A chill runs down my spine when I hear engines behind me, and I look up and into my rearview mirror. Not one but six different imports are on my ass, two behind me and the other four creeping up beside me.
“Hey, I’ve gotta go, babe.” I try to hide the concern in my voice, but my girl never misses a beat.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me, Mark.”
“Nothing.” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold it together because I have no idea how I’m going to break away from them now that they have me surrounded. “There’s just a lot of traffic, and I need my hand to switch gears.”
“You have Bluetooth.” She pauses for a second. “What’s that sound I hear in the background? Are you at a race?”
“Something like that.” I hate to lie, but how do I explain this without freaking her out?
Before I can get in another word, the car to my left slams into my quarter panel, forcing me to grip the wheel tighter, causing me to accidentally hit the button for the phone, hanging up on Olivia.
Shit. I could already hear the panic in her voice. This will only set her over the edge.
Looking in my mirror, I can see the asshole I raced last weekend, his shitty import boxing me in. They lost fifty grand because of our crew. Why the fuck are they ganging up on me? We drive as a team, regardless of who has better dial-ins.
I have no escape and no way out of this mess. Stuck on a highway late at night with very few cars, no one would even think twice about stopping.
Worried I will need backup, I use the voice command and say into the speakers, “Call Fat Tony.”
“This’d better be good if you’re waking me up,” Tony says, his voice groggy and deep.
“The Long Island Lowriders have me boxed in on 76. I don’t know what the fuck they want, but I can’t get away from them.”
He sighs, and I can hear some rustling. “Where are you right now?”
“A few minutes from the Passyunk exit.”
His keys jingle in the background, followed by a door slamming. “I’ll do my best to get there by the time you reach the exit. Get them to follow you down our way. I’m calling the guys right now. We’ll take care of the rest.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Tony.”
I give the pedal more gas, jerking the car to my right, and the driver next to me moves in response but not enough that I can cut out from the pack. He quickly rebounds, his car lining up with mine and keeping pace. My only hope is that I can goad them into taking the exit with me. With cars on every side of me, I know I am fucked.
As much as it pains me to do any kind of damage to my baby, I have no choice but to cut the wheel hard now that we’re almost at the exit. When I slam into the Evo, the car swerves to the right and toward the guardrail. We’re going over eighty miles per hour. The hit does enough damage to make me cringe.
What choice did I have?
The exit comes into focus, lit by the dull streetlamps, and I can smell freedom. Now, if only I can get them to do what I want. One more tap causes the driver to veer to the right. When I think I have enough room to get past them, I punch the gas, but I’m completely taken off guard when the driver to my right slams on his brakes, and the one to my left to my left smashes into my door.
It all happens so fast, in a haze of white dotted lines from the road, the green glow of the exit sign, and then the shine of the fenced-in guardrail. I hit the emergency brake, but it’s too late. Going over ninety miles per hour, the front end of my car collides with the cement barrier at an odd angle. I’m airborne, the car flipping several times. I have no control. The windshield smashes on impact.
But it’s the force of the airbag that knocks the wind out of me, blurring my vision. I can’t feel a thing. My body is completely numb. Overcome by sleep, I close my eyes to the sound of police cars off in the distance.
OLIVIA
For the tenth time in a row, Mark’s phone goes straight to voice mail. I’m starting to feel like a stalker, but I’m so damn worried about how we hung up, and I have this eerie feeling that will not go away. He never does things like this. Pacing through my living room, I bite down on my bottom lip, holding on to my cell phone with an iron grip, hoping he will call back at any second.
Another two hours pass in the same fashion before my phone rings…and it’s Donna. I let out a sigh of frustration and hit the Answer button.
“Hey, I can’t talk right now. I’m waiting for a call.”
“Are you sitting down?” She breathes loudly into the phone.
“No. Why?”
“You might need to take a seat for what I’m about to tell you.”
Collapsing onto the couch, I lean back against the cushions, my stomach in knots. “Okay. Spit it out.”
“It’s Mark—”
“What about him?” Panicked, the bile rises up my throat, choking me.
“He’s been in an accident. It’s bad…really bad.”
My heart pounds in my chest, beating so fast that I have trouble breathing. “What?” I gasp for air, tears spilling down my face. “Is he okay?”
“They took him to Hahnemann’s Trauma Center He had internal bleeding from something that punctured one of his organs. I don’t know all the specifics.”
I fan myself with my hand, my skin on fire. The burning sensation that creeps up my chest and down my legs is so overwhelming, I could pass out. “I…I think I’m having a heart attack,” I sob into the phone. “I…can’t…breathe.”
“Hey, Liv, don’t check out on me. You’re okay. It’s a panic attack. Tony and I are on our way over to get you. We’re going to the hospital.”
“How bad was the accident?” I choke out. “Was he racing?”
“No, it was the guys from the crew they beat from Long Island. Mark called Tony to help him out, but by the time the cops got there, they had 76 shut down at the Passyunk exit. I doubt they even know what happened.” A brief pause passes between us, and the road noise in the background dies down. “We’re outside your apartment. Come down.”
