Reckless (Thoughtless, #3)(153)

“We love you, Kellan!” rose above the din of the reporters and photographers shouting questions. Much to my surprise, just as many fans were clamoring for my attention as Kellan’s. I guess I was just as much an attraction as he was—the woman who had the Golden Boy’s heart. Some wanted to know what he was really like, some wanted to know how I felt about the music video, some even asked if I was pregnant. Overwhelmed, I instinctively backed up.

The press were behind the fans now, and they moved forward as more curious onlookers swelled the crowd. The curious, eager fans in front of us were pushed from behind, and with nowhere to go, they bumped into Kellan and me. Kellan held his ground, but I was pushed back so hard, I lost my footing. My heel slipped over the edge of the sidewalk. I hadn’t even realized I was that close to the street. I was even more aware of my proximity when I stumbled and fell into a lane of traffic. A fan reached for me, but she missed; I landed on my ass, hard. Dazed, confused, I stared at a pair of headlights baring down on me. The only thought that flashed through my head was that I hoped being hit by a truck wasn’t as painful as it seemed.

I started to get to my feet but was disoriented, and I knew I wouldn’t make it in time; the truck didn’t even seem to be slowing down. Then, like my own personal white night, or maybe, more fittingly, like a clearly deranged madman, Kellan recklessly rushed into the street. I was one hundred percent positive that I was about to witness my husband’s death. I was about to become a widow before I even had the chance to officially get married. I stopped breathing.

Kellan’s fingers closed over the tattoo of his name on my wrist, and he yanked me to my feet; I felt like my shoulder was being disconnected as pain torn up my arm. I heard the vehicle’s brakes squealing as it finally noticed us, but it was too late. When I crashed into Kellan’s chest, he shoved me behind him and put his hand up to the truck, bracing himself for impact. It was all he had time to do.

Oddly, even though I knew we were a microsecond away from something terrible happening, I couldn’t help but notice that it was a floral delivery truck about to hit us. My mind snapped to Kellan’s petal messages. I’d really miss them.

The truck veered to the left, trying to avoid us, but it couldn’t. It smashed into Kellan, hitting him at stomach level. The truck’s forward momentum caused it to hit me too. I crashed into Kellan’s back, then fell to the ground. It hurt just as much as I was afraid it was going to. The blow knocked the wind out of me, and I felt like rubber. My head hit the asphalt before my hands could break my fall. I felt my scalp burning, saw stars, and then all I saw was blackness.





Chapter 27


That Did Not Just Happen





When I came to, someone was shining a light in my eyes. It hurt. I hurt. I couldn’t remember where I was. My head hurt, and I felt so nauseated. Why did I feel nauseated? Hating the brightness piercing my brain, I tried to look away, but something around my neck made it hard to do. What was that? From the corner of my eye, I could tell that I was lying on a city street; there was headlight glass and debris around my head. And a jagged piece of metal covered in blood. Fresh blood. Why was I lying in a street? Was I blocking traffic? People must be so pissed at me. I should get up. I didn’t want to move, though. I had a feeling that would hurt.

My mind in a fog, I felt hands lifting me, then placing me on a flat, white table. It did hurt to move, and I cringed and sucked in a sharp breath. Why was someone putting me on a table? Why was there a table in the middle of the road? A man in a reflective jacket was asking me questions.

“Ma’am, do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?”

My body felt so heavy. My mind felt so slow. Blood was dripping down my face. I could feel it in my eyes. “I . . . I . . . don’t . . .”

Memories floating through my brain. Headlights coming toward me. Brakes squealing. Falling. “I was hit by a truck,” I muttered.

“Yes, that’s right.” A bandage was placed on my head. My head. I remembered hitting my head on the ground. That’s why I hurt. That’s why I was bleeding. But my body hurt too. My shoulder ached. I felt bruised. Kellan pulled me to my feet. I hit him before hitting the ground.

I instantly tried to sit up. “Kellan!”

The paramedic pushed me down and tried to stabilize me. My eyes flew to where Kellan had last been. All I saw was glass and blood; no Kellan. “You have a nasty cut, ma’am. I need to bandage this and make sure you don’t have any other injuries. You could make things worse by moving. Do you know your name?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Kiera Allen . . . Kyle. Where’s my husband?” I asked, my voice raw.

The paramedic’s hands worked on my head. I tried to hold still for him, but all I wanted to do was run up and down the street screaming Kellan’s name. “The other paramedics are working on him, Kiera. He’s in good hands.”

Even though my vision was a little blurry, I noticed the paramedic look to our left. My soul filling with trepidation, my gaze followed. Kellan was lying on a stretcher similar to the one I was on. He was covered in blood too, and I didn’t know if it was his or mine. And not knowing scared the crap out of me. “Kellan!”

I shouted his name, but he didn’t respond. He was shaking. He looked ill. Then, to my absolute horror, he leaned over and vomited blood.