Never Let You Go(97)

I turn right, but twenty minutes later, when I still haven’t hit the highway and the road is getting bumpier and narrower, I realize I’ve made a mistake. I find a small clearing in the woods where I can turn around, and head back. This time when I reach the junction, I go the other way.

Five minutes later, I notice a sign. I’m almost at the turnoff to the highway. The road should get better soon—thank God. I haven’t passed any cabins for a while and the forest is thinner. Light breaks through the trees.

I glance at my cell on the passenger seat, wondering if I have service yet. I stretch over to the side, my rib cage pressing into the leather console, and pick up my phone. I press my password in, while taking quick peeks at the road, and hold the wheel with one hand.

Success. I have cell service! I wonder if I’ve gotten more text messages. I glance down and open the app with my thumb, and hear a distinctive whoosh as my text to Jared leaves my phone. Shit! I’d wanted to look over it again and make sure it didn’t sound stupid.

I look up—and in a quick flash of panic, I see the tree lying across the road. I slam on the brakes, the seat belt cutting sharply into my stomach and across my chest. The back end of the Cherokee is sliding and I’m trying to turn the wheel, but the front is pointed toward the edge of the road. The Cherokee bounces into the ditch, rockets forward, and smashes into a tree.

So much noise, like the world is coming apart. Metal screaming, glass shattering. A branch stabs into the windshield and scrapes against my face in a sharp slap. The driver’s-side air bag blows up with a loud bang, then the passenger one. I’m surrounded by white balloon material.

It’s stopped. Everything is quiet, just the hissing of the engine. I’m scared to move. I cautiously move my legs and feet. Everything seems to work, but I’m shaking hard. The engine is making a weird noise, like a high-pitched whine underneath the hissing.

I reach out and turn the key. The engine shudders off. I fumble for my seat belt and press the button, but it doesn’t release right away. I have to yank and tug and finally it comes free.

I look for my cell phone, but I can’t see anything with the air bags filling the front seats. It’s not on the console. I push and shove the driver’s-side air bag out of the way, and feel around with my feet until I spot my bright pink cell case.

I reach down, wiggle it out with a finger, and slide it closer. The rectangle plastic shape is solid and familiar in my hand, comforting. Please, please, let me still have cell service.

Three bars. It should be enough, but who do I call? I hesitate, staring at my screensaver photo—Delaney and me, making a funny face. Jared took the photo. I don’t know if the lake house has phone service yet, but it doesn’t matter—I don’t know the number anyway.

Should I call 911? I think about the text leaving my phone. Can cops look up that stuff? They’ll see I was using my cell while driving. I’ll be charged. I don’t want to lose my license. My phone vibrates in my hand, startling me so much that I almost drop it. It’s a text from Jared.

Can we talk? I miss you.

I had an accident. I need help!

WTF? Call me!

He answers right away. “You okay? Did you get hurt?”

“My head hurts a little … and my neck. My mom is going to be so pissed.”

“What happened?”

“I borrowed Marcus’s Cherokee. I was so stupid—I looked at my cell when I was driving. I slid off the road and hit a tree. Should I call the cops? I’m scared I’ll get in trouble.”

“Just stay there. I’ll come get you.”



I wait, hunched over in the Cherokee with my arms wrapped around my legs, shivering and staring at my phone while worrying that he’ll get lost, or that some other driver will come along and see the Cherokee in the ditch and then they’ll call the cops. Forty-five excruciating minutes later, I finally hear a car door slamming, then his voice calling.

“Sophie?”

I push open the door, climb out, my legs cramped and stiff. “I’m over here!” I push my way through the brush and slide down into the ditch, try to get to my feet.

Footsteps on gravel—sounds like he’s running. Then he’s standing in front of me, his face pale and his hand reaching to help me out of the ditch. I grab at it.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry for everything. I was such a bitch. I just—”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” He pulls me up until we are face-to-face, brushes glass out of my hair, then cups my cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“I didn’t mean to have an accident.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He steps closer, presses his cold lips against mine. His mouth is warm, soft, and we kiss desperately. Finally we separate, but keep our hands gripped together.

“The tree is still covering the road,” he says. “How far away is the lake house?”

“I’m not sure. I got lost.”

“Can you walk?”

I nod. He tucks my hand into his pocket and we make our way back up the hill. I don’t care if it takes two hours to walk back. I don’t care if Mom and Marcus yell at me. I have Jared.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


LINDSEY



It’s almost ten and Sophie still isn’t back. Marcus is fishing on the lake—he wants to catch some trout for dinner. I had planned on reading my book and enjoying another cup of coffee, but I’m watching Marcus from the window, the bright red of his life jacket, the flick of his wrist as he casts the line. He hasn’t acted any different since my confession, just in a hurry to get out on the lake before he “missed the bite,” but I still feel exposed, vulnerable.