Page 95 of Kismet

“She, uh…” My gaze falls to my lap, unable to look at him. “She didn’t go to her room. Well, maybe she did, but she didn’t stay there. She left… she grabbed her keys and her things and left before I could stop her. She had consumed almost two bottles of wine that evening, and you’ve seen her; she was tiny.”

I don’t miss the sharp inhale of breath from him at my use of past tense.

“As soon as I saw her leave, I tried to grab my keys to follow her, but couldn’t find them. I normally always put them on the hook by the front door when I get home, but that day when I got home, she met me at the door, starting the argument. Getting sidetracked, I brought the keys into the kitchen with me, setting them on the counter. It took me a few minutes to find them… not even five fucking minutes, and I was out the door and jumping in the car.”

Cash must sense my dread because he reaches over, placing his warm, steady palm on my thigh. Grounding me. Silently telling me he’s here.

“When I got to the scene, it was too late. She, uh.” The lump in my throat that I’m trying, but failing, to swallow around is growing, as is the burning and pressure building behind my eyes. My eyes slam shut before peeling them open again because the vivid slideshow behind my eyelids is one that haunts me enough in my sleep. “The footage at the stoplights showed Aida blowing through a red light heading east. In doing so, she also swerved, hitting a car that was stopped at the light opposite her, heading west. She was going about forty miles per hour when she made impact.”

My vision blurs as the first tear falls down my cheek, quickly followed by another, and another. I dig the heel of both palms into my eyes, begging them to stop, but they don’t.

“Stone,” he murmurs softly, squeezing the thigh he’s still holding on to. “You don’t—”

“No,” I snap. “Please. I need to get this out and tell you.”

He must sense my seriousness because he remains quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“My car was the first on the scene. It was late and there weren’t many cars out, plus I wasn’t more than a few minutes behind her. Catching up didn’t take long, despite being too late. I called 9-1-1 immediately as I fumbled out of my seatbelt, flying out of the car. Aida hadn’t been wearing her seatbelt. She never did. It was something I hounded her for countless times over the years. She had flown through the windshield and was lying on the concrete when I got to her.

“It’s hard to know for sure because everything was kind of a blur, but it couldn’t have taken the medics more than a few minutes to show up. It felt like an eternity, though. When she was ejected from the car, glass sliced her throat, cutting her carotid artery open. She was basically choking on her own blood, and there was nothing I could do. The sound she made and the way she flailed and thrashed around still haunts me to this day.”

My mind takes me right back there. The smell of burning rubber and fresh blood is something I’ve never been able to forget. No matter how hard I try. It was an unusually warm night, and I couldn’t hear anything in my surroundings other than the sound of death. When you hear about people witnessing death, they always say how silent death is. It’s not. Or at least it wasn’t that night. Every gurgle, every failed attempt at breathing, was magnified in my ears as she withered away.

Thick, warm blood coated my hands, my arms, my clothes, as I tried to stop it from pouring out of her. Her eyes were locked on mine as she struggled. As she died. The life was sucked out of her so fast, there was no saving her. I’ll never forget the hollow, empty way her eyes looked when her body finally stopped fighting.

One of the memories of that night that sticks out the most to me, one that took me a long fucking time to get over, was that if I hadn’t fought with her that night, if I hadn’t been so harsh, she’d never had been in that car in the first place.

The hand on my thigh increases pressure as another hand grips my shoulder, rubbing softly, bringing me back to the here and now, making me realize I stopped talking and zoned out. My gaze lifts, meeting his eyes, and the empathy and anguish shining in them causes the ache in my chest to intensify, but it also grounds me yet again, giving me the courage to continue.

“The car she hit…” My throat aches from the emotion I’m trying so fucking hard to hold back. My elbows come up to rest on my knees and my hands cradle my head. Closing my eyes doesn’t stop the tears from flowing. They fall hot down my face as I try to control my breathing. The hand on my shoulder comes to my back, rubbing soothing circles, and I feel his body shifting closer. A soft sniffle reaches my ears, but I can’t even look at him anymore. Not when I know the tragedy that’s coming.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually, I pull myself together enough to continue. To finish. “The car she hit belonged to Brielle Doxley, a thirty-four-year-old wife and mother. She had a daughter, who looked to be about ten, and a son, who was probably around eight. I only know this because one night, months after it happened, I worked up the courage to look her up on social media. Their names are Raegan and Simon, and they now have to live their life without a mother.”

