Play It Again (7 page)

This is a girl letting go, a girl having
fun.

She’s laughing with Kim, smiling so big that
it looks painful.

So damn pretty.

I think I could watch her dance like this,
smile like this, for hours, days even.

But then the song ends and instant
disappointment hits me, settling deep in my gut as Piper stops
moving.

“Play it again,” I say. “Someone needs to
play that song again.” The words are out of my mouth and in the air
before I have enough sense to restrain them or even realize what
I’m saying.

I glance at Wes, hoping like hell he didn’t
hear me, because Jesus, who says something like that? But he did.
He heard me. I can see the amusement flash in his eyes. He’s silent
for a tick, regarding me peculiarly, and then he throws his head
back and laughs. Hard. So hard he nearly falls off his chair. The
animated sound draws the girls’ attention, and they make their way
back to the table, only a few short strides.

Kim’s eyes flicker to me before focusing on
Wes. Quirking a brow, she asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Play it again,” Wes chokes out, laughing
harder.

Piper’s brow furrows, looking at me. “What’s
he talking about?”

I cut my eyes at Wes, feigning irritation,
before letting out a rueful laugh and glancing back at Piper. “I
might
have been disappointed that the song ended and you
stopped dancing, and I
might
have expressed that I wanted
someone to play it again.”

“Oh,” Piper half whispers, looking away
bashfully. It doesn’t escape my notice that her cheeks flush.

She opens her mouth to say something else,
but doesn’t get the chance, because Jimmy is suddenly there,
throwing his arm over her shoulder. “Come on, Pipes. Time to get
out of here.”

Piper

“Jimmy, let go,” I say, trying to push my
way out of his grasp. “What’s wrong with you?”

He doesn’t let go, dragging me out of the
bar, into the parking lot. “Tara’s here,” he says. “She’s pissed,
we had words, and we need to go before I get tossed out.”

“What do you mean you had words?” I ask
incredulously, digging my heels in, trying to get him to stop, but
only succeeding in making myself stumble in my sandals.

He steadies me quickly, not slowing down, and
pulls the keys to my truck out of his pocket. “Just trust me, we
need to go.”

He only makes it another step before Vance
and Wes catch up to us, cutting in front of him, and Jimmy comes to
a sudden stop, letting me go instantly.

“You’re not driving her anywhere.” Vance’s
voice is low and menacing, and he snatches the keys out of Jimmy’s
hand.

“Hey.” Jimmy reaches for the keys. “Give
those back.”

Vance merely holds them higher, shaking his
head. “You’ve been doing shots for the last forty minutes.”

“Fine, whatever,” Jimmy says, dropping his
hands. “But I need to get out of here.”

Wes folds his arms over his chest, looking
pissed off. “This have anything to do with the young blonde at the
bar?”

Jimmy nods. “She’s my ex. It got ugly, she
said some things, I said some things, and then the bartender told
me to get out or he’d have me escorted out and he’d call the
cops.”

“What did you say to her?” Kim asks, catching
up to us, her tone stern.

Jimmy shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. We
just have to go.”

Vance narrows his eyes and his teeth
clench.

“We’ll call a cab,” I say, reluctantly, not
liking the idea. I’m really not a fan of letting someone I don’t
know drive me around. It’s like putting my life in the hands of a
stranger.

But Jimmy’s supposed to be our driver, and if
he’s been doing shots, then he’s just as unsafe to drive with as a
cabby.

“No, I’ll take you,” Vance says, as he digs
into his pocket. He pulls out his keys and tosses them to Wes. “You
mind taking Kim home, and then picking me up at Piper’s?”

Wes catches the keys. “I’m on it.”

Kim grins, looking from Vance to me
curiously, before she links her arm through Jimmy’s. “Come on,
dumbass,” she says. “You can stay with me tonight.”

I start to protest, but Kim won’t hear it.
She quickly says goodbye, making me promise to call her as soon as
I wake up, and then the three of them take off toward Vance’s
truck, and Vance leads me to mine.

