“We had a plan. You’d be gone, and I’d step in and take my rightful place. The one you stole from me.”
“Get out.”
She pulls her hand out of her pocket and points a gun at me. My stomach drops.
“I’m going to finish what he started, Blanche.”
The sound of a motorcycle distracts her. I knock the gun from her hand and rush forward with my shoulder. She stumbles back, and I run toward the bike. Bullets whizzed by and I run in a zig zag pattern. A door slams. I turn and see her climb into a black SUV as Jagger pulls up.
“What’s going on?”
I open my mouth to speak, and the SUV roars toward us. He steers the bike in front of me and takes the impact. I scream as he’s flung from the back. She continues to drive, shredding the bike as she runs over his lower body. The metal from the wreckage pierces her tires. She cuts the wheel to the right and pulls out onto the road. She weaves to the right and left like a drunk. I gasp as she slips the rear of the car in front of her and spins out, ending up in oncoming traffic. Unable to decelerator in time, a car slams into her. The hit sends her car rolling. I run to Jagger and kneel beside him.
I straighten his body as much as I can without moving him. His face is scrapped and swelling. Patches of jeans have been worn down. I can see patches of road rash, split skin. Dark pools of blood stain different parts of him. “Jagger?” I place two fingers on his neck, relieved when I find his pulse, fast, but steady.
He moans as his eyes flutter open. I can see the disorientation and pain.
“You okay?” He forces the words out.
Incredibly, his first thought is for me.
I sob as I nod. “Thanks to you I am.”
“Love you.” I feel like my heart is going to explode from my chest.
“I love you too, Jagger. So much.” His face wavers as the tears continue to flow.
A bystander runs up. “I saw, the entire thing, and I called 9-1-1. How can I help?”
“Wait to flag them down?”
“Okay.” The young brown haired man with a crew cut takes off and stands by the side of the road.
Jagger cries out. I place a hand on his chest.
“Try to be as still as you can. What hurts?”
“It’s not what hurts that worries me, B. It’s what I can’t feel.”
“What?”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
The air leaves my lungs. Oh my, God.
“B, why can’t I feel my legs?” His voice cracks.
“You just went through a tremendous amount of trauma, there’s all kinds of swelling, and you
r body is essentially in shock. Don’t assume the worse.”
He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth. I take his hand and bring it to my lips, praying that God won’t take his ability to walk. Riding is his life. Without it, I’m not sure what he’ll do. The sound of sirens grow closer. I close my eyes and rock back and forth as my stomach churns. The Good Samaritan waves them down, and they park the car and bring the stretcher.
“What happened here?”
I rise and step back to let them do their work.
“He was hit by a car, knocked off his motorcycle, and run over by an SUV. He’s been talking to me, and he’s aware, but in pain, and…” I swallow. “He can’t feel his legs. I’m a physical therapist, so I kept his head and body as straight as I could without moving him.”