by Tiffany King
Steve had just dealt another hand of cards when a call finally came in. We both jumped like a couple of rookies on day one. Grabbing our gear, we headed for our waiting rig. We got sketchy details over the radio as we drove. The bottom line of the situation was a three-car pileup on I-4 with multiple traumas. Steve flipped on the sirens while I navigated the best route to get to the accident. We worked well together and both knew our jobs. Judging by the numerous calls coming over the radio, we weren’t the only ambulance en route.
Traffic was at a standstill on I-4. We were three miles away from the accident scene, and the normal busy highway was like a parking lot. Steve figured out right away the siren and lights weren’t getting us anywhere, so he jerked the wheel, maneuvering the ambulance to the grassy shoulder. I braced my hands on the dashboard as we bounced along the thin strip of grass on the side of the highway. We were only going twenty-five miles an hour at best, but since all the cars we passed weren’t moving, it gave the illusion that we were moving much faster. Motorists were standing by their cars, rubbernecking to try and get a glimpse at the accident up ahead. Some had even climbed atop their vehicles. People’s fascination with gruesome scenes never ceased to amaze me.
“Son of a bitch,” Steve swore when we spotted the accident as we approached. I had to agree. It had been more than a year since I’d seen that kind of pileup. Three cars had been involved, but it was the minivan that suffered the most devastation. I braced myself for the worst possible scenario. Minivans had the potential to hold kids, which meant we could be walking into something exceptionally bad.
Steve and I jumped from the emergency vehicle, ready to do what we were trained for. We heard wailing and screaming coming from one of the cars, which I noticed upon approach was crushed in on one side. A few people sat on the grass, bleeding from different wounds, while still more remained trapped in their vehicles. The scene was overwhelming and became louder with each passing second as fire trucks and highway patrol cars rolled on to the scene. It reminded me of Mac’s accident, which now seemed so long ago. That time only three had survived. Looking at the mangled carnage in front of me, we would be lucky to save even that many.
twenty-seven
Mac
I drummed my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. I was a patient, careful driver, but even I hated catching every single damn traffic light like I’d done since leaving home. I was ready to scream. Someone at the traffic control office had to be deliberately screwing with me. It was eleven at night on a Tuesday with virtually no traffic, but every red light wanted to stop me. If I didn’t know any better, I would have blamed Mom, who was less than thrilled that I’d decided to head to Bentley’s tonight rather than tomorrow like originally planned. After an endless day of bickering over the case, I’d stopped caring what she thought by midafternoon. Even Dad had gotten sick of trying to referee our exchanges and spent the majority of the day hiding out in the garage. Finally, after a tense dinner, I decided we all needed a break from one another.
I started to second-guess my spur-of-the-moment decision as I waited at yet another red light less than a mile from Bentley’s apartment. He had given me a key a couple weeks ago and told me to use it anytime. Surprising him by being at his apartment when he got off work had seemed like a romantic idea, especially since Chad and Michael would be back on campus soon, ruining this type of moment again, but now that I was almost there, I worried that I was cramping Bentley’s style. He wouldn’t be home for several more hours, and for all I knew, he would come home completely exhausted and wouldn’t want to do anything but crash.
Pulling into the parking lot, I sat in the car debating my decision. Looking at the staircase, I felt a jumble of nerves in my stomach. For some reason, once he’d declared his feelings, I felt I had to maintain a certain amount of independence. Not because I didn’t care for him, but I wasn’t ready to act like we were living together yet. I’d hoped to get there, but I wasn’t going to force it.
Climbing from the car before I lost my nerve, I headed for the stairs, leaving my overnight bag behind until Bentley got home. I may want my independence, but I knew my limitations.
The stairs were as daunting as they always were. I was breathing heavily by the time I made it to the top, but the familiar feeling of pride and adrenaline from my accomplishment propelled me down the walkway to his apartment.
