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Hayes snorted in the passenger seat. “It is pretty funny. But you can always ask him. Besides, we both know if you stay home and look after Bobbi-June one day a week, Jesse isn’t going on rides anywhere. If anyone will be riding, it’ll be you.”
I laughed, but Hayes was probably right.
“I could always look after Bambolina a few days a week. It will give me a good reason to tell my agent no. I do enjoy that,” Rocco said wistfully. I didn’t envy his PR firm. Some days, I wondered if we should send them chocolates and a condolence card.
We’d started a little late today, and the traffic was insane. There was a pileup on the freeway, so we were going the back way to East Palo Alto.
Nodding, I slumped back in the seat. “We’ll talk to him tonight. Man, we are going to be late. My bad.” I didn’t actually regret it, though, because that thing Jesse did with his tongue was totally worth it.
Rocco cursed as the railway crossing boom gate came down and we didn’t make it across. I texted Antony that we’d be a couple of minutes late for the meeting, due to the traffic. I mean, traffic was a contributing factor. The other factor was Jesse’s dick, but that was a far less socially acceptable excuse.
Traffic built up behind us, and I sighed. I missed Miami and the sun.
Rocco looked in the mirror with a frown. “This guy behind me is right up my ass.” He hit the brakes a couple of times in warning, muttering swear words in Italian. For a professional driver, Rocco had a fair amount of road rage. He always protested that it was the Italian passion, but I just thought perhaps he’d spent too long being chauffeured around places.
“Yeah, the only person allowed to ride that ass is?—”
The truck behind us suddenly rammed forward, rear-ending us with so much force that my head snapped forward before my seatbelt locked and flung me back. It also pushed us through the boom gate onto the tracks, the airbags deploying with violent speed.
The next ten seconds happened so slowly, it was like a horror movie. Deployed airbags pushed Hayes and Rocco back in their seats, and the car turned off. The train horn blared through my brain like an echo of death, the sound so loud I couldn’t think. Hayes was shouting at me to get out, even though we all knew there was no time. I couldn’t even find my belt buckle before the rattling noise of a hurtling train was piercing my eardrums.
I screamed, but you couldn’t hear it. There was just the crunch of metal and glass, and my head slamming into the window, sending everything black.
I opened my eyes again to yelling and screaming. Sirens in the distance made me squint as a hand reached through the glass. “She’s alive. Help me get her out!” someone yelled, and I distantly thought they were talking about someone else.
Was someone else in the accident? Rocco. Hayes.
“Help,” I moaned, the world dimming at the edges.
A woman’s face came into my view. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay with me.” She had a nice face. Maybe she was a guardian angel. I needed one of those. But at least Bobbi-June wasn’t in the car.
“My name is Malia. What’s your name?” the angel asked.
“Tally,” I groaned out. Fuck, it felt like my whole body was bruised. I could hear other people talking, but I didn’t recognize any voices. “Hayes. Rocco. Are they okay? My husband?”
“Everyone is gonna be fine, Sugar. Just you wait there and be still. Does anything hurt?”
I did the assessment I’d done every time I crashed in NASCAR. Could I wiggle my toes? Yes. That was good. I could take a deep breath, but while my body felt sore to move, nothing felt broken. “I think I’m okay. Sore.”
“I bet you’re sore. It’ll be all right. Help is coming right now.”
Finally, someone appeared, gently moving Malia out of the way. “Miss, my name is Chadwick and I’m from the fire department. I’m just going to put this collar on you as a precaution.”
“Okay. Can you see my partners? Hayes? Rocco?” I yelled for them, but there was no response. Dread made my gut sour. “ROCCO! HAYES!” I yelled louder, but Chadwick the paramedic hushed me.
“It’s okay. My colleagues are taking care of them, I promise. What’s your name?”
“Tally. Tally Palmer-Passero.”
“All right, Tally. You know what year it is?”
“2024.”
“How about the day?”
“Monday.”
Chadwick listened to my chest. “That’s great. Good work, Tally. Any pain?” I answered his questions, but I kept trying to look into the front seats. All I could see was crumpled metal. “We’re going to send you to hospital for scans, but you’re extremely lucky.”
