Page 79 of What We Knew Then
Again, this feels like home in the worst way.
“Okay,” I finally give in, stepping back. “Just… don’t be stupid.”
He grins. “When am I ever stupid?”
He’s right. Oliver’s the guy who has all the answers, whether we’re in class or at practice. He’s reliable, someone you can trust.
To our luck, the road is mostly empty. We roll the windows down. Summer air rushes in mixing with the music. He turns the volume up on one of his favorite songs.
“What NHL team would you want to play for? If you could pick one?” he yells to be heard over the music.
This is a question we go over probably every other week. Hockey has always been the dream. That’s what brought me to Oliver and his family in the first place.
We go back and forth on the same rotation of teams. My chest lightens with each word, like we’re back to our normal state. A laugh escapes my throat at something Oliver says.
Then the headlights come out of nowhere. Too close. Too fast. There’s no time to say anything.
Oliver swerves just in time to avoid the car, but we hit something else. Time slows; it’s like I can see everything happening from a distance. I see the collision before I feel it.
The seatbelt locks and punches the air out of my chest. The windshield shatters just as the world tilts hard to the right and then stops in a way that isn’t really stopping.
For a second, everything is ringing. The smell of beer brings me back to the present, finding the roadie Oliver was too cool to dump out before getting in to drive is now covering me. I look over to my best friend, the one I shouldn’t have let drive. His chest quickly rises and falls, blood dripping down his face.
He must’ve hit his head on the steering wheel. I look from Oliver to the space in front of him, amazed the airbags didn’t go off.
“Oliver,” I croak, already turning toward him. “Hey, look at me.”
My hands shake when I unbuckle my seatbelt. Somewhere in the distance, sirens start.
“Oh my god. Lane! Oh my—” There’s not enough room for the panic from his voice in the car.
“Stop.” I put my hand on his chest, some blood dripping from a cut above his eye on my arm. “Are you okay?”
Oliver looks at me and my blood runs cold. The fear burrowed in his eyes, wide like fucking dinner plates, hit me like a crosscheck to the boards I never saw coming.
“What the fuck was I doing? Oh my god—” His voice is erratic and it’s almost like he’s talking to himselfinstead of me.
He doesn’t need to fill in the rest. I know what he’s thinking. This is fucking bad. Perhaps life altering kind of bad. And by life, I mean hockey, because that’s what everything comes back to.
When Oliver’s lip wobbles, the decision snaps into place. It’s not even hard.
I open my door and get myself standing. My legs feel shaky with the adrenaline rushing through my body. I do a quick scan to determine if anything hurts. Wiping my face, there’s no blood or cuts, and I’m able to walk and move my arms. That’s good enough for now.
I open Oliver’s door. “Come on. Get out of the car.”
“We should wait for the police,” he argues. Oliver, always trying to follow the fucking rules.
The sirens are getting closer with each second that passes. We’re running out of time.
My hand grabs the front of Oliver’s shirt and I pull. He gives in and follows my instruction, even if I don’t give him much of a choice.
I don’t let go of his shirt when I continue, “Oliver. Listen to me. Get in the passenger seat.” I push him that way.
“What? No. You’re not—”
“Get in the fucking passenger seat.” My words are like a growl as I point at him.
A second later, I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, slamming the door.