Opening the door for me, Vance helps me climb
up, giving me a little boost, before shutting me in. I toss my
purse in the back of the cab, and then clip my seatbelt, as Vance
comes around to the driver’s side, hops in, and starts it up. He
then backs out of the parking space and pulls out of the lot.

We drive in comfortable silence for a few
minutes, and my nerves for once don’t make an appearance. I think
it’s the alcohol mixed with exhaustion, making me feel so at
ease.

“I had fun tonight,” I say, breaking the
silence. “Thanks for driving me home.” My voice comes out scratchy
and dry, and I lean back, shoving my hand through the seat feeling
around for my purse. I bet I have some mints in there or gum.

Vance steals a quick glance at me and smiles,
before turning his eyes back to the road. “I had fun, too.”

Silence falls once more.

I keep reaching around, straining my arm,
tapping my hand along the floor. God, my throat feels so dry it
hurts.

Where is that purse?

“What are you doing?” Vance asks.

“Looking for my purse.”

Giving up on the blind hand search, I unclasp
my seatbelt and turn around, leaning into the back of the cab,
looking around for it.

“Jesus Christ, Piper,” Vance says, his hand
landing on my hip as though to keep me steady. “Sit down and put
your seatbelt on. You can grab your purse when I get you home.”

“But I …” I start, but stop as an odd
rattling, clanking sound hits my ears, and Vance lets out a stream
of curses. I feel him touching the brakes, small little jerks, as
though he’s trying to slow down, but careful not to slam them on
with me not wearing a seatbelt.

“Piper, seatbelt, now,” Vance says, cutting
me off. His voice has an edge to it, one I’ve never heard from him
before, not even when he’s stressing about Kim. He sounds …
anxious? Maybe calm, too. Whatever it is, it’s unnerving.

I start to shuffle back, but I guess I’m not
moving fast enough, because he grips the waist of my jeans, tugging
me back into my seat, and then reaches across me, holding me in
place.

Then he hits the brakes, telling me to hold
on, and then the truck is bouncing, and we’re sliding, tipping,
jerking. My head hits the window, smashing hard enough that I hear
the glass crack. Time stands still for what seems like minutes,
though I’m sure it’s only seconds, and then the truck flips, and
everything goes dark.

Vance

Time moves in a blur. Mere seconds pass, but
it feels like an eternity as the truck tips over and crashes onto
the pavement. The driver’s side window shatters as it hits the
ground, the glass exploding inward, raining against the side of my
face in a million tiny shards. Piper jerks forward, wrenching at my
arm as I struggle to keep her in her seat.

Pain snaps through my wrist, shooting up my
elbow and into my shoulder. My grip on her begins to slip and panic
that I’m going to drop her stalks around the edges of my mind, but
I refuse to let it in.

Inhaling through my mouth and exhaling
through my nose, I try to breathe through the pain, and I tighten
my hold on her, pressing my forearm more snuggly against her chest
and digging my elbow into the seat beside her, holding her up, so
she doesn’t come tumbling into me.

The truck shudders, the metal frame
protesting this new, foreign position, and then everything goes
quiet and still, only the calm idle of the engine remaining.

For a beat, all I can do is sit here,
unmoving, unbreathing, one hand gripping the steering wheel, and
the other pressed against Piper’s chest.

My mind works fast trying to put all the
pieces together. The rattle, the shaking, a tire flying in the
rearview mirror, the truck bouncing, the rotor hitting the ground,
catching, tipping …

When my lungs finally manage an in and out
again, I blow out a long breath, ending it with the word,
“Fuck.”

And then, I turn to look at Piper.

Her head is down, her face hidden from my
view, and she’s breathing hard, her pulse hammering against my
forearm, but her body is slack, pressed tight against the center
console, and folding itself over my arm.

“Piper,” I say, my voice rough. “You okay,
honey?”

She doesn’t respond.

Not even a whisper.

“Piper,” I try again, louder this time.

Again, no response.

Heart pounding, my panic kicks up once more
and it’s all I can do to wrangle it and push it down. I shift in my
seat, careful not to let her go. Shards of glass dig into my hand
as I press it against the window frame, turning my body toward
her.

Something warm and wet trickles onto my
forearm as I move, and my eyes slice to it.