A hoarse sob comes out without my permission as a fresh set of tears cascade down my face. When I speak again, my voice is broken, barely above a whisper.

“They also had a baby sister on the way. A baby sister that Aida killed that night.” I glance over at Cash. “She was pregnant, Cash. She was fucking pregnant, and her life was taken from her by a selfish drunk driver.”

My whole body shakes as the scene replays in my mind against my will. Running toward her crushed car, seeing her lifeless face. Being unable to do fucking anything at all.

“Briellewaswearing her seatbelt, but with the blunt force of the impact, her neck broke, severing her spinal column. She died before the medics could even get there. She died before I could save her. I never could’ve saved her… even if I had gotten there two minutes before I did. But if I would’ve fucking been more careful, if I would’ve not fought with Aida as hard as I fucking did, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel. Maybe I could’ve saved that woman and her ch-childs life.”

Pushing to my feet, I cross the room before turning and facing Cash. His eyes are bloodshot, face blotchy. He probably mirrors how I look.

“I didn’t leave to be with Aida, Cash. I didn’t leave because I changed my fucking mind and didn’t want to be with you. I left because I didn’t know what the fuck else to do. I panicked and had a severe mental breakdown. Not only did I watch Aida die, but it felt like my fucking fault that she died… that the other woman died, and I couldn’t process that. If I hadn’t wanted a divorce, then Aida wouldn’t have been drinking as much, and all of this could’ve been avoided. I didn’t know how to handle it—the guilt. So, I packed everything and left for Texas to be with my sister.

Tears fall hot and fast down my face as I avoid looking at Cash. I can’t. The weight in my chest is making it hard to breathe, and saying all of this is too much.

“I know I told you my parents died when I was eighteen, but I don’t think I ever told you how.” I drag in another deep breath, dreading saying this next part, but knowing I need to. “They drove me to WSU to get settled into my dorm before the school year started my freshmen year. We went to dinner that night, celebrated, and had a really great time. They dropped me off at the dorm afterward and headed back home.

“But they never made it.” My voice cracks getting the words out. It’s like I’m right back there, the feeling of knowing they’re gone as fresh as the night it happened.

“They were T-boned by a drunk driver about five miles from home. The driver pushed them into oncoming traffic, where they were hit again by another driver who didn’t have enough time to stop. My dad died on impact, and my mom was taken to the hospital, where she died a few hours later. They were dead before I could even get to them. They died before I could fucking say goodbye. Aida’s accident just hit too fucking close to home, and I needed Molly.” A sob claws its way up my throat. “I needed my sister, and I didn’t have the mental capacity to handle anything in the right way.

“I should’ve told you. I should’ve said goodbye, or done anything other than what I did, and I will forever be so fucking sorry for that. I didn’t know what else to do, Cash. I didn’t know what to fucking do. I was a shell of a man by the time I arrived here. My sister didn’t even know what to do with me. She’d wake up to my nightmares almost nightly. I wasn’t eating; I was barely sleeping. A walking zombie. She got me into therapy shortly after I got here, but it took a long time before I even felt semi-okay.”

I still can’t bring myself to look at Cash.

“It took several sessions before I could even talk about what I witnessed. Even longer to talk about… well, you. The way I left you behind. It took almost a year of seeing my therapist multiple times a week, trying various medications, and finding a new routine here, for me to even feel human. I was a fucking mess. The only part of my life that felt normal and helped me feel like myself was working. Getting the dean position was my saving grace. I was still far from okay, but during those hours I sat behind that desk, I could at least hold it together long enough to function. At night was the worst. I’d have vivid nightmares about the accident, and I’d wake up drenched, with my heart pounding painfully in my chest. My therapist gave me so many techniques to try to help with the flashbacks and the nightmares, but the only thing that seemed to help was standing under a scalding hot shower with music on.

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