Wilder

I closed my eyes, but the images were only more vivid in my imagination, so I opened them again, turning over so I could see Paxton’s face instead of Brian’s. I concentrated on the curve of his chin, the line of his mouth, afraid that if I saw his eyes, I couldn’t continue. “The first impact was rough. I only remember the drop in my stomach as we fell, and then the jarring stop. Then nothing until I woke up hours later.”

Paxton brushed the hair back behind my ears but stayed silent, simply listening. “When I came to, Brian’s body was pinned to his seat by this branch as thick as my arm. There was blood…so much blood. And he was already gone. I don’t know how long I cried, suspended there by my seat belt, but it felt like an eternity. Once I got myself under control, I saw that my door was jammed shut, but I could get out of Brian’s…but I couldn’t climb over him. I couldn’t use him like a step stool to live while he’d died.

“My phone had been flung out of my hand, and when I heard it ringing from the hatch in the back, I thought it would be easier, better for him, if I unbuckled, and got to it. I could get help. But the shift in weight—”

My eyes squeezed shut, feeling it all over again. Paxton kissed my eyelids, grounding me, keeping me with him instead of in the past.

“The shift in weight caused the car to fall again, this time farther, until we hit a massive boulder, and I was a ping-pong ball in the car, hitting…everything. My legs…they went through the windshield.”

Paxton hissed and pressed a kiss to my forehead like that would take away the pain, and oddly enough, it slightly did.

“Once…once I got myself back into the car, I knew I had to get to the ledge next to us. The car was balanced so precariously. I wanted to take Brian, I did. But that branch had broken off inside the car—he was still pinned to the seat.”

I opened my eyes but kept them on Paxton’s chin, my gaze unfocused. “I don’t know how long I sat there debating. Probably hours. Every time I shifted my weight, the car moved, so by the time I found the courage to climb out—to go over Brian— I got out just before the car fell. There was no time to even try to get him. I couldn’t even give his body to his mother.”

“That is not your fault,” he said softly, anchoring me in the now, pulling me back from where the memories didn’t want to let go.

I ignored his absolution. There were some wounds that time scabbed but never truly healed. “The ledge was big enough for me to pull myself onto, but barely big enough for my butt, and my legs were useless, so I held on to the rocks and the vegetation, and I prayed that I wouldn’t black out from the pain. The car fell one last time and burst into flames about five hours later, and I was about ready to let go when the rescue crews arrived.”

“Oh, baby,” he whispered against my skin, his arms tightening around me.

“There were so many times I thought about letting go, giving in. I’d spent all my life preparing for these huge life struggles—for college, and morals, and what I would do with my life. In six hours, that ledge taught me more about life than I had learned in the previous eighteen years. The hardest battles—the most meaningful ones—they’re fought against ourselves. Against our own fears, our own weaknesses, our own shattered expectations of what we thought this life would be. I’d almost forgotten that until today, when I had to make that same choice.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept stroking my hair, letting me take my time.

“My legs…the infection set in and caused all sorts of issues with the draining and setting the bones, and well… They are what they are—a constant reminder that I didn’t have the courage to get out of the car when I should have, a reminder that I lived but Brian didn’t.”

“A testament to how strong you are,” he added.

I shrugged. “That’s how I met Rachel. We were both in the orthopedist’s office, me for my legs, her for a broken arm. When we realized that we were both headed to Dartmouth in the fall, we clicked. She’s my polar opposite, the wild to my safe, the impulsive to my logic. She pulled me through. That first year…the grief was so deep, the nightmares way too realistic, the panic attacks cruelly frequent… I know she kept me alive. I honestly can’t believe I actually came here without her.”

Paxton tilted my head, wearing an expression I couldn’t read. “I’m glad you did. I couldn’t imagine spending these last months without you. Every single second has been amazing.”

“Even today?” I joked.

He kissed me gently, but with a touch of desperation that hadn’t been there before. “Especially today.”

I somehow felt naked, exposed. “Paxton, will you tell me about Nick? He’s the one who’s paralyzed, isn’t he?”

His eyes widened momentarily, but he nodded. “The triple front was always the trick he wanted to master, to nail first. And like an idiot, I jokingly challenged him, told him I’d nail it first. He wasn’t ready, and neither was I, honestly. After the accident, he wouldn’t see anyone, even Brooke.”

“Brooke?” I asked.

“Yeah, they’d been together for years. He shut everyone out, and we kept it quiet out of respect for him. He finally reached out when he heard about the documentary, which was the whole point, and he’s been a godsend.”

“Really? How?”

“All the equipment design has been him, that kicker I’m using for the front? It’s his. But he figured out why we’re doing this whole thing, and he wanted to be a part of it.”