Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 64

A scream pierces the air.

Time stands still. Everything happens exactly how they say it does in a movie. You see the moment of impact, but it can’t be stopped.

That’s how it feels as I watch Josephine careen to the ground. Her arms flail as she tries to regain her balance.

The ledge, which is only about two feet off the ground on one side of the concrete pavement, is actually higher on the other side, and that’s the side where her body is falling.

In the dark, she couldn’t see that the parking lot of the arena slopes back there. I thrust my arm out, trying desperately to stop her fall, but I’m too far away. My stubborn ass couldn’t give an inch.

Gravity always wins.

How stupid could I have been? How could I not protect her?

Because I’m a selfish asshole who put myself first.

So lost in my brain that I didn’t reach out.

But I can’t think about that now. I can hate myself for failing her later. Right now, I need to get her.

A sickening thud echoes in my ears.

She’s slipped through my grasp. I’m too late.

I dash over to where she’s lying on the opposite side of the ledge. Carefully, I step over it and move to where Josephine is on the ground.

Bile collects in my mouth.

On the other side, golden-brown hair fans across the dark ground. I slip down, coming to her side. This close, I can see patches of hair are growing darker . . .

Blood.

“Josephine!” My voice is urgent.

My heart drops to my stomach as I notice a puddle of blood pooling beneath her head. Even though it’s dark out, the streetlamp illuminates the night enough to see a stark contrast against her pale skin.

“Josephine, wake up.” I place a finger on her neck.

Thank fuck. A pulse.

“Please, open your eyes.” My voice trembles. “Hellfire.”

I pull out my phone, hands trembling as I do, and fumble to dial 911.

My breath comes out in short, ragged breaths.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“My—my . . .” My voice cracks.

“Sir?”

“My friend, she fell and hit her head. I need an ambulance. I-I’m at Lancaster Arena.”

“What’s your location at the arena?”

“In the parking lot. The player parking lot,” I say quickly, never lifting my gaze from Josephine.

“I’m sending an ambulance right now. Sir, can you tell me what happened?”

“She hit her head on the concrete.”

“Is she conscious?”

“She’s unconscious, and there’s a lot of blood.”

“Are you able to put something clean on the wound?”

“Yes.” I unzip my jacket and pull it off, then look for where the blood is coming from. Without moving her, I place the jacket where the bleeding originates, making sure to apply pressure, hopefully to stop it.

“God, Hellfire. I’m so sorry. I need you to wake up. You have to wake up. I can’t lose you.”

With each second that passes, my heart pounds in my chest. It feels like it might explode.

Finally, in the distance, I hear the wail of the sirens. Then I see the lights.

Soon, two paramedics come rushing toward us.

The first one, a younger man, assesses her.

“Female, mid-twenties, head trauma, unconscious,” he calls out to his partner.

His partner, a woman about the same age, nods and prepares her for transport.

Words ring out in the air, but it’s hard to grasp them all. Low blood pressure. Loss of blood. Possible concussion.

Together, a second after securing her neck, they load her onto a stretcher.

“Is she—”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

They lift her into the ambulance. The doors are shut, and they speed away.

I’m still on the ground, my breathing still erratic, and the ambulance is no longer in sight. The red flashing lights are a distant memory.

My head drops, and when it does, a glint of something catches my eye.

What is that?

I reach my hand out and pick it up.

Josephine’s bracelet.

My heart squeezes in my chest.

She needs to be okay. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s not.

Grabbing my phone, I dial.

“What’s up, Sinclair? You ready to tell me why you were playing—”

“Robert.” My voice sounds raw and gritty.

“What’s wrong, Dane?”

“Josephine—”

“What about my daughter?”

“She had an accident in the parking lot. She hit her head.”

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I called an ambulance. They’ve taken her to the hospital. I-I just thought you should know.”

There’s a second of silence. “What hospital?”

“Redville Health.”

“Thank you, son.”

His words feel like a gunshot in my heart. I hang up, but I want to tell him he shouldn’t call me son.

I let him down.

But most importantly, I let down the one person who I truly ever felt peace with.

My hellfire.