Heat from the engine washed over me, pulled from the breeze on the bridge. Safety glass covered the seat and me. Blinking, I peered out the shattered front window. Peter’s side of the truck was smashed into a pylon. There would be no getting him out that way. We had been knocked clean into the empty northbound lane. I could see the islands past Peter and the guardrail they were repairing. Something…something had ripped the hood off Nick’s blue truck. I could see the engine, steaming and twisted. Shit, it was almost in the front seat with me along with the front window.

A man was shouting. I could hear people and car doors shutting. I turned to Peter. Oh, hell.

I tried to move, shocked when my foot caught, panicking until I decided it wasn’t moving because it was stuck, not because it was broken. It was wedged between the console and the front of the seat. My jeans were turning a wet black from the calf down. I think I had a cut somewhere. My eyes traveled numbly down my leg. It was my calf. I think I’d cut my calf.

“Lady!” a man said as he rushed up to my window, gripping the empty frame with a thick hand, a wedding ring on his finger. “Lady, are you okay?”

Peachy, I thought, blinking at him. I tried to say something but my mouth wasn’t working. An ugly sound came out of me, chilling.

“Don’t move. I called the ambulance. I don’t think you’re supposed to move.” His eyes went to Peter beside me, and he turned away. I heard the sound of retching.

“Peter,” I whispered, my chest hurting. I couldn’t breathe deeply, so keeping my breaths shallow, I struggled with my seat belt. It came undone, and while people shouted and gathered like ants on a caterpillar, I pulled my foot free. Nothing hurt yet. I was sure that would change.

“Peter,” I said again, touching his face. His eyes were closed but he was breathing. Blood seeped from a ragged cut over his eye. I undid his seat belt, and his eyelids fluttered.

“Rachel?” he said, his face scrunching up in hurt. “Am I dead yet?”

“No, sweetheart,” I said, touching his face. Sometimes the transition from living to dead goes in a heartbeat, but not with this much damage, and not with the sun still up. He was going to take a long nap to wake hungry and whole. I managed a smile for him, taking my pain amulet off and draping it over him. My chest hurt, but I didn’t feel anything, numb inside and out.

Peter looked so white, his blood pooling in his lap. “Listen,” I said, adjusting his coat with my red fingers so I couldn’t see the wreckage of his chest. “Your legs look okay, and your arms. You have a cut above your eye. I think your chest is crushed. In about a week you can take me dancing.”