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Cornell nodded but said nothing.
“You’ve got dozens of other people who need you too. I can’t keep you all to myself.” Ali dropped his hand and reached out to tilt his head up. Deep emotion littered his face, and it tore at her heart. “If I don’t get myself in shape and you get fired, we won’t be able to go on that solo vacation.” She smiled, trying to pull Cornell out of his mopey hole. “Then I’ll be really mad at you.”
“Fine,” he agreed begrudgingly. “I’ll go.”
“Kiss before you leave,” Ali reminded him, and Cornell leaned across, pressing her lips to his, pulling back and leaning his forehead to hers. She tried to be still in the moment, to appreciate just how lucky she was. But Ali’s foot tapped against the patio. All she felt was irritation
“What are you going to do all day?” he asked.
“I guess I should get on the phone with the insurance company. See what they say about my car.” She tried to ignore how Cornell flinched. “You don’t think they’ll fix it?”
“I don’t know.” Cornell drank the rest of his coffee before standing. “They might say it’s not worth it. If that’s the case, we’ll look around over the weekend.”
Ali pressed on the arms of the chair and stood, thankful that Cornell took a hint because he didn’t reach out for her in a panic. “I’ll walk you out. You should get on the road.”
“Take it easy, though, okay?” He pleaded as they stepped into the mudroom.
“No marathon. Just a 5K.”
“I mean it, Ali,” Cornell said, putting on his sneakers. “Don’t be on your feet all day.”
“Not all day, I promise. Drive safe, alright?” She shut her mouth, overwhelmed by the feelings that had now attached themselves to the words she used to say without a second thought.
Cornell kissed her. “I’ll call you when I’m there.”
Porter sat patiently at the door as if he was waiting to join Cornell. “Stay, Porter,” Ali told him when Cornell opened the door, closing it gently behind him. She frowned, feeling guilty that there was some relief now that Cornell was gone.
“I’m acting like a brat,” Ali told Porter, rubbing his head. “Anyone would be lucky to have someone dote on them like that, huh?” When she turned to get her phone and begin the probably never-ending process with her insurance company, Cornell’s car door slammed shut.
Ali froze. Porter whined softly beside her when suddenly she cried out, overtaken by pain—not in her ribs or inside her head, but along the right side of her face as if someone had just slapped her clear across it.
Or slammed her into something.
The stinging was so strong Ali began to shake, her arm trembling as she reached up to touch the skin, expecting it to be hot because that’s how it felt inside—burning.
It was cool to the touch, and she shut her eyes tightly, willing her now frantic heartbeat to simmer. But it struck her again, her face hitting hot metal so hard that the noise echoed throughout her entire head, bouncing between two ears.
“Stop,” she spat through a semi-open mouth, her face pressed angrily against the car hood. There were tears, snot, and spit dripping down her face. “Please let me go,” she babbled, stumbling over her own words.
But her pleas fell on deaf ears, and Ali sobbed, having no idea if Graham was so drunk he had no idea what he was doing or if—heartbreakingly—this had been his plan all along.
Ali steadied herself against the wall. “Stop,” she said aloud, but to whom she wasn’t certain. Who she was hearing, she didn’t know. What she was seeing, Ali had never seen before.
From the outside of the windshield, she could see through the car all the way to the back window, where there was nothing but darkness coming from the remote street. She screeched when he yanked her hair, pressing his forearm harder against the back of her neck. The hood of the car was hot, scorching from the running engine.
Ali touched her face again with her free hand, but everything about her was still ice. “I didn’t get out of the car,” she reminded herself.
“Help! Help!” Her voice was panicked, cracking as she screamed as loud as she could, struggling to lift the heavy weight that sandwiched her against the car. She flailed her arms, her legs, kicking backward, striking nothing but air.
Hot breath oozed across her face. It smelled like vodka and tobacco mixed with something sour. Hands were everywhere, gripping and grabbing, pulling and pushing—hers into the hood of her car, his all over her body.
Ali’s eyes flew open, and she ran as fast as her healing body could to the bathroom, viciously pouring the contents of her breakfast into the toilet.
* * *
She wasn’t listening as her mother went back and forth with the insurance company on her behalf. “My head hurts,” she had told her mother. “I just want to make sure I understand what they’re saying.”
What the insurance company had said was that it needed copies of the police report and hospital records sent to them.
