Authors: Jillian Leeson
An intense heat invades my body, causing every fiber to tense up. It wasn’t a rumor: Ryder is here to race. To break his promise to me. A promise that has kept me from worrying about him, even after that disastrous day of the building occupation. And here he is, defying me, and in the process, risking his life.
How dare he do this to me? How
dare
he?
But I will not let him get away with it.
While Ryder and Mikey are inching to the start line, I twist the throttle hard and shoot forward, making a wheelie. When I crash down again, I calculate that I’ll just have enough time to stop them if I continue to rush at this speed. Concentrating on the stretch of road in front of them, I accelerate further.
In an instant, I fly past them, raising my hand and yelling, “Stop!”
I slow down and get ready to make a turn, intending to form a human road block. Looking over my shoulder at where I want to end up, I make the U-turn by leaning in, slipping the clutch a fraction and applying the rear brakes while turning the handlebars—a simple maneuver I’ve done countless of times. But my bike is not moving underneath me like it should. I try to counter-steer, but it is too late.
I lose control.
Ryder
I feel the adrenaline entering my veins. I am about to find my escape, to forget, if only for a few moments.
As I come to a stop next to Mikey Miller, one of the riders in his entourage leaps off his bike and takes a spray can out of his pocket to spray a start line. But I don’t pay any attention to him; I only notice his bike—a Suzuki GSX. An image of Elle appears in my mind, a solemn expression filling her beautiful eyes. Her mouth utters two words, and they reverberate in my mind: “Promise me.”
A feeling of unease settles in my stomach. I’ve always said I am a man who keeps the promises he makes. And here I am, about to break a promise that clearly means so much to her.
But what does it matter? It’s over between us. She has made that clear the moment she appeared in that damn window. I suck in a breath. It still hurts to remember when I realized she didn’t care as much about me as I thought she did.
Mikey is revving his engine, and I adjust my helmet, glaring ahead of me towards the stretch of road. I should be concentrating on the race. But the unsettling feeling in my stomach worsens, threatening to rise and let its contents spill.
It feels wrong doing this. Even if Elle doesn’t care about me any more, I did make her a promise. So why am I breaking it? Because I want to spite her? Is this some childish attempt to prove to myself that she doesn’t have a hold over me any more?
But I have to deal with it: she does. Still.
No matter how she feels about me, I can’t break away from her. She has become part of me, and I will never stop caring about her—loving her. Even if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I will protect her and be there for her if she needs me. Because to me, that’s what love should be. It is not something you ditch when the going gets tough; you cherish it till the bitter end.
I’ve made up my mind: I can’t do this. I’ve made Elle a promise and I am going to keep it. I will not take part in this race.
Letting go of the handlebars, I open up my visor and turn to Mikey.
“Listen, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not doing this. I’m calling it off.”
Mikey whips his head around at me. “What the fuck, man. You agreed to a race, you punk ass. You can’t just pull out.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. But don’t worry, I’ll get you the money.”
When I open my jacket to take out my cell, I see a flash in the corner of my eye. It’s the blinding headlight of a bike that is approaching us from behind, at breakneck speed. The rider lifts one hand and screams something.
I furrow my brow. What the hell is that asshole doing? The bike flashes past us, over the start line. Slowing somewhat, it starts making a turn, but the rider loses control and the bike flips to its side, spinning across the road’s surface. The rider is thrown off and briefly suspended in the air before he slams into a tree with a loud smack. His body lies motionless on the grass.
It happens in a split second, and I’m frozen to the spot. Then I come to my senses, leap off my bike and sprint to the rider’s body. As I approach, a feeling of terror comes over me. Something about the figure lying sprawled on the ground is familiar. A brown leather jacket, tight jeans covering long legs…
No. Please, no.
Has my worst nightmare just come true? I take a hesitant step forward, and it feels like someone punches me hard in the stomach when I recognize the seemingly lifeless body lying in an awkward, unnatural position.
Elle.
I sink down to my knees. Is she alive? Please, please, please, let her be.
I carefully turn her head towards me and take off her helmet. Her soft hair spills over my arm, revealing her pale, drawn face underneath.
I fumble in my pocket to retrieve my phone, but come away empty-handed. Then I remember: I left it in the office, so I could ride in peace, without being disturbed. How can I be so stupid?
A twist of my head reveals Mikey and his posse, who are still milling around the start line. I yell, “Call 911, call 911!”
I turn Elle’s body to the side, keeping my arm around her. With my hand, I try to feel her pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. Thank God.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and when I look up it’s one of the riders. “They’re coming,” he says.
I nod, gazing back down at the bruises that have now formed on Elle’s angelic face.
Please, let her be okay.
She has to be okay. Because I can’t live without her.
Feeling helpless, I repeat these words in my head like a mantra. I am so absorbed in my meditative state that I don’t notice what is happening around me until I feel someone pushing me away.
The ambulance has arrived. I let out a breath while the paramedics tend to Elle, checking her vitals. When they lift her up on a gurney and carry her into the ambulance, I follow them, not wanting to let her out of my sight. I am about to step into the vehicle when a police officer taps me on the arm.
“Sir? I have some questions.”
“Can I talk to you later? I need to go and check up on her, see if she’s all right.”
He shakes his head. “No, I have to talk to you right now. It won’t take long.”
Before they close the back doors, I ask the paramedics where they are taking her, and they tell me the name of the hospital. Sighing, I watch the slamming of the ambulance’s back doors, and the flashing lights that flicker on when it drives away, accompanied by the blare of the siren.
I look around me, and Mikey, nor any of the other riders are to be seen. Scribbling in a small notebook, the police officer starts asking me questions about the accident. How did it happen? Why was I here? Did I know about the illegal drag races?
