Over here.”

His gaze shifted to her, and she could have sworn she heard his sigh of relief from over fifty yards away. They moved as one, meeting halfway and wrapping each other up tight.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded then examined her, running his hands over her carefully.

“I’m fine.” She gingerly traced a red splotch on her right forearm. “Except for a minor burn from the airbag.”

He brushed her hand away, studying it closely then he lifted her arm to his lips, kissing the red, stinging skin.

“Are you sure this is it? Did the paramedics check you out?”

“Yes. I’m good.”

She shivered. A light rain was falling, and as night set in, she’d become damp and chilled, but instinctively, she knew her trembling wasn’t from the bad weather. Now that he had arrived and after she’d witnessed his emotional reaction to the sight of her wrecked car, it was hitting her full force.

He pulled her into his arms, buried his face in her hair, and inhaled deeply. “Thank Christ, you’re all right.”

“Take me home?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

Ethan took charge, checking with the EMT who had examined her and the officer on the scene. Getting the okay, he tucked her into his car, with the seat warmers switched on and the heater blowing. Flashing yellow lights signaled the arrival of a tow truck, and Ethan went to meet it.

A few minutes later, Lanie watched as a winch pulled her precious midnight-blue 370Z coupe onto a flatbed tow truck. The entire front end was twisted horribly. Once it was secured, the driver handed the paperwork to her husband, climbed into his rig, and took her baby away.

The driver’s door opened the next instant, and a rain-soaked tension-filled man climbed in and slammed the door. He didn’t say a word when he turned to her, wrapped his hand around her neck, and pulled her against him across the center console. What started out as a soft brush of his lips became a deep, fully involved life-affirming kiss. When he raised his head many long heartbeats later, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Nothing a little Neosporin and a Band-Aid won’t cure.”

He nodded, lips brushing hers gently, and sat back.

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