“He’s in there!” She fought against my arms.
“Let me go look.” I turned her to face me. “Let me look, Meredith. Go get my phone and call the police.”
“Let me go!” She wiggled in my arms. “He might need us!”
I looked down into her eyes and let out a ragged breath before letting go. She turned and ran for the car, falling to her knees near the wreckage.
“Dad?”
I knelt down next to her and peered into the torn-up vehicle. He was hanging from his seat by his seat belt, but there was a large gash on his forehead.
“Daddy?” Meredith’s voice sent chills over my body. There was so much pain in that one word that my heart almost broke in half.
“Let me look at him.” I pushed her shoulder gently so that I could get a better look. He was breathing, but the cut on his head was bleeding profusely.
“Charles!” I hollered for my bodyguard.
“Here, sir.” I could hear him sliding down the slope. “I’ve contacted the authorities.”
“Come take a look.” I wasn’t sure if we should move him or not. On one hand he could have a broken neck or back, and on the other I wasn’t sure that we should leave him hanging upside down.
Charles slid around to the other side of the car and knelt down to peer through the broken windshield.
“We need to put a compress on his head,” Charles’s gruff voice instructed.
I pulled my jacket off and balled it up before placing it against Arthur’s head.
“Should we move him?” I asked.
“No!” Meredith shook her head vehemently. “We don’t know if anything is broken.”
“She’s right. I don’t smell any gas or I’d say we need to pull him.” Charles looked at me with serious eyes. “Has he said anything?”
“No.” I grunted as I tried to slide into the car to apply better pressure.
Meredith scooted closer and reached out to touch her father. “Why did you do this?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Her fingers touched his hair softly and I tilted so I could see her face. For a brief moment, I had a picture of the little girl that she had been. The fear etched on her face made her look younger. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.
I might loathe this man, but he was her father. No matter how horrible he had been, he would always be Meredith’s parent.
“I hear sirens.” Meredith sniffed and shifted on the ground.
“Careful, there’s glass everywhere.” I could feel shards poking through the thin material of my dress shirt.
Arthur groaned and tried to move away from my hand, but I held him still.
“Don’t move, Arthur. You’ve been in a car wreck.” I tried to see if he had opened his eyes, but there was too much fabric in the way.
“Whaaa?” He shifted again.
“Stop moving, Dad.” Meredith edged closer.
“Mere?” His voice took on a sad edge.
“I’m here,” she whispered.
“Sorry.” He let out a breath before coughing.
“Don’t move. We don’t know if anything is broken,” I warned him.
“Hurt?”
“Yes, you’re injured.” I explained. “You have a nasty cut on your head.
“No.” He groaned and coughed again. “Did . . . I . . . hurt . . .”
I realized what he was asking and closed my eyes. “No, you didn’t hurt anyone but yourself.”
And Meredith.
And I’d be damned if I’d ever see that much hurt in her eyes again.
The rain started again, running into my eyes and soaking my clothes. The cold water seemed to seep into my bones.
The sirens had reached us and I could hear doors opening and slamming. Charles stood up and flagged them toward us.
“Down here. We have one injured.” Charles’s voice sounded like that of a drill sergeant.
The rescue crew pulled Meredith away from the car, and one of them slid in next to me to assess the situation.
“What’s his name?” the man asked me.
“Arthur.” I let him take charge of the wound care and backed up.
“Arthur, can you hear me?”
I sat up and tried to move out of the way but keep an ear open.
Looking around the ditch I was standing in, my eyes landed on Meredith. She was chewing on her bottom lip, a large smear of blood across her cheek and on her shirt. Moving quickly to her side, I checked her for cuts.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head and sniffed mightily.
“What’s wrong?” I pulled the collar of her shirt to the side and looked along her neck. “Where are you hurt?”
“What?” She looked at me with blank eyes. Her red hair was plastered to her face; the thin material of her shirt was soaked through. She had never looked more fragile.
“You said you were hurt.” I wrapped a hand around her neck and looked down in her eyes.
“No.” She shook her head. “I said I wasn’t okay.”
I leaned down and pressed my forehead to hers and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m not. Not at all,” she whispered. “How am I supposed to deal with all of this? I feel like I’m holding the world on my shoulders and doing a really bad job. I’m just so tired.”
“You’re not alone, Meredith.” I opened my eyes and stared into hers. “You’ll never be alone again.”