As soon as I opened the door, I knew I’d made the right decision. It had been a couple days since I’d seen Bentley, and I missed him. Maybe that was saying something. Was it love? For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to admit that. I’d been ignoring the taunting voice in my head that reminded me Bentley was always on my mind. In the short amount of time we’d been together, he had somehow been able to fill the void inside me. If that was the truth, then why was I trying so hard to deny my true feelings for him?
Regardless of my scrambled brain, I set to work out my whole seduction plan, which involved lighting the few candles Bentley had scattered around that I knew were completely for my benefit. I had teased Chad one day about the holes in his socks when his feet were propped up on the coffee table. I joked about whether they smelled as bad as they looked. Bentley had taken my comment seriously and forced Chad to go take a shower and change his clothes. I felt somewhat bad for making him go to that trouble on my account. I noticed the candles the next time I came over. At least now they would serve my purposes well.
After the candles were lit, I straightened up the man cave a bit. It wasn’t all that bad, for the most part. Probably because Chad and Michael hadn’t returned from break yet. A week from now, this place was likely to be a disaster.
The busywork of cleaning didn’t kill nearly as much time as I thought. Before I knew it, I was left with nothing to pass the remaining hour and a half until Bentley got home. Sinking down on the couch, I picked up the remote, aimlessly flipping through the channels for something to watch. I finally stopped on some cooking reality show, wishing I had thought to stop on the way over and pick up something to eat. My stomach rumbled as I watched the cupcake challenge unfold. I could have definitely gone for a cupcake right at that moment. I could get up and scrounge for something, but based on my experiences coming here on other days, I’d have a better chance of finding Red Bull than something to eat.
My leg made the decision for me anyway with its slight throbbing, so I stayed put on the couch. I massaged my twitching muscles, realizing I’d probably done a little too much running around today. Trying to ease the ache, I shifted positions so that I was lying down with my leg propped up on the arm of the couch. I had found the right spot. Feeling relieved, I turned back to the TV to torture myself with more cupcakes I couldn’t have. My new comfortable position reminded me that I was more tired than I thought as I suddenly found myself fighting to keep my eyes open. I yawned heavily and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch after finishing a long, drawn-out stretch. I figured resting my eyes for a few minutes couldn’t hurt.
I woke to the room tilting as I was gently lifted off the couch. “Hey,” I said, looking sheepishly at Bentley. Obviously, my whole seduction scene had been an epic failure. He didn’t answer. I could tell he was upset. Maybe my initial thoughts had been correct and he did have a problem with me being here. He was probably exhausted from work and now felt he needed to take care of me. I squirmed slightly in his arms, letting him know he didn’t need to carry me to bed. His hold tightened. Not in a way that was painful, but Bentley was showing me he was in control.
He didn’t speak as we entered his darkened room, nor did he flip on the light. He lowered me to the bed, covering my body with his. In the dim light streaming in through the window, I tried to decipher what his silence meant, but his expression offered no clue. I was not used to this side of him. My hand moved to his face to smooth out the tension, but he captured it, pulling my hand to his lips, where he placed a searing kiss on my palm.
He straddled me. Bringing my hands to my side, he held them in pl
ace with his, making it impossible to touch him. The intensity of the moment made my heart thump heavily in my chest. “Are you okay?” I asked as he stared deeply at me, practically through me. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the normal Bentley. His usual smile was missing.
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Even in the dim light I could tell he was troubled.
“Because you’re kind of freaking me ou—” Before I could finish my statement, he covered my mouth with his, cutting off any further talk. His kiss was rough and forceful, but I took it eagerly. The passion that seemed to surface when Bentley and I were intimate flared to life as I moved restlessly beneath his body, responding to the assault of his mouth on mine. In the month that we’d been sleeping together, this was as aggressive as he’d ever been. It was scary and exciting at the same time. I wanted to beg him to tell me what was wrong, but the sensations he had evoked wouldn’t allow my mouth to ruin the moment.