My feet move faster than I expected as I grab my coat and purse, lock the door behind me, and run down the stairs. In my condition, I shock myself by not taking a header, and my feet slam hard into the tiled floor once I hit the bottom landing.
Donna gets out of the car to pull me into her arms and hugs me tight, her grip surprisingly strong as she digs her fingers into my back. “It will be okay. How are you feeling?”
“Not good. I need to see him.”
She opens the back door and holds it for me, waiting until I slide onto the leather backseat before shutting it behind me.
“Thanks for picking me up,” I say to Tony. “Have you heard anything yet?”
“Not much.” He shakes his head, his gaze traveling to the rearview mirror, as he grips the shifter and pulls out from the parking space and onto the street. “The last I heard, they were taking him to the hospital. I called Luca to see if he could get ahold of Mark’s mom. I tried ringing his house a few times, but no one answered.”
Sitting back in my seat, I wrap my arms around myself, and the tears start. They don’t stop until we step into the emergency room. Luca and Hunter are already here with their girlfriends, the two girls crying on the arms of each man. While Luca and Hunter know about me, I insisted that Mark leave formal introductions alone until after he graduated, out of fear someone would find out about us. But I have a feeling it will not be long until our relationship is exposed.
Some of the guys from Mark’s team are waiting next to their coach, who is leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his legs, his head propped up with his palms pressed into his face. We take a seat across from Luca, Hunter, and the girls.
We wait for what feels like hours, days, years, as Mark’s fraternity brothers and the rest of his team members shuffle into the waiting room, filling up the remaining chairs, some of them forced to stand. At least one hundred people must be here, all of them with fear in their eyes.
; I can tell Luca wants to hold it together to keep his girlfriend from balling her eyes out all over again because she finally stopped. Mark loves him like a brother, has known him longer than anyone in this room, so I can only imagine how hard this must be for him to sit here and do nothing more than wait.
Leaning on Donna’s shoulder, my cheek pressed against her jacket, the tears streaming down my face, I say a silent prayer that Mark will be okay. I need him to be okay. Donna runs her fingers through my hair to soothe me. Just having her, the only person I know in the crowded room, next to me brings me some form of comfort, no matter how small that might be.
Afraid to look around the room, too scared to show my face around some of my students, I hide like a coward, using Donna and my hand as my shield.
It’s not until I hear someone yell, “My baby,” her shrieks pulling me from my own grief, that I peek out from Donna’s hair and see a middle-aged woman with long auburn hair, making a scene at the nurses’ station window.
“Listen, ma’am—”
“No, you listen to me,” she interrupts the nurse, her hand raised in the air.
I can practically smell the alcohol coming off her breath from my chair.
“He is my son, and I have every right to know about his condition.”
“Ma’am, if you could please take a seat,” the nurse says, speaking to who I assume is the mother Mark grinds his teeth over every time he speaks about her.
She has a teenage girl next to her, who must be his sister, Sammy. She’s dressed in baby-blue-and-white-striped pajamas, her eyes puffy from crying and her hair piled on top of her head.
Luca stands and says, “Victoria, knock it off!” His deep voice rumbles in the quiet room.
She spins around to face us, dark makeup streaked under her eyes and running down her cheeks with red lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth. Her stained jeans and T-shirt complete the haggard look. Despite her disheveled appearance, I notice Mark has the same auburn hair, except his has more brown where hers is more red and curled at the ends. They have the same green eyes that practically jump off their faces, combined with the same dusting of freckles on their cheeks.
“It will be okay,” Luca promises. “Mark is a fighter.”
His words bring more tears to my eyes, forcing me to wipe them away with the back of my hand. Luca and Hunter offer their chairs to Victoria and Sammy, who are now sitting directly across from me. Luca holds on to the arm of Victoria’s chair and drops to the floor, bent at the knees next to Mark’s mother.
Hunter hasn’t glanced up from the tiled floor since we walked into the emergency room. He steps to the side, his eyes pointed down, and grabs ahold of his girlfriend’s arm to give it a loving stroke. Their affection toward each other reminds me of what I have with Mark and how much I need him to pull through this.
While Luca attempts to calm Mark’s mother, his sister glances around the room, a tiny smile on her lips when she takes in how many people have gathered for her brother. When I first met him, Mark might have been a jerk with a dirty mouth to match, but he has a lot of people who care about him in this hospital, all of us hoping for the same outcome.
Sammy locks eyes with me, her expression changing from confusion to realization. “You’re Olivia,” she squeals in delight, which attracts some of the attention from his fraternity brothers and teammates.
I nod. “You must be Sammy. He talks about you all the time.”
“You’re even prettier in person.” She jumps up from her chair to stand next to me. “He’s never talked about a girl before…at least not until he met you.”
“Thank you. You’re sweet. But how did you know who I was?”
Sammy moves in front of me, blocking my view of her distraught mother. “He has a picture of you on his phone. I saw it when he came by the house last week to make us dinner.”
I have no idea what to say. When the hell did he take a picture of me? I don’t recall posing for one.
“I hope it wasn’t too embarrassing,” I joke.
