Page 61 of Art of Love

Chapter Eighteen

Pain. The sound of waves.

Pain. The smell of salt water.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

With each wave that crashed onto the rocks, there was a pulse of pain that exploded everywhere. It consumed every single inch of his body.

What?

Where?

Why?

Dylan!

His eyes flew open. Desperate. Searching.

His throat was raw as he cried out for her.

His hands cut on rocks, glass, metal, as he searched.

His clothes were soaked. His right knee wouldn’t work, so he crawled across rocks towards the metal ball that used to be her car.

How had he gotten out of it? Why was he on the beach?

Then, a memory flashed quickly of him removing his seatbelt after the initial accident. He’d reached over for her, to help her, then… they had fallen off a cliff.

He spared a quick glance up, twenty maybe thirty feet up, where the road was. He continued to crawl through sand, rocks, debris. To her.

“Dylan,” he cried when he finally reached the car.

She was there, hanging upside down, her arms falling straight down, her hands resting on the top of her car. Her eyes were closed. Tiny cuts covered her face, arms, and hands.

“Dylan,” he said, sitting beside the car.

Her phone was right there, by her hand. Without thinking, he reached for it and punched 911 on its shattered screen. While he relayed their location, he felt for a pulse on Dylan’s neck with shaky hands. Feeling a strong beat, he let out a sigh of relief.

From what he could tell, she was whole. Cut up, bruised, maybe more, but she was alive.

He didn’t dare move her. First off, he doubted that he could catch her if he removed her seatbelt, which would cause her to fall head-first into the top of her twisted up car. Second, his vision was slowly fading, which meant he was most likely going to pass out soon.

He didn’t know how long he waited, biting the inside of his lip to keep himself awake. When he heard the sirens and the helicopter, he leaned back against the car door and held onto Dylan’s hand, feeling her steady heartbeat and waiting for rescue.

He woke as he was wheeled down a long bright hallway and instantly closed his eyes as pain shot through his head.

“Abe?” someone called to him. His eyes flew open when he realized it was Dylan. She was there, hovering above him, holding his hand. She had fresh bandages on her face and dark bruises under each eye, as if her nose had been broken. She was wearing a different shirt, maybe a hospital gown. She looked tired and the most beautiful she’d ever looked before.

“Dylan,” he groaned. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and a tear slipped down her face. “No, I’m okay. Cuts, bruises.” She smiled at him.

“Am I hurt?” he asked, feeling numbness. Her smile slipped. “My knee?”

She nodded slowly. “They’re going to prep you for surgery. They said something about pins.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “You were out for so long, I… I made the call and okayed the surgery.”

“I trust you.” He sighed. “When?”