A police officer in tactical gear saw me on approach and held up his hands. “Ma’am, you can’t be over here. Return to your vehicle.”
Ignoring him, I didn’t slow my pace. The air was forced from my lungs when an arm banded around my waist, but my legs kept kicking, trying to run, even though I was being restrained.
“Let me go!” I screamed, desperation surging through my veins.
“This is a contained crash scene,” the officer grunted, trying to contain my wild limbs.
“Where is he?!” My top priority was laying eyes on Sasha, and bile rose up my throat when I realized that might occur inside a morgue.
A second officer approached us, arms folded over his chest. “Ma’am, we’re gonna need you to calm down. Think you can do that?”
I shook my head. “No. Not until you tell me where the owner of that vehicle is.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You know the owner?”
My neck screamed in pain with how violently I nodded, breathing out, “Yes, Sasha Gusev. Is he—” I couldn’t bring myself to ask the question, but my tears must have gotten the message across.
Tugging on the back of his neck, the officer standing opposite me sighed. “He was unconscious but breathing when they took him away.”
Relief hit me so hard that I sagged in the first officer’s hold. “Where?” I demanded.
“If I had to guess, the closest Level 1 Trauma Center. Which in this case would be Indianapolis General downtown.”
Fuck. I’d just come from that direction, and with all the rubberneckers, it would be a while before I could get my car turned around and headed back that way.
“Is that Goose’s girl?” a voice called out, and my head whipped up to find a firefighter approaching us.
“Hasn’t said as much, but that’s the vibe I’m getting.” The officer behind me finally removed his arm from my waist, but when I crumpled to the ground, he cursed and crouched beside me. “You okay?”
“No,” I whispered. I wouldn’t be okay until I knew Sasha was going to survive.
The firefighter knelt before me, eyeing my scraped knees. “Think you can make it over to the truck? I can clean this out for you.”
“I’m fine,” I protested. “Just need to get to Sasha.”
Sad brown eyes stared at me, and I wanted to yell that I didn’t want his pity, but my energy was zapped. “How about I make you a deal? You let me take care of your minor case of road rash, and we’ll give you a lift into the city.”
Swallowing, I nodded my agreement, and he looped an arm around my waist to help me stand up.
I hobbled with his support over to the fire truck, sitting on the edge of a stamped metal staircase along the side. Wincing while he cleaned my wounds, I mumbled a “thank you” when he finished bandaging the broken skin with thick white gauze.
Snapping his case of first aid implements closed, he declared, “Let’s get moving.”
I burst through the double doors to the emergency room of Indianapolis General Hospital, rushing toward the intake desk. “Gusev,” I forced out. “Sasha Gusev. Car accident. Is he here?”
The nurse stood, grabbing a tablet and tapping on it. “Yes. They brought him in about an hour ago.”
Fingers gripping the edge of the counter, I begged, “I need to see him.”
She frowned at whatever information she read on the screen. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”
The worst-case scenario flashed before my eyes as the room began to spin and darkness crept into the corners of my vision. I vaguely recalled someone shouting and the sensation of falling, but I was numb to it all as I let the darkness drag me under.
I sat bolt upright with a gasp. Scanning the room, I found myself in a curtained-off area atop a gurney.
Instantly, memories rushed back.
Sitting inside Speed Arena and Bristol dropping the bomb that Sasha never arrived for the game.
