Her face lit up.
I knew she still loved her daughter when she wasn’t high or drunk. Annabelle was the only good thing she’d accomplished.
“Fine.” She stood on shaky stick legs. “I’ll go.”
We drove back to New Haven in silence.
The shakes started on the outside of town, and then her teeth were chattering uncontrollably, regardless of the coats from the back seat I’d dumped on her. By the time we got to the house, I only had enough time to knock on the door and tell my parents I was taking her for treatment. I had no idea how bad things had gotten and I was worried that keeping her at the house would end up in a 911 call. I asked them to call ahead because her situation kept getting worse.
Withdrawal could kill a person. And she didn’t have much on her body anymore.
I felt her head as she leaned against the window, tears streaming down her face as she clenched her teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
I wasn’t sure I believed it, but I had to be strong for both of us. I hit the accelerator and ran through a red light just as a siren sounded behind me.
Really? I never get a ticket, and now I’m getting pulled over?
“Hold tight.” I tucked her in as best I could and hit the down button on my window as a light landed on my face, blinding me.
“Make a habit of running through red lights?” came Jason’s smooth voice.
And something about his tone, or maybe the way he smelled, and I just burst into big, fat, ugly tears.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa… It’s just a red—” He flashed the light across the seat and pointed it back at me. “What’s going on?”
“She was back in the city — said she’d go to rehab — withdrawals—” I hiccupped then tried to calm down, even though I was hyperventilating. When he opened up the car door and pulled me roughly against his chest, I clung to him like he was my lifeline. And he let me.
“I’ll escort you. Can you still drive?”
I nodded against his chest.
“You taking her to the center?”
Another nod.
“I’ll drive ahead of you. We can get her there in two minutes. They know she’s coming?”
I sniffled. “I think my parents called.”
“I’ll call, too, on my way. Let’s go.”
And for some stupid reason, I blurted, “Ride like the wind, bulls-eye.”
He just stared at me, sadness etched across his features as he nodded. “Ride like the wind.”
I’d always told him that before each game; it had been a joke. We’d loved movies and Toy Story had been a personal favorite for no other reason than we’d been best friends since we could talk, and it had been our thing back in the day.
He pressed a hard kiss to my forehead then ran back to his car. Sirens on, he peeled out in front of me.
I hit the accelerator and followed both my heart — and my savior.