Now that we were through the conglomeration, we were a little stuck. The label’s SUV was a ways up the street, blocked off from us by a mass of people. The buzzing crowd was behind us, and the street was in front of us. Since the rest of the band was safely tucked away, Kellan and I were now the only point of interest. Over my shoulder, I could see them all shifting our way. Kellan stuck his hand out for a taxi, trying to get us away, but trepidation shot up my spine as everyone zoned in on us.
The reporters kept up their questions, holding large microphones our way, hoping for a response. The paparazzi were pushing through the fans, trying to get a better angle. And the fans were in a dither having their idol so close to them. They didn’t even seem to care about what we’d said about Sienna, especially the ones who Kellan had brushed past as he was trying to get us away. Those ones looked elated, and they looked like they wanted to touch him some more. I understood that feeling, but the zealous energy growing in the crowd made me nervous.
“Kellan, I don’t like this, let’s get out here.”
Kellan nodded at me. “We’ll get a cab in a second.”
Just as he said it, the fans started to realize that he was getting away and surged forward. They swarmed around us, all hands and giggling laughter. Arms circled Kellan, hands ran up his chest, pens were shoved in his face, and cell phones recorded every moment. They squeezed between us, separating us. I tried to keep a hold on Kellan’s hand, but like a stretched rubber band, we eventually broke apart.
“We love you, Kellan!” rose above the din of the reporters and photographers shouting questions. Much to my surprise, just as many fans were clamoring for my attention as Kellan’s. I guess I was just as much an attraction as he was—the woman who had the Golden Boy’s heart. Some wanted to know what he was really like, some wanted to know how I felt about the music video, some even asked if I was pregnant. Overwhelmed, I instinctively backed up.
The press were behind the fans now, and they moved forward as more curious onlookers swelled the crowd. The curious, eager fans in front of us were pushed from behind, and with nowhere to go, they bumped into Kellan and me. Kellan held his ground, but I was pushed back so hard, I lost my footing. My heel slipped over the edge of the sidewalk. I hadn’t even realized I was that close to the street. I was even more aware of my proximity when I stumbled and fell into a lane of traffic. A fan reached for me, but she missed; I landed on my ass, hard. Dazed, confused, I stared at a pair of headlights baring down on me. The only thought that flashed through my head was that I hoped being hit by a truck wasn’t as painful as it seemed.
I started to get to my feet but was disoriented, and I knew I wouldn’t make it in time; the truck didn’t even seem to be slowing down. Then, like my own personal white night, or maybe, more fittingly, like a clearly deranged madman, Kellan recklessly rushed into the street. I was one hundred percent positive that I was about to witness my husband’s death. I was about to become a widow before I even had the chance to officially get married. I stopped breathing.
Kellan’s fingers closed over the tattoo of his name on my wrist, and he yanked me to my feet; I felt like my shoulder was being disconnected as pain torn up my arm. I heard the vehicle’s brakes squealing as it finally noticed us, but it was too late. When I crashed into Kellan’s chest, he shoved me behind him and put his hand up to the truck, bracing himself for impact. It was all he had time to do.
Oddly, even though I knew we were a microsecond away from something terrible happening, I couldn’t help but notice that it was a floral delivery truck about to hit us. My mind snapped to Kellan’s petal messages. I’d really miss them.
The truck veered to the left, trying to avoid us, but it couldn’t. It smashed into Kellan, hitting him at stomach level. The truck’s forward momentum caused it to hit me too. I crashed into Kellan’s back, then fell to the ground. It hurt just as much as I was afraid it was going to. The blow knocked the wind out of me, and I felt like rubber. My head hit the asphalt before my hands could break my fall. I felt my scalp burning, saw stars, and then all I saw was blackness.
Chapter 27
That Did Not Just Happen
When I came to, someone was shining a light in my eyes. It hurt. I hurt. I couldn’t remember where I was. My head hurt, and I felt so nauseated. Why did I feel nauseated? Hating the brightness piercing my brain, I tried to look away, but something around my neck made it hard to do. What was that? From the corner of my eye, I could tell that I was lying on a city street; there was headlight glass and debris around my head. And a jagged piece of metal covered in blood. Fresh blood. Why was I lying in a street? Was I blocking traffic? People must be so pissed at me. I should get up. I didn’t want to move, though. I had a feeling that would hurt.
My mind in a fog, I felt hands lifting me, then placing me on a flat, white table. It did hurt to move, and I cringed and sucked in a sharp breath. Why was someone putting me on a table? Why was there a table in the middle of the road? A man in a reflective jacket was asking me questions.