I answer his questions as quickly as I can, claiming that Elle and I were out on a ride when she slipped on the icy road, but feigning ignorance when it comes to the racing. The cop nods, and I let out a breath, grateful for once that I don’t look part of the racing crowd.
He seems satisfied with my answers, but I start to worry when he pulls out a Breathalyzer. It has been hours since I had my last drink, but it was strong and I had a lot of it. So when I blow into the device, the hammering in my chest does not subside until the cop reveals a slight nod of the head—my reading was just below 0.08, thank God.
After providing my license and my details, I get back on my bike and make my way to the hospital, suppressing the urge to break the speed limit. It feels like an eternity before I get there, even though it can’t be more than half an hour.
When I reach the ER reception, I ask for Elle and a heavy-set nurse with half-moon glasses perched on her nose looks her up on the computer.
“Are you next of kin?”
“I’m—she’s my girlfriend.”
“Well, she’s in surgery now.”
“How long has she been in there? How long is it going to take? Is she going to be okay?” My voice sounds desperate, and at the back of my mind I know I can’t expect her to give me the answers I’m craving for, but I’m so anxious to find out that I have completely lost my cool. The fierce scowl on the nurse’s face doesn’t even deter me, and I am about to demand the information from her when a large hand settles on my shoulder.
“I’ll fill him in.”
I step sideways, ready to hit out, until I notice the hand on my shoulder belongs to Damon, Elle’s friend. He leads me to the waiting area, and we find the only two unoccupied seats in a corner, furthest away from the reception desk.
“How long has she been in there?” I ask him.
“They brought her in about an hour ago and took her straight into the operating theater. I briefly spoke to the paramedic and he assured me she’s going to be all right.”
I let out a small breath. I wish I could transfer her to NYU Langone Medical Center, where the considerable donations I make each year give me access to the very best specialists, but it’s too late now. I’ll just have to hope she is in good hands here.
Damon glances at his watch. “Listen, do you have any plans for tonight? We can take turns waiting.”
“No, I want to stay. But if you have somewhere to go, feel free. I’ll call you once I receive any news.”
“Actually, I’m going to be late for work.”
“At this hour?”
“Yep. Security. It’s my night job.”
“Don’t worry, man. I’m not leaving her side even if it kills me.”
Damon nods, pulling out his cell, and I am about to do the same until I remember that I left it in the office. So I borrow his phone and call Alex, who gives me hell for not contacting him, but agrees to have my cell couriered over.
After Damon leaves, I pass the next few hours in a daze, until a deep voice calls out, “Anyone here for Lily O’Halloran?”
A surgeon wearing scrubs is looking at a clipboard next to the reception desk, and I leap up.
“Yes, me. I’m here for her.”
As I step closer, I am anxiously scanning the surgeon’s face to observe if the news is going to be bad, but it remains inscrutable.
“How is she? How bad is it? Will she be all right?”
The surgeon glances at the clipboard. “When she was brought in, she was in a very serious condition. She had a lot of internal bleeding, a ruptured spleen, and a Grade Three concussion, as well as two broken legs. But the surgery went well, and she’s stable so we’ve put her into intensive care for now. She’ll be transferred to a ward soon.”
“Will—will she be able to walk?”
“Yes. Obviously it will take a while for her to recuperate, but yes. She’s going to be fine.”
“And the concussion? Will it have any effect?”
“No. But she’ll need her bed rest. She’ll need you to take good care of her.”
“Of course. Will I be able to see her now?”
“Yes, you can see her for a short while. But she won’t be conscious just yet.”
As I follow him to the Intensive Care Unit, my steps feel lighter, and the weight pressing on my heart is gone, replaced by a warm, soaring sensation—hope. Elle is going to be okay. It will take a while for her to fully recover, but she will be fine.
Yet when the surgeon slides away the curtain, my breath hitches. A figure wrapped in bandages and casts is lying on a lone hospital bed, hooked up to a multitude of tubes and cords that snake around beeping machines. I can hardly recognize Elle but for her dark hair protruding from underneath the head bandages.
My heart squeezes with the sight of her, so weak and fragile. I swallow hard, biting back the tears that are pooling behind my eyelids. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this huge, overwhelming feeling before—a mixture of grief, worry, and remorse.
It’s because of me she landed in hospital. I’m responsible.
I bury my head in my hands.
And I vow to myself I will never leave her again.
Ryder
The last stretch is always the hardest.
An intense ache is assaulting my muscles, but the prospect of conquering the summit spurs me on to push myself harder. With the last ounce of strength I have left in me, I pull myself up and swing my legs over the edge. I stand up, raising my arms to the azure sky.
I made it.
My eyes travel down to the cliff face I have just scaled, and I see Elle smiling up at me, her eyebrow piercing glimmering in the sunlight.
“Almost there,” I say. “Here, I’ll help you out.”
I squat down, stretching out my hand. She grabs it, and I start pulling her up to the edge. Her hand becomes colder and colder, until it turns icy, slippery. I hold on to it with all my might, but it’s no use. Her hand slides away from mine. Elle’s big beautiful eyes are gazing at me while she is falling, plummeting into the void.
No!
I wake up with a jolt, my heart beating out of my chest. It takes me a second to remember where I am, but a regular beeping noise coupled with the smell of antiseptic reminds me I am in the hospital.
I open my eyes and blink. In front of me, on the raised bed, lies Elle. She is still hooked up to a heart monitor, but the many tubes and the respirator that helped her breathe after the surgery are gone. Even though her eyes are closed, the monitor screen tells me her heartbeat is strong and steady. I breathe a sigh of relief.
For a long moment I gaze at her—looking so pure, so frail, so beautiful. She is everything I’ve ever wanted, but never realized I did. I can’t imagine life without her now that I know what it feels like—to feel whole. She has become part of me, she is burned into my soul.