Page 187 of Fixation

Too.

Late.

She didn’t have time to buckle up. And I’m here. Here instead of there.

I watch the scene unfold for what feels like hours. It’s actually seconds.

Traitorous concept of time.

My brain is splintering with each second she’s not in my arms. The pressure in my chest, goddammit, it’s too much.

You failed her.

From this angle, I can see the driver isn’t even fully inside the car anymore. His legs are still hanging over the blown airbags while his upper body dangles halfway out the window. Shards of glass have shredded his skin and he’s bleeding.

He’s probably dead.

I’ll have to make sure that he is. If not, I’ll perform the world’s most ruthless CPR, cracking his ribs until they punctured a million holes in his lungs.

Harper.

She matters.

My entire universe is inside that car. Limp. Helpless.

Anything could’ve happened to her, and I’m here. Sitting. Aching. Praying for a God who rarely listens, if He’s there at all.

Enough of this bullshit. I need to act. Need to focus.

Years in the ER kick in and pull me out of the spiral.

I’m thrusted back into my body.

I might be late, but I’m here now, throwing myself out of the car. It’s the fastest I’ve ever moved in my life.

A small crowd begins to gather on the sidewalk.

“You did it. You killed them.” A woman’s voice hardly registers. “I have the whole thing on my phone.”

Her accusations blur into noise.

The only thing I care about is getting Harper to a hospital. A real hospital, because fuck. She might be bleeding internally. I wouldn’t be able to tell without a CT scan.

We’ll get to the hospital soon enough. She’ll be fine, my Harper.

When I get to her, my stomach churns. Bile rises in my throat.

Her body’s limp. Her eyes are closed.

Her eyes. Are. Closed.

She isn’t dead. Can’t be.

I compartmentalize my love for her. Put it in a box to save for later.

How do I fix her?

First, I get her out of here.