If Evie is my biggest regret, Teddy is my greatest joy. He might have been the result of a mistake, butheis a miracle. Every road that led to him is a good one, and I regret nothing about the nature of his conception.
Still, the guilt over my absence hits me square in the chest as he smiles at me like I’m his superhero. Sadly, I’m no Superman. I can’t help but worry that one day Teddy might wake up and start resenting me for not giving him what every child deserves—a family unbroken by sinful mistakes.
“Say bye to Daddy!” Cora sing songs, her face untainted by worry over her role in our son’s life. Oh, to sleep easy at night knowing your son will love you unconditionally simply because you’re his mother.
A mother is not as easily replaced as a father.
“Bye, Daddy.”
The disappointment in his voice breaks my heart.
“Bye-bye, baby,” I murmur a second too late as Cora hangs up, leaving a loud, painfully empty silence in my purring Acura.
It’s a silence I’ve grown accustomed to.
Ignoring the ache in my chest, I focus on the road, weaving up and down a couple of streets until I spot Evie’s Corolla again. She’s driving aimlessly; there’s no clear order to her madness as she races up and down the blocks. I keep my distance until she makes a turn onto the highway that heads out of town.
It’s snowing now, making it difficult to hang back without losing her in the haze. But I’m unwilling to inch even a centimeter closer to her. Genevieve Montgomery is independent to a fault; she’d deck me if she found out I was following her around—and not just because the very idea would insult her. She wouldn’t want me putting myself at risk when I have Teddy to think about. She loves that little boy like he’s her own.
Her genuine concern for the well-being of others is one of the many,manyreasons I love her. However, that admirable quality is a double-edged sword for her; she can’t seem to clock off. She’s constantly putting her own needs on the back burner. Evie is burnt out, and she’ll end up working herself into an early grave if she doesn’t learn to accept help and take a day off now and then.
Our local DJ is telling me to stay off the roads now as the snow pummels from the sky. After a few more minutes of hoping she’ll turn around and head back home, I try calling her, but of course she doesn’t answer. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother, but the thought never lingers. I won’t stop pursuing her until she forgives me. Or until one of us is dead.
Whichever comes first.
Evie’s Corolla is fast approaching a T-junction, where an SUV is waiting at the light. Now’s about the time she should tap on her brakes if she wants to avoid causing a rear-end collision. But when her brake lights don’t come on, my heart plummets to my toes.
Still, I have confidence in her. She’s not one to text and drive. Any second now, she’ll tap her brakes. Except she doesn’t, and her car continues barreling forward—as if she’s planning on plowing through both the light and the car waiting patiently beneath it.
It’s one thing to drive past a car accident. It’s another to witness one happen.
And it’s something else entirely when you know a loved one is in the car that’s on a direct collision course with another.
Hands death gripping the wheel, a strangled yell escapes my throat as Evie’s Corolla narrowly misses the tailgate of the SUV. She swerves, but the damage is done. Time seems to crawl to a standstill as that tiny hunk of metal she’s trapped inside of shoots into the ditch, where it then flips onto its side and rolls once, twice, three times. The metal hood buckles. Her windshield shatters. My heart stops. After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, her car screeches to a halt.
I’m tempted to panic, but this isEvie. There’s no time for that. Pulling to the side of the road, I tell Siri to dial 9-1-1, then go through the motions of informing the dispatcher of what’s happened and where we are. Then I jump out of the car, every muscle in my body tugging me toward this stubborn, caring, witty, beautiful young woman that I love more than words could ever express.
Dear God, please tell me she was wearing her seatbelt!
It isn’t until I’m sliding down the icy embankment where Evie’s car is resting upside down, windows smashed, terrified she’s dead—that I begin to agonize over what might greet her soul on the other side of death.
Chapter 4
Evie
Ten Minutes Earlier
Doesafallingtreemake a noise when it crashes to the ground if no one is around to hear it? Likewise, am I even screaming at my windshield if no one can hear me over the sound ofI Hate Everything About Youby Three Days Grace blaring from my speakers?
This is my angst song. The song I crank when I want to scream and cry, propelling my anger and frustrations with my meaningless life into the void.
My life is marked by a carefully structured, predictable routine—one that is as grueling as it is rewarding. I spend twelve hours a day, seven days a week, bouncing from client to client, assisting them with their housekeeping tasks and activities of daily life. My job is fulfilling, but it’s equally exhausting. So going for an aimless drive in the snow on my day off for the sole purpose of screaming and crying has been nothing short of . . . therapeutic.
Squinting at my windshield, I try to make out the road through the thick, fluffy snowflakes. They float toward the ground like lazy feathers, but it’s coming down so fast now that I can hardly see ten feet ahead of me. Adrenaline courses through me as I struggle to navigate the road, and it feels weirdly good. Exciting.
I turn down the music, hoping it’ll help me see better, and that’s when I notice my phone buzzing in the cupholder. Gripping the wheel tighter, I grab hold of it and screen the call, assuming it’s Grandma. She’s probably worried sick about me right now. Guilt plagues me over the idea.
Brandon?
