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Eyes back on the road, I check to see if maybe there is a place I can pull off on the shoulder and let them pass. I don’t want anyone to think it would be a good idea to get a little head-to-head practice in.
When the next turn has me tucked up against the red rock formation, the wind dies down just enough for me to hear the distinct sound of shifting gears.
“Jeez,” I say under my breath. Whoever it is, is coming up fast.
There’s nowhere to pull off, and the road only continues to climb the red rock. The higher I get, the further my stomach drops. I must be at least fifty feet up, and there’s nothing but trees and boulders below.
The car races up behind me, and I’m hoping that they just decide to pass me in the oncoming lane, but they don’t.
My car jolts forward as they slam into my bumper, and I jerk forward in my seat. I’m suddenly much more thankful for the upgraded bucket seats and five-point harness Bodhi insisted Milo install, because without them I’d be all over the place.
I hit the gas, trying my best to move away from the other car, but they’re already surging forward to hit me again. I hold fast to the steering wheel, jerking forward more than before.
“What the fuck?” I yell, terror in my shaking voice.
I round the next turn with them on my ass, just making out the crudely painted skull and crossbones sign ahead.
Dead Man’s Curve.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cry, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
I glance in the rearview mirror and see the moment they hit the gas. The turn is directly in front of me, and I don’t have more than a second to attempt to hit the brakes. But it’s too late. The sound of my front-end crashing through the guardrail fills my ears, followed by the panicked screams flying from my throat.
All I can think of as the ground beneath me grows closer is that I hope my mother knows I’m sorry.
I hope my brother knows I tried.
And I hope Bodhi knows I loved him all along.
Chapter 64
I haven’t lifted my foot from the gas pedal once. The sinking feeling in my stomach only growing deeper and deeper.
I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know it’s not good.
I haven’t felt like this since… since the day Tommy died.
Shaking the thought from my head, refusing to give it any merit, I pull around a truck that’s driving much slower than I care for. It’s the middle of the damn day. Don’t people work?
Reaching for the dash, I dial Keaton’s number again, and the automated sound of her voicemail filters over my speakers. It’s been like this for the past hour, and it’s taking everything in me not to slam my fist against the steering wheel.
“God dammit, baby, pick up,” I say, the words grated out between my clenched teeth.
I’m ready to try again when the sound of a phone ringing comes over my speakers.
It’s Milo.
I click the accept button on my steering wheel and answer, “Milo?”
“Bodhi,” he says, and I can tell by the weight of that single word, that it’s not good.
“Talk to me, man,” I say frantically.
“It’s Keaton. She’s in the hospital,” he says, and images of the day Tommy died flash behind my eyes.
I can’t fucking breathe. Everything around me fades away, and it’s a wonder I manage to keep my car on the road.
