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Chapter One
Isabella
I have no idea how long I’ve been parked on the side of the road, hyperventilating through my tears as the cars race past me, a blur of shapes and colors. My chest is tight, and I can’t think past the pounding in my skull. When I blink and look down at my hands, still holding the steering wheel in a vice-like grip, I see the dried blood caked underneath my fingernails.
And it sends a fresh wave of anguish through me.
I ease my grip on the steering wheel and slowly release a deep and shaky breath. Then I count backward from ten, my voice cracking on the last number. Heaving, I hold my hands up in front of me, some of the blood glistening underneath the harsh glow of the early morning sun set against a backdrop of clear blue skies.
As I rummage through the glove compartment, my fingers close around a box of tissues. I lick a tissue and rub my fingers, slowly at first, then faster and faster until they are a bright shade of red. With a strangled cry, I throw the box of tissues over my shoulder, and it lands in the middle of the backseat without a sound. My heart pounds when I bring it to rest against the steering wheel.
I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
I lower the glass on my side and exhale; a blast of cold air slapping me across the face. With trembling hands, I start the engine and ease out of my spot. I drive slowly, with both hands on the wheel and a pit in the center of my stomach. The further away from the safehouse I get, the worse I feel.
Over and over, I relieve the image of Rich lunging at me with that crazed look in his eyes. And each time I see myself wrestling him for the gun, it sends another wave of fear through me. I blink back the tears and square my shoulders. Another wave of nausea rises through me, forcing me to slam down on the brakes and put the car in park. With no other cars behind me, I let my head fall forward and try to remember how to breathe.
Why is the world around me spinning? Why is my chest burning?
And why can’t I tell myself that I did the right thing?
A part of me knows that if I hadn’t taken care of Rich, he would’ve taken care of me. But I’m also starting to realize how, in small and imperceptible ways, Rich has been playing me all along. This entire time, I’ve been feeling sorry for him and defending him to Carter while being a strong advocate for his more redeeming qualities. Knowing that I played right into his hands makes me feel like the idiot I am.
How could I not have seen it? How had I let him move my strings like some kind of puppet?
And what does it say about me that I took his word over Carter’s?
“I’m sorry, bean,” I whisper, pausing to drape an arm over my stomach. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with a mother like me.”
Because I should’ve known better. I should’ve done better.
As my mind races to come up with a solution, a plan for what to do next, I realize two things at once that make me gasp. The first is that I need to go back and make sure Tristan gets the help he needs. The second is that after making sure Tristan is okay, I have to leave.
Carter can’t find out what I’ve done. No one can.
Because then they’ll realize that all their sacrifices and all the blood on their hands were for nothing. I’m not their precious and pure little Isabella anymore.
And I will never be again.
After scrubbing a hand over my face and pushing my hair out of my eyes, I put the car in drive again. I twist to check both sides of the empty street and swallow past the lump in my throat. Easing my foot off the brakes, I turn the wheel and merge onto the lane, grateful there are no other cars. My hands are sweaty, and I have to stop to wipe them against my shirt. In the background, I hear a loud beeping sound, followed by a screech.
Suddenly, the car lurches forward, and I can’t stop it.
I don’t realize that I’m the one who’s screaming and crying until my throat closes up—right before the car swerves off the road and spins in a few circles.
And I don’t stop sniffing until I lurch forward, the seatbelt digging into my chest as I collide with a tree. Smoke billows out of the car and rises into the air. My ears are ringing, and spots dance in and out of my field of vision. I cradle my stomach and fumble with the seatbelt. My hands are still slippery, and I’m trying to make out my surroundings when a sharp jab of pain bursts through me.
Gasping, I double over and squeeze my eyes shut.
The last thing I hear before I go under is a large cacophony of voices drawing closer. A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I succumb to the darkness.
I’m sorry, Carter. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to Tristan in time, and I’m sorry I couldn’t protect our bean.
A short while later, I come to and can hear more voices around me. My vision dances in and out of focus, but I’m too tired to make out anything concrete. Suddenly, I’m being hoisted up, and cold air whips through my hair. When I’m pushed back, I don’t resist, and I don’t say anything as the pounding in the back of my skull grows. Someone lifts my arm up, but I’m too weak to fight them off.
Another hand touches my shoulder, but it’s cool and steady.
“Isabella, I’m here, okay? You’re not alone.”
