Page 36 of Like the Season
Chapter Eleven
Late Thursday afternoon, Boyd drove out to the cemetery again and took another batch of flowers. Maybe it was a useless gesture, but it made him feel a tiny bit better by doing it.
By sitting there and talking to Helen.
Apologizing.
“Iwillfind your parents, if they’re still alive,” he said. “And I’ll give them a piece of my fucking mind for you.”
In all honesty, he couldn’t remember the details of that last night with her, not all of them. Not even specifically of the act itself, beyond how terrified he’d felt and fumbling around. Especially once he realized he needed to think about a guy on the football team to keep his erection and get over.
And, he was ashamed to admit, he didn’t even know if he’d made Helen feel good in the process. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her.
He remembered taking her home later, relief washing through him that he’d never have to do that again, never have to sleep with another girl, and feeling vaguely guilty he hadn’t told her his family was moving, or where. He’d honestly thought the news would have slipped out, but it hadn’t. Not at school, at least.
“I’m sorry I ghosted on you, honey.” He stroked the sun-warmed granite. “I thought you’d meet someone else and go on to have a decent life with them. I never meant to get you pregnant. I damn sure never meant for you to spend the rest of your life alone.”
He pulled out his phone and looked at one of the last pictures ever taken of her, by Ella, at the ocean. Helen wore a sad smile and looked out over the water, the years and strain having aged her far more than himself. Many people thought he was younger than his thirty-nine years.
Helen looked like she was at least fifty, heavy wrinkles and lines around her eyes and mouth, liberal amounts of grey in her auburn hair.
She hadn’t even bothered to try to color it, not wanting to spend the money on herself.
Always putting Ella first in her life, even to her own expense.
More guilt.
More. Fucking. Guilt.
It didn’t matter what logic said—his heart knew he’d spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to Ella, and to his grandchild.
He stopped on the way back to her apartment and went grocery shopping so he could cook them dinner. Today would be day three of Ella’s work week, and she’d have the next three days off, which worked out perfectly.
Tomorrow, she and Caleb would get to meet. Maybe Caleb’s enthusiastic acceptance of the situation would help cement her decision to move to Florida and prod her to accelerate the timeline.
By the time he returned to the apartment it was nearly dark and later than he’d planned to be. He was walking out to grab his cell charger, which he’d forgotten in the rental, when Ella’s car pulled into the parking area and parked in a spot opposite his, facing the other way. When she got out he called out to her, waving and holding a hand up in greeting as headlights from another car swept over her.
She stepped toward him—and the next few seconds passed in a horrific, slow-motion blur. The other car’s tires squealed as the driver gunned the engine and apparently aimed right for her. Ella seemed to realize the car wasn’t swerving or slowing and at the last second, she tried to jump out of the way.
The sickening thump was nearly drowned out by the sound of the car’s engine and his own screams.
“Ella!” Boyd was already running, every sense heightened and his pulse throbbing in his neck as he nearly tripped trying to scramble down to the parking lot.
He heard a crash nearby, but he couldn’t see where Ella landed, at first. He finally found her, facedown and moaning on the pavement, between her car and the one parked on the far side of her.
“Oh, god! Hold on, honey, don’t move!” With trembling fingers he pulled out his phone and dialed 911, putting it on speaker mode as he held her hand.
A woman ran up and she was already on the phone with 911, apparently. He shoved his phone at her, too, as he stayed there with Ella. “Tell them she’s pregnant!”
He heard people shouting nearby and it took every ounce of will he had not to leave her to go see if it was the fucker who’d hit her.
Deliberatelyhit her.
Shit.
He suspected he knew exactly who would turn out to be the driver, and yeah, it’d be best if he didn’t go see.
Because if it turned out to be Rick McDorman, Boyd knew he’d kill the fucker right there, and Ella needed him more.
