Free Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) by Carey Heywood

crumbled bug to us.
    My hands on the crank, my eyes on the car I notice movement beyond them. There, on the opposite bank of this mud river, are two more police officers. One of them is wearing a vest like the man holding on to Sydney’s car. Above all the noise, a siren wails, signaling the approach of something.
    Back up.
    My focus moves back to her bug. Inch by inch, we pull it toward us. When it’s only feet away, the man uses something to cut her seatbelt away.
    Then he lifts a hand and waves us closer. Stepping from her car, he pulls her from it and carries her toward us.
    I reach for her and he shakes his head.
    “Is she?”
    “There’s a pulse,” is his reply.
    The woman speaks into her radio. “We need a stretcher.”
    And as if summoned, two men are there. They carry a flat thin board and help the first police officer lie her on it. The female officer stands next to me, her hand on my shoulder silently offering me support.
    One of the paramedics triages her, the other putting a brace around her neck. Together, they lift the board she’s on and we follow them down to where the ambulance is parked behind the police SUV.
    I lumber into it after them. The younger of the two drives, the older man treating Sydney. He asks me questions about her history and allergies. I know nothing.
    Dragging a hand over my face, I stare at her unmoving body. Everything I know about her, her name, her age, her job, her address, and a host of other things is useless now.
    “Can I call her grandmother?” I ask, reaching into my pocket for my cell.
    He nods. “The signal is iffy up here. We’re taking her to Memorial if you get through.”
    As it rings, I reach over to hold her hand. It’s clammy and coated with mud. I get through. Mr. Fairlane takes the phone from Gigi and I tell him where we’re going. Faintly in the background I hear the beep of locks on a car. They’re on their way. The paramedic asks his questions again and I relay them to her grandfather.
    Once all of their questions are answered, I disconnect. That done, my attention goes tunnel, fully focused on the woman in front of me.
    Her chest rises and falls but there is no other indication that she’s okay. Her condition, her injuries, are given to the emergency room of the hospital we approach.
    There are words I don’t recognize mixed in with ones I do: broken, blood pressure, contusions, unresponsive, and pulse.
    Over and over again, I remind myself that she is breathing, that we both are. Somehow, fate smiled on us today since we are both alive.
    She’s hurt, though, to what extent I can’t tell. The paramedic does not appear to be frantic. Not that I have any experience riding in an ambulance prior to now.
    I’m comparing his behavior to medical dramas I don’t watch on TV.
    “Will she be okay?” I ask, suddenly anxious.
    Our arrival at the hospital interrupts his opportunity to respond. Still holding onto her hand, I stay beside her as they move her.
    I’m stopped at a set of double doors and told to wait.
    “But, will she be okay?” I ask again, not wanting to let her go.
    “We’ll have a better understanding of her condition soon, sir,” is the response I receive.
    That’s no help.
    Leaning over her, I brush my lips across her forehead. Then, she’s gone.
    All I can do now is wait. The air conditioning is going, my soaked clothes absorbing the chill and incasing me. I strip down to my boxers in a family bathroom and wring the excess water from what I wore. Then I dry them the best I can using the hand dryer.
    Instead of freezing, I’m now excessively cold. To stay warm, and keep myself from busting through those double doors, I pace.
    When my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Jake, I get up to take it outside. There’s an overhang I stand beneath to avoid the rain. It’s significantly warmer out here, which is a relief.
    Because I borrowed his truck, Jake and Kacey are the only ones apart from Sydney’s grandparents and my dad