“No, not at all.” Her movements are very comedic as she speaks with her hands. “You were sleeping.” She lowers her voice, so only I can hear—and maybe Donna. “Mark says you’re his lucky charm. My brother is in love with you, ya know.”
If only Mark were the one saying those words to me right now because I am madly in love with him.
“Well, I hope he gets the chance to tell me that himself.”
The door at the front of the room swings open. A handsome thirty-something doctor dressed in navy-blue scrubs and a white lab coat walks into the room with a file in his hand, his dark hair gelled perfectly into place. He has a sour expression on his face that makes my stomach knot. I grind my teeth, my hands balled into fists on my lap, as I brace myself for the bad news.
The nurse points at Mark’s mother, and the doctor follows her finger down the row, stopping between our chairs.
“Mrs. Montgomery?” He clears his throat, a beat passing between them before she looks up at him.
“Yes,” she croaks, “that’s me.”
“I’m Dr. Bryant. Your son, Mark, was in a serious car accident. The paramedics and fire department had to pull him from the wreck. He was critical when he first came into the hospital. I fixed his broken arm, and it will heal over the next few weeks—”
“Which arm?” his coach interrupts.
“His right arm.”
Coach sighs and digs his fingers into his eyes, fighting back his tears. Mark pitched with his right arm, the same arm that won them the game against Penn State and his only shot at a better life for his family. My spirit and any hope I had for his recovery shatter, as I know that this injury will destroy him. Baseball is his life.
The doctor continues, “He had internal bleeding from his spleen rupturing from the impact of the crash, so I had to remove it. He also had six fractured ribs and two that were broken. My biggest concern is the severe concussion. Mark is stable, but we need to keep him for observation for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. His brain function looks good, so he should wake up and have all of his cognitive functions, but he might have side effects, such as short-term memory loss, migraines, and vomiting.”
“Can he play ball again?” one of his teammates calls out.
Doctor Bryant turns to face the boy and shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid not—at least, not anytime soon. We will know more about his condition once he wakes up on his own. Like I said, the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical to his recovery.”
“I need to see my boy,” his mother says, sniffing back her tears.
“We’re moving him to another room right now. The nurse will let you know when Mark is ready for visitors.”
His mother’s face deflates along with the rest of ours.
I sink back into my chair, contemplating what this means for Mark, for his family, and for his career. And what this could mean for us now that our relationship has been exposed, the eyes of some of my students staring in my direction not lost on me.
An hour later, a nurse walks into the emergency waiting room to tell Mark’s mother that he’s ready for visitors and that only four of us are allowed in the room at a time. I assume Luca and Hunter will follow Sammy and Victoria out the door and to the elevators, but Hunter surprises me and offers me his place, promising to keep Luca’s girlfriend company while he waits with his girlfriend and the rest of his fraternity brothers.
They were starting to get rowdy after taking turns going into the parking lot to pound beers for Mark, most of them wasted by the time they swapped seats. His teammates were not any better once they joined the frat bros, the waiting room now reeking of beer and sweat.
The ride up to Mark’s floor is awkward, to say the least. Considering Luca has known Victoria since he was a kid, you can cut the tension with a knife. Sammy hasn’t said much since we last spoke, too busy consoling her semi-drunk mother who reeks of booze and is stinking up the elevator. I haven’t said much to Luca
either, mostly because I feel stupid that he’s my student and that I made my relationship with Mark public by showing up at the hospital and sitting with his friends, as if I were one of them.
When we walk into his room, Mark has a cast on his right arm and bruises and cuts on his face—some of them closed over with tiny bandages while others are left open and looking raw—as a nurse finishes with his sutures. She places instruments on a metal table next to her, but Victoria practically lunges herself at Mark, hovering over his bed.
“My baby,” she says as she reaches out to touch his hand.
“Please stand back,” the nurse scolds, giving Victoria a look so sharp, it could cut through glass. “You can see him when I am finished.”
Luca grips Victoria by her skinny biceps and helps her into a chair near the door. For someone who was such a bad mother to Mark, her sudden outbursts shock me. And Luca seems just as irritated with her behavior as Sammy is, who sits next to her mother with a scowl.
The nurse threads the last stitch on Mark’s handsome but now scratched up face and then tucks the blankets into the sides of his bed before rolling the metal cart she used for the sutures to the opposite side of the room.
“He’s all yours,” the nurse says to Victoria with a wave of her hand.
Now that I have a better view of Mark, I feel sick to my stomach, seeing how bad his face looks with all the stitches and bandages. His mother leans down to kiss his forehead, his sister standing next to her and holding on to the metal rail on his bed. A few minutes pass with his mother whispering things to him, almost falling over the rail as she leans into his ear. It’s not until she switches places with Sammy and she takes Mark’s hand in hers that I finally see some movement.
His sun rises and sets with that girl, which is why I’m not the least bit surprised when his eyes flutter a little as she rubs her thumb on his skin. She softly tells him that she’s here and to wake up because she needs him and can’t do this without him. From her sweet gesture, tears well up in my bottom lids, and when I see Mark open his eyes for the first time, my heart leaps from my chest.
Teach (City of Sinners Book 1) Page 11