My Peace (Beautifully Broken 5)

“That was fantastic,” I correct. “But I need to get you home to our bed.”

She nods in agreement, and we put our clothes back on. Mila straps into the passenger seat, and I nose the SUV out of the parking spot and then out of the lot toward home.

Hartford is dark and quiet at this time of night, and traffic is light. It’s an easy drive, and I settle in for it, turning the radio on low.

Mila is asleep within five minutes, and I glance over at her.

Her hair is falling across her cheek, and her hand is curled under her chin. She looks angelic. No one would ever guess what we had just done in a public parking lot.

I turn onto the street that leads up to our subdivision, and our headlights shine onto a car pulled over onto the shoulder.

A woman stands next to it, studying her flat tire with a perplexed look on her face.

I can’t just drive past.

It’s midnight, and the woman is alone. It wouldn’t be right.

So, I pull up behind her.

Mila stirs.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I tell her. “Someone has car trouble.”

She murmurs a response, and I step into the brisk night air.

“Do you have a spare?” I call out as I walk toward the woman. She’s startled, but then smiles.

“Um. I’m not sure,” she answers sheepishly. “I’ve never had a flat before.”

“Well, don’t worry. I can help,” I assure her. “Can you pop your trunk?”

She gets in her car and finds the button, and I hear the thump of the trunk’s lever releasing. I turn to walk to it, and headlights are suddenly in my face.

Not my own headlights.

In this moment, I know how a deer must feel, because it’s disorienting, and I’m not sure which way to move, and then the decision is made for me.

Something slams into me and I’m hurtling through the air.

My last conscious thought is… Jesus, this should hurt, but it doesn’t.

And then everything is black.

3

Chapter Two

Mila

Sweet Lord, I can’t believe we’re here again.

I’m pacing the hospital waiting room, and Pax is behind the double doors, and I don’t know what’s happening.

“M’am, did you get a look at the vehicle?” The policeman in front of me tries to keep me on track, when all I want to do is barge through the doors and find my husband.

“No,” I tell him again, for the fifth time. “I’m sorry. I was half-asleep and my eyes were closed.”

I feel guilty about that now. I mean, my husband was trying to help someone and I couldn’t be bothered to wake up?