We practically tore the clothes from our bodies, tugging and pulling until we were gloriously naked. Bentley buried his head in my shoulder, biting it just enough to sting, but not enough to leave a mark. He reached for the box on his nightstand, throwing it across the room after quickly tearing open the condom package. He entered me in one swift movement, taking my breath away. He filled me completely and was in full control, taking what he wanted. I couldn’t help gasping as he moved fast and hard like he was trying to finish a race. My passion became clouded in confusion. Something clearly wasn’t right. Knowing he was hurting, I stroked a hand softly down his back, hoping it would calm whatever was hurting him. I may not have spoken the word “love” yet, but it didn’t mean I didn’t care deeply for him. Seeing Bentley like this was tearing me up inside.
His movements slowed, coming to a halt as my hand continued to gently stroke the length of his back. All the forcefulness left him as he slumped heavily on me. I soothingly massaged his head, which was still buried in my neck. After a moment, he lifted himself onto his elbows, keeping our bodies joined.
“Am I too heavy?” His hand found my face, brushing my hair back before he placed a tender kiss on my temple.
“No,” I replied. His loosened body language indicated he was much calmer than he had been seconds ago. Featherlight kisses moved down over my eyelids, which fluttered closed. The difference in his touch was night and day. He kissed me tentatively like he was seeking permission before claiming my mouth. I took him in, running my hands over his back in slow gentle circles.
This time when he started moving again inside me, he was as gentle as his tongue. My desire returned with each thrust. His free hand continued to stroke my face as my hips matched his pace. We were moving as one. I moaned, feeling myself reaching the point where I needed to go. Bentley increased his tempo, helping me reach the peak. I stiffened under him as I shuddered into what felt like a million pieces. He continued moving until his own release came seconds later.
He collapsed on top of me with us both breathing as if we’d climbed a mountain. Neither of us said a word even though I was dying to know what was wrong. I resumed caressing his back, figuring he’d say something eventually. His breathing evened out, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep until he lifted himself off me and headed to the bathroom to clean up.
I sat up in the bed, watching his retreating backside. The moment felt awkward and I wondered if I should get dressed. Maybe he wanted me to leave. I was still lying in bed confused when he returned. He climbed next to me, dragging me backward until I was spooned in his arms. He left a sweet kiss on my neck, stroking a hand up and down the length of my arm. I wanted to talk to him, but the mood in the room was almost tranquil, and after a few minutes my eyelids began to droop. I tried to stay awake, but my eyes were no longer cooperating. My last conscious thought was of Bentley exhaling deeply, like he’d been holding his breath.
The bed beside me was empty the next morning when I woke up. I saw my bag sitting on the floor, which meant Bentley had gone down to my car to get it. I got up and placed the bag on the bed, pawing through it to find a clean pair of jeans and my favorite pullover sweater. Once I had dressed and cleaned up a little in the bathroom, I walked out to search for Bentley. I found him in the living room watching some sports channel.
“Hey,” he greeted me. I eyed him critically for a moment, trying to read his mood.
“Hey,” I answered quietly, joining him on the couch.
He switched off the TV before turning to face me. He reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together. I watched as his mouth opened and then closed as if he had reconsidered what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said finally. His voice was slightly hoarse, like he was coming down with something. “I shouldn’t have been so rough,” he continued, looking me over carefully like he was checking for marks or something.
“It’s okay. What happened anyway?”
“Bad day at work.” He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.
“Oh.” The single word stuck in my throat. In all my possible scenarios, I neglected to think his mood had something to do with his job. I assumed it had something to do with us.
“Yeah. Big car accident on I-4.”
I wanted to tell him to stop or selfishly plug my ears to block him out. I froze, sitting like a statue as he talked. “It was awful. Three cars were involved. One was a minivan.” He ran his free hand over his head like he was trying to erase the image from his head. Images of my own accident filled my head. I saw the crushed Suburban clearly as if it happened only yesterday.
