Page 22 of Quietly Falling
It made me want to know why he’d jumped from working for Case and Otto, when he had obviously enjoyed running a crew with Mason, to something else so quick.
But I wouldn’t push because we’d been making progress, so much that he had even smiled once or twice.
Not anymore.
I want to reassure him it’s going to be okay, that I’ve got this, but I don’t think it’ll help. The music is low and I’ve stopped talking, keeping both my hands on the wheel and my eyes firmly on the road and the cars around us as I navigate the slick conditions.
But it doesn’t help Bodhi, and his anxiety isn’t helping me.
I’m just about to say something when I spot an SUV behind us start spinning out of control, the other cars honking and trying to give them space with varying levels of success.
But it’s not slowing down.
And it’s coming right for us.
Flashing my lights at the cars ahead of me, I send up a prayer and make my move.
“Hold on.” Throwing on my blinker, I push my foot down on the gas, Sorren’s truck fishtailing as I accelerate.
“Ella.” Bodhi’s voice has an edge of panic as he grips the handle again, his body braced as we slide before I’m able to fully correct.
“It’s okay. We’re okay.” The words are for himandme, my heart racing in my chest as I put as much distance between us and the other vehicle as possible.
“Ella, pull over.”
“We’re okay?—”
The sound of crunching metal fills the air as the SUV comes to its final resting place, thankfully at a much slower speed than when it started.
That could have been us.
People are already getting out of their cars to help, and I breathe a sigh of relief that we made it.
“Pull over,” Bodhi repeats as I ease farther down the highway.
“Bodhi—”
“Pull the fucking car over!” His voice isn’t angry so much as it is desperate, his body locked and his knuckles white where he’s anchored himself. I’m just about to say something to calm him down, but when I glance at his face, all the color has drained from it and his eyelids are squeezed shut so tightly I can barely breathe at the sight.
“Okay, just breathe, okay? I’m going to find a safe spot I can pull over. Bodhi?”
He doesn’t answer as panic and dread settle in my gut.
Something is wrong.
Something isverywrong.
“Stay with me,” I tell him, spotting a turnoff about a hundred yards ahead. “We’re okay, Bodhi, just stay with me.”
He doesn’t answer as traffic crawls.
It’s a lifetime before I’m able to ease the truck off the road, throwing it in park and unbuckling my seatbelt as I turn my whole body to look at the man in the passenger seat.
“Bodhi.” Nothing. “Bodhi.”
He’s vibrating, the movements almost imperceptible, but to me it’s worse than if he were screaming.
“Bodhi.”
