Bang.
That was the last thing Travis heard.
The impact rips the air apart.
Metal shrieks. Glass explodes. Something heavy slams into him and the world flips…violently, endlessly…before crashing down into darkness.
Pain detonates.
White-hot. Everywhere.
His body refuses to respond. His lungs seize, choking on air that won't come. A sharp ringing fills his ears, drowning out everything else.
This is it. He is dying at the age of 25.
A blinding light cuts through the dark.
Too bright. Too sudden.
He tries to turn his head. Can't. Tries to breathe. Fails.
Voices crash over him in fragments.
"…oh my God…"
"…he's not moving…"
"…someone help…"
Is he in heaven now?
Something warm runs down his temple. Blood. He knows it without seeing it. The thought is distant, unreal, like it belongs to someone else.
The light flickers.
Then her face appears above him.
She's backlit by the glow of headlights and flashing red and blue lights, her features hazy, unreal. For a moment, he thinks she's not real at all.
An angel?
Her lips move rapidly, but the words come slowly, like they're fighting their way through water.
Suddenly.
Too close.
She's shaking. Her hands are on him, gripping, pressing, useless. Her mouth is moving too fast, words tumbling out in panic.
"Stay with me!" she cries. "Please…stay with me…please…"
Her voice cracks.
He wants to tell her he's trying.
She leans closer, her face filling his vision, her eyes glossy with tears.
"Don't close your eyes," she pleads. "Don't go. Please."
The light behind her grows brighter, blinding, swallowing everything else. Her face is the only thing he can see now. The only thing anchoring him.
Can she stop talking? He just wanted to stare at her face.
Her face blurs. Doubles. The edges of the world start to bleed into black again.
"No," she sobs. "No, no, no…this isn't happening…"
She presses her forehead to his chest like she's trying to hold him together by force alone.
"I didn't see you," she gasps. "I swear…I didn't…I didn't…"
The light above her flares brighter. Too bright. Devouring everything.
Sirens scream in the distance. Or maybe inside his head.
Hands yank her away.
"Ma'am, step back…"
She fights them.
"No! Don't touch him…don't…"
Her voice fractures completely.
"Please," she begs. "Please don't die."
That word hits harder than the impact.
Die.
The darkness surges, thick and heavy, dragging him under.
Her face is the last thing he sees…
wild, terrified, glowing in red and blue light…
before everything goes black.
*****
Beeping.
Slow. Mechanical. Relentless.
His eyes snap open.
White ceiling. Harsh lights. Tubes. Machines.
Hospital.
Pain slammed into him all at once, violent and unforgiving. He sucked in a sharp breath and immediately regretted it, his body lighting up with agony.
He lay there, stunned, disoriented, struggling to piece himself together.
Then he saw her.
She stood at the foot of the bed, frozen, like she didn't belong in the room. Like she might bolt if he so much as blinked.
Her face was pale, drained of color. Her eyes were swollen, rimmed red, shadows etched beneath them. Guilt clung to her like smoke, thick and suffocating.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Travis didn't know how long he stared.
He barely breathed. Barely existed.
But his eyes followed her every tiny movement, drinking her in, committing her to memory, even though she had no idea he was awake, no idea he was conscious in fragments, watching her in silence.
Even in his haze, her presence felt like a quiet balm, each glance at her pulling him a little farther back from the edge.
The door swung open, cutting through the quiet tension like a knife.
"Ms. Matthews?" The doctor's voice was calm but firm. He stepped in, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the monitors and then Travis.
Isla spun toward him, panic flashing across her face. "What…what's wrong with him? Is he going to be okay? What happened?" Her hands trembled, one gripping the edge of the bed.
The doctor's gaze softened but remained professional. "He has a broken leg, some internal injuries, and the usual complications from the accident. He's stable now, but he'll need rest and careful monitoring."
Her knees felt weak. She pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes wide, breath shallow. "Oh my God… oh no…"
Her hair had fallen loose from its bun, strands sticking to her damp forehead. Sleeves were wrinkled, her jacket hanging off one shoulder. Boots scuffed. Yet, even in the chaos, even in the panic, even looking like she'd just been dragged through hell, Travis couldn't look away.
She was ravishing. Wild. Frantic. Breathless.
Every line of fear, every tremor in her hands, only made her more magnetic. Her beauty wasn't softened by the mess; it was sharper, more real, more dangerous.
There was a tiredness to her beauty, the kind that didn't belong to someone young. The kind earned through responsibility, exhaustion, and sacrifice. It only made her more magnetic.
She turned away for a second, muttering, "This is all my fault…"
Even half-conscious, Travis' chest tightened. He wanted to tell her to stop, to tell her she wasn't responsible. He wanted to reach for her, to ground her, to make her stop looking like chaos itself and instead let him see the woman she truly was.
But she didn't know he was watching.
And he didn't know how long he could wait.
Travis couldn't look away, as if simply seeing her was slowly pulling him back from the edge.
His eyes barely opened. The world was a haze of pain, monitors beeping, lights too bright, his body screaming. He could barely move, barely breathe, but he could see.
And then the door blew open.
A storm of authority and fury tore into the room. A woman, sharp as ice, stormed through with police officers in tow.
Her heels clicked like gunshots against the sterile floor. Her eyes locked on Isla, and Travis could feel the heat of her anger even through the fog of pain clouding his mind.
"Arrest her!" the woman barked. "Charge her with attempted murder! NOW!"
Isla froze, a ghost of herself, too shocked and too weak to fight. Her shoulders slumped; her hands hung limply by her sides. She didn't argue. She didn't scream. She simply followed, her head bowed, letting the officers guide her out of the ER.
Travis tried to speak. Tried to move. Tried to stop them.
Nothing.
He was trapped, bedridden, helpless, pinned in a body that refused to respond. He could only watch, heart hammering, as the woman he shouldn't care about…wouldn't let go of…was dragged away like she was nothing.
Isla's lips moved, whispering something he couldn't hear.
Her eyes flicked toward him, filled with fear and regret, and his chest twisted with helpless rage.
The last thing he saw before the doors slammed behind them:
The woman who hit him, ravishing even in defeat, powerless, and disappearing from his world.
And in that instant, something inside him shifted. Something sharp. Something dangerous.
He didn't know how, or when, but he would find her again.