Blood. Oh shit, it’s blood.

I lean up toward her, my eyes frantically
scanning, searching for the source. The right side of her face is
covered in it, sliding down her cheek from her hairline.

My chest tightens, suddenly feeling as though
it’s engulfed in flames, and another curse leaves my lips on a
sharp exhale.

I stare at it.

A second passes.

Two.

And then I move into action.

Changing my grip on her, I wind my arm around
her, getting a more secure hold, and then I reach my free arm in
between us, hitting the release on my seatbelt, moving closer to
her, needing to see the rise and fall of her chest, the proof that
she’s alive.

She jostles in my arm, eliciting a sudden
gasp and sob from her lips that sends ice running down my
spine.

“Freckles, talk to me,” I say, bringing my
hand up to cup her bloodied cheek, tilting her face up, so I can
get a better look at her. “Open those eyes.”

She gasps again, followed by another quick
sob and a loud groan, and then her eyes open. She blinks a few
times, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly, and then she tilts her
head back, looking at me.

“Did you just call me freckles?” she rasps,
scrunching her nose. Her expression might be comical, if I wasn’t
so goddamn worried.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice harsh with unease. “I
did.”

She eyes me peculiarly, her nose scrunching
once more, the movement of her face causing more blood to slide
down her cheek and run over my hand.

She feels it. I see it in her eyes, a flutter
of confusion, and then realization settling in their depths.

“Oh, God, am I …?” she stalls, her shaky hand
flying up to her cheek, pressing against mine. “Is that …?”

Piper’s face pales as she pulls her hand
away, staring at the blood staining her palm and fingers. Her lips
begin to tremble, her breath hitches, her hand shakes.

“Don’t think about it,” I say quickly,
pushing her hand down out of her line of sight. “You’re fine.”

And she is fine.

She’s breathing.

She’s talking.

That’s good, right?

Head injuries bleed a lot. It’s probably not
as bad as it looks. It can’t be.

She eyes me dubiously for a tick, her gaze
flickering down to her hand once, twice, three times, before she
blows out a shaky breath. “Are you o-okay?”

I nod once. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“W-what happened?” she stammers out, her
voice borderline panicked, her eyes wide with fear, as she scans
them over me, searchingly, as though she’s not sure she should
believe that I’m good.

“Rear driver’s side tire came off,” I
say.

“You mean we got a flat?” she asks, frowning,
as she presses her arm against the center console, taking some of
her weight off me. “A flat tire flipped the truck?”

“No, Piper,” I respond, my tone, just as
disbelieving as hers. “The rim, the tire, it all came off.”

She stares at me, a mix of muddled skepticism
and blatant alarm flitting across her face. She doesn’t want to
believe me. I don’t blame her for that. It’s not like a tire, rim
and all, flies off vehicles every day.

“We’ve gotta get you out of here so I can
look at you,” I say, my gaze shifting past her, scanning over the
door at her back. “The door is gonna be hard to keep open, so I’m
gonna open your window, and you’re gonna need to climb out. You
think you can do that?”

She nods, wincing from the movement. “Yeah, I
think I can do that.”

I reach behind me, feeling around for the
button, not taking my eyes off her. After a moment of searching, my
finger hits the button, and I press down, allowing the window to
slide open.

“You ready?” I ask.

Piper nods again. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” I say. “Grab onto the window frame
and climb out. I’ll give you a boost, yeah?”

She gives me a wobbly, watery smile and
another nod, before she swivels in the seat and leans up, grasping
the window frame with both hands, and hoists herself up. Shifting
positions, I move my hands to her hips, grimacing at the stab of
pain that cuts through my wrist as I give her a boost.

Shit.
I think it’s sprained.

The truck groans and rocks as Piper scrambles
out, nearly kicking me in the face as she goes, but I manage to
avoid her flailing limbs. Her feet disappear from my view, and then
the truck settles again as she hops down, the soles of her shoes
clacking against the pavement.

Once she’s clear, I maneuver myself out of my
seat, crouching on the shattered remains of the window. As I rise,
I spot Piper’s purse in the corner of the back seat and I snag it,
before standing and pulling myself out the window.