Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“It’s my leg,” she says, breathless. “My leg and hip. They hurt so bad, Bea. Every time I try to move them.”
“Try again, just one more time,” I say calmly, ignoring the now black smoke pouring faster from the hood. Thank goodness the wind is blowing in the opposite direction, or neither of us would be able to breathe right now. “Just use your arm and try not to move your leg. If you can push up a tiny bit higher, I can get you.”
We try again. The instant I have a decent angle, I shoot both hands under her armpits, pushing through and up until I’ve got a solid grip on both arms.
“Okay, good!” I say with a grunt. “So good. Now, can you push with your good leg? You push, I’ll pull, and we’ll—”
“You can’t lift me. You’re pregnant. What if it hurts the—”
“Bean is fine. I’m fine,” I cut in. “You are not fine, however, and that smoke is scaring me, Clover. And I’m not leaving you, so you can just stop with that shit. Now—more moving, less talking.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, shifting her right leg until her boot presses against the console.
I pull.
She pushes.
We both cry out, a primal sound that reminds me of the childbirth video I stupidly watched early on in my pregnancy, before I realized that was basically a form of self-harm at that point in my journey toward motherhood.
Clover is thin—all lanky limbs and sharp elbows—but she’s nearly a foot taller than my five-foot-nothing, and I’m six months pregnant. My center of gravity is down in my knees, my hip joints are way too loose to offer any help stabilizing my core, and Bean chooses this moment to tickle my ribs with her toes.
But I don’t give up, and neither does Clover, even though tears are streaming down her face by the time we get her top half through the window.
“Almost there, babes,” I say, sweating as I adjust my grip, gently wrapping my right arm around her waist. “We just need to get your bottom through and—”
The woman in scrubs is suddenly there beside me, breathless. “Let me help. I’m a nurse. I would usually say we shouldn’t move her, but that fire is bad.”
“Thank you,” I gasp, making space for her on Clover’s other side. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course, what’s her name?” she asks. I tell her, and she adds, “Okay, Clover. What a pretty name. You’re doing great, sweetheart. I’m Jessica. Your friend and I are going to get you out and make sure you’re safe, okay?”
“Okay,” Clover pants. “But I’m feeling a little woozy. I don’t know if I can walk.”
“Keep your arms around us, we’ll hold you,” Jessica assures her. “On three. One big push and we’ll get your legs through, okay? One, two…”
On three, we pull, and Clover pushes. Her bottom clears the frame, but before we can celebrate—or catch our breath—the car shifts, settling deeper onto the damaged side with a groan. Something sharp stabs through my boot into the top of my foot as Clover’s legs slither out the window.
Thankfully, once her weight is clear, the car shifts back to its original position, and whatever poked me sets me free again.
But damn, it hurts.
The pain is sharp, hot, burning up my leg as Jessica and I stumble backward, dragging an almost completely slack Clover between us.
She’s shivering as we help her limp away. I catch a glimpse of her left arm out of the corner of my eye, and my stomach turns. The bone above her wrist is definitely broken, badly enough that I think I can see it through the skin.
Fighting a wave of nausea, I stumble on, keeping my gaze fixed on the makeshift bed of beach towels a woman has laid out on the side of the road by her minivan. As we arrive, the man in the suit relieves me on my side, helping get Clover settled on the ground.
As Jessica gets to work checking her out, he hands me his business card. “Send me a text or email, and I’ll send the video over. I’ll testify in court, too. Criminal court. Civil court. Whatever you need. That guy isn’t getting away with this. I have it all on video—his plate and what I could get of his face. I’ll stay and make sure the police have everything they need from me to nail his ass to the wall.”
“Thank you so much,” I murmur, tucking the card into my dress pocket without pulling my gaze from Clover’s pained face. “I can’t believe he drove away.”
“I can,” the man says in a disgusted voice. “I’m an attorney. Family law.”
I nod in silent recognition of what this man must deal with on a daily basis.
Domestic violence. Children in dangerous situations. Monsters like the man who hit us doing damage, and then running to escape the consequences of his actions. I could never do it. I don’t do well with injustice.