“Witnesses said the van flipped several times.” His voice shook slightly. I pulled my hand from his, though he didn’t notice. I didn’t want to hear any more. I couldn’t. It was too much. Too hard. Too painful. Too crushing. I made a move to stand up, but his next words sent me whirling out of control. “Everyone in the van died. Both parents and their three little kids. One of them was a goddamn baby. A baby, for Christ’s sake.” He sounded distressed. The words propelled me off the couch. He watched with bewilderment as I snatched my purse and keys off the coffee table. My bag was in his room, but I didn’t even attempt to retrieve it. I needed to leave. Like now.
“Mac, where are you going?” he called after me as I pulled the door open so fiercely I was surprised it didn’t come off the hinges. I didn’t answer him. My only objective was to leave as quickly as possible.
Bentley followed me, pulling on my arm to stop me. “Mac, what the hell is going on?” I avoided looking at him as I jerked my arm free. I was afraid to answer. Afraid of what would escape from my mouth in my frantic state. He easily kept pace with me as I made my way to the stairs, cursing my leg. I would have given anything at that moment to be able to run away and keep running. Anything to escape, but my leg held me up like it was encased in cement.
“Mackenzie,” Bentley pleaded, grabbing my hand and finally bringing me to a stop. It was the first time he’d used my old name. The effect was instantaneous as I ground to a halt to glare at him. “Answer me. Are you mad about last night? Did I hurt you? You have to talk to me. You’re ripping out my guts here. I need to know what’s going on in your head.”
I looked at him, feeling a deep hurt that matched the look on his face. That was my fault. I was responsible for the pain he was feeling. Knowing that did not stop the words that left my mouth. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what? What can’t you do?” His voice softened as he tried to make sense of my words.
“All of this. I can’t be the girl you want me to be. I can’t love you. I can’t support you and I sure as hell can’t hear about your job. Do you understand that? I am not a whole person. I’m as broken as the window you found me behind the night of my accident. Listening to you tell me about some accident on I-4 feels like you’re reaching into me with a dull spoon and removing the last of my heart. I’m shattered, Bentley.” I pulled my hand away. This time he let go willingly. Turning on my heel, I limped away, leaving him behind. Now he would finally see why I had insisted on kee
ping to myself for so long. I didn’t have it in my heart to support anyone other than myself.
I made it to my car without completely breaking down. What had I done? The pain in my heart was so intense I literally couldn’t breathe. By now, you would think I could handle this kind of pain. That it would feel normal. It should have been as comfortable as a pair of old shoes, but it was none of those. It was raw and more abrasive than I remembered.
I pulled out of the parking lot, ignoring the checklist of steps I usually had to complete before I felt comfortable enough to drive. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I had no idea where to go. No destination in mind. I just drove. I left the campus behind, driving through a residential area that bled into businesses and stores. Eventually, my tears dried up, but that didn’t mean I felt any better.
I looked both ways as I approached a stop sign at a two-way intersection. My eyes focused on two little girls who were skipping along the sidewalk, holding hands. Memories of my best friend flooded me when I noticed that their pinkies were linked.
• • •
graduation night 2013
Zach reached over and reassuringly squeezed my hand as he backed out of our parking space. His touch was comforting, but at the same time felt like a good-bye. I glanced in the rearview mirror at Tracey, who looked as troubled as I felt. Releasing Zach’s hand, I reached for Tracey, lacing her pinkie with mine like we’d done since we were little. Our Pinkie Connection was something we’d never shared with anyone else. It was our version of holding hands, sealing a deal or making a promise. Her eyes filled with tears, which she quickly wiped away with her free hand. I acknowledged her by squeezing her pinkie with mine. There was no way I could throw away a fifteen-year friendship. Little did I realize it would be the last Pinkie Connection we would ever share. If I had—I would never have let go.