The warmth leached from my body.
No. This was a joke. It must be an article from one of those satirical news websites because it couldn’t be real. I refused to believe it.
My friends must’ve picked up on my mood shift because their conversation abruptly petered out.
“Scarlett? What’s wrong?” Carina asked. Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
All I could do was stare at the words on my phone screen while lead ingots piled up in my lungs, strangling the flow of oxygen.
I kept waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into a new sentence, one I could accept, but the headline remained the same.
BREAKING: Asher Donovan rushed to hospital after car crash in north London.
SCARLETT
The irony of me racing to the hospital for Asher after he’d done the same for me two weeks ago wasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t dwell on the parallels of our situation.
I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate and lose my ever-loving mind.
Brooklyn floored it through the streets of central London while Carina monitored the news for any developments (none so far). They’d sprung into action immediately when they found out what happened, and I was so dazed I didn’t even have the energy to fret over Brooklyn’s driving.
My stomach sloshed with each jerk and stop. I was this close to throwing up, but if I threw up, I’d slow us down.
I couldn’t slow us down. Not when every minute counted.
The news reported which hospital Asher was at, but the articles were so light on details that my imagination grabbed the blank spaces and drenched them with gruesome images.
Asher broken. Asher burned. Asher…
My dinner resurfaced in my throat. I curled my fingers around the edge of my seat and clung on for sanity until we reached the hospital.
One. Two-A small hiccup interrupted my attempts to breathe. I clutched the seat tighter and fought another sob.
Three.
Four.
The second Brooklyn parked, I flung open the door and sprinted toward the entrance. Carina shouted something, but I couldn’t hear her over the noise.
The crowd…God, if I thought the press turnout when I left the hospital had been wild, the sheer number of paps here tonight was mind-boggling. It made what I’d had to deal with so far look like quaint family gatherings in my nan’s backyard.
“Look! It’s Scarlett!” One of them spotted me, and the rest descended like vultures on fresh spoils.
“Scarlett, do you know how Asher’s doing?”
“What are your thoughts on the crash?”
“Are his injuries serious?”
“Scarlett!””Scarlett!”
They closed in around me in a seething, undulating ocean of black. Cameras flashed every other second, nearly blinding me, and my nausea intensified into a form of vertigo.
“Get out of my way!” I shouted, but my voice was lost in the cacophony. I tried to push through the crowd, but there were too many of them.
Panic and claustrophobia squeezed my lungs. The world spun. I had to get through. I needed to get through before he-if he?-
Dots danced before my eyes.
Breathe. I need to breathe. I need to
?-
“She said to get out of the fucking way!” Brooklyn’s audible anger swelled above the noise.
I heard several shouts of surprise followed by a pained grunt before firm hands grabbed both my arms and dragged me out of the viper’s pit.
Cool air replaced stifling heat.
The dots gradually receded, and I sucked in a gasp of fresh oxygen so quickly it devolved into a coughing fit.
We stopped inside the hospital lobby. Someone handed me a bottle of water, and I gulped half of it down gratefully.
“Better?” Carina asked when I finished and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
I nodded, too drained to scrounge up a coherent reply. “I need to find Asher.” Fresh panic swamped my temporary bout of relief.
“I’m on it.” Brooklyn released my other arm and marched straight up to the front desk. It took some convincing, but the incessant press coverage of me finally came in handy when one of the nurses recognized me as Asher’s girlfriend.
They refused to give me an update on his condition, but they allowed me to go up to the VIP floor with my friends and a security escort.
The lift seemed to take forever. No one spoke, and I couldn’t stop shaking from the arctic cold stealing through my body.
I was desperate to see Asher, but I dreaded it as well. What condition was he in? Why wouldn’t the nurse tell me? If he was fine, she would’ve told me, right?
The lights stabbed at my eyes. Why was the lift so slow? If I had to be stuck in this steel cage for another second, I was going to scream.
I jabbed at the button again and again like that would somehow make it go faster. Our security escort opened his mouth, but he closed it when Brooklyn sent a scathing glare in his direction.
Finally, blessedly, we arrived on our floor. The doors slid open, and I dashed out without waiting for him or my friends.
They could find me later. In a hospital, one second could mean the difference between life and death.
Startled nurses and staff jumped out of the way to avoid colliding with me as I raced through the hall, frantically searching for Asher’s room. Luckily, there were only a handful of suites on the VIP floor, and I found his around the corner, at the very end of the corridor.
A familiar dark-haired figure sat opposite the door.
He raised his head, his eyes widening when he saw me. He stood right as I reached him.
“Vincent.” My brother’s name fell out as a half sob, half plea. I grabbed his arm, my heart a twisted mess behind my ribcage. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. I had to prepare myself. “The nurse wouldn’t-is he?-“
“He’s okay. Plenty scratched up, but okay.” Vincent gently loosened my death grip and squeezed my hand, his face pale but his voice steady. “They’re still running tests on him, but he’s alive and relatively unharmed.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.