The afternoon heat beats down on Sal as she steers Luke’s truck back to the farmhouse. She rolls down the window, letting the cool breeze blow through her hair, and smiles. Though her latest therapy appointment had gleaned nothing new, she’s making progress. Each time she’s gone, she’s encouraged. She has stuff to work with here. Slight flickers of memory that can grow. And if they don’t—her life may not be perfect, but it’s hers.
A myriad of thoughts run through her mind. The Brothers Kincaid’s gig last night at the Station Inn. Afterwards, drinks on Broadway at the purple bar called Tootsie’s. Making love to Luke all night long. Sal feels like she could run a marathon. In fact, that’s what she’ll do. When she gets back to the house, she’ll go for a run. She chuckles thinking about the security team trying to keep up with her.
Sal’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t realize she’s come up on Hellier Curve.
Fast.
Too fast.
The truck goes into a skid. The screech of tires has Sal death-gripping the wheel. Her eyes flash wide as she watches the ground come up in front of her.
Quick, she eases off the accelerator. She jerks the wheel, pumps the brakes, and manages to steer the truck onto the shoulder of Hellier Curve. It sideswipes the guardrail, spinning around before jolting roughly to a stop.
She sits in her seat, breathing heavily. Her hands still gripping the wheel, her knuckles bloodless.
Close. It was too close.
Like last time.
Like ... last ... time ...
Sal’s mind blurs with memory. Her head feels so fuzzy she can barely move. But she can think. She’s been here before. She knows this part because Luke told her.
Still ...
Sal glances over her shoulder at the center of the intersection. At the stop sign.
Unbuckling her seat belt, she exits the car. On numb legs, like she’s on some conveyor belt she can’t get off of, Sal drifts toward the center of the road, her body trembling, her face draining of blood.
And then she’s back in that night.
The night of the accident.
Her seat belt buckled, she flew fast around Hellier Curve, this curve, only she had a stop sign, and she missed it. And there was a truck. It hit her head-on and flipped her car like it was a Hot Wheel.
Then there was a hand held out, stretching, reaching for—for Sal.
It was Seth. Sal can remember his wide, frantic eyes peering into the wreckage. His hand outstretched, his mouth moving around the words I’ll help you.
And he did. He got her out of there and kept her still and warm while they waited for the ambulance. Seth’s words, Stay with me, a frantic keen on repeat. His hands were red, shaking, soaked in blood. Her blood. Her blood and her—
Sal gasps.
Her baby’s.
Letting out an anguished cry, Sal falls to her knees in the middle of the road. She clutches at her stomach and doubles over.
Oh God, a baby.
Seth downshifts the Bronco, expecting the stop sign. What he sees when he turns the curve has him slamming his brakes.
Luke’s Ford sits on the shoulder of the road. Smashed into the guardrail, the hood smoking.
And—sitting in the middle of the gravel road is Sal. Sal—in the same spot where she had her accident. Her head bowed, her hands listless in her lap.
Dread overtakes Seth.
Christ, no. Not again.