Chapter 1

Tori Townsend

My windshield wipers swipe frantically across the front window of my car. The rain pounds against the glass. Coupled with the dark night, the torrential downpour makes it hard to see the road in front of me.

My car doesn't miss the potholes, however. It can see just fine because it hits every single one like it's some sort of game. I swear, if one of my tires pops . . .

The last thing I want is to be out in this rain, changing a tire. Hell, I don't even know how to change a tire. Narrowing my eyes, I realize that I don't even know where the spare is.

Spring came in full swing two months ago for Fairview, Utah, and the rain has yet to let up despite the climbing temperatures and the blooming flowers. I'd almost prefer the snow if it weren't for the frigid wind that would come with it. It would be less likely that the bottom of my jeans would be as soaked as they currently are. I hate how they stick to my ankles, making them itchy.

The other week, I had caved and bought rain boots from Derek Wordon's thrift store. Fashion sacrifices and all that. If only I had worn them today, but nothing screams professional about wearing rain boots to a house showing.

The boots aren't the only fashion sacrifice I'll have to make. I yank my shirt down over a rounder stomach that I didn't have a year ago and clench my jaw in irritation. The weight is forcing me to change my wardrobe and buy new clothes that fit me better, but I'm rebelling against it by telling myself I'll find time to work out. That I'll make room for returning my body to what it once was.

It's all a lie, and deep down, I know it.

Truth be told, my weight is because of my schedule. I used to pack lunches – carrots, celery, and salads. I used to be so good about what I ate, but now what I consume consists of convenience. A whole lot of junk food, pizza from Mount Pleasant, and frozen meals. And if I'm being honest, which I really don't want to be right now, I've been eating my feelings.

My life is stressful. Tegan tells me that two businesses are one too many for one person to handle. She's probably right, but I refuse to give up on my Wiccan shop and my realtor business, even if one is doing better than the other.

My tires dip into a particularly nasty pothole, and my phone, which had been resting on the dashboard, bounces, flies off, and lands on the floor by my feet.

"Fuck!" I hiss.

I bite my bottom lip as I consider what to do, flicking my eyes between what I can see of the road and my phone on the car's floor. Normally, I'd leave it, but the floor is soaked from my shoes and jeans. That could destroy the phone, and I need my phone for my businesses. That fact alone is enough to convince me to take action.

Carefully balancing the steering wheel with one hand, I reach blindly down to the floor with the other. My fingertips don't touch it right away, and I curse under my breath as I shift my eyes from the road down to the wet carpet.

Finally, my fingers graze it, and I snatch up the phone and blow out a breath as I right myself, throw it back on the dashboard, and return my eyes to the road.

Just ahead and parked on the side of the road is a black van with its blinkers on. I swerve a little to give them space, but my next breath is stolen from me.

I don't have time to brake.

I don't have time to scream.

A figure starts to dash across the road, and it takes a mere second for me and the woman's eyes to connect. My lights reflect across the pale skin of her frightened face and then . . .

I squeeze my eyes shut at the same time as I hit her with my car. As I slam on the breaks, I know then and there that I'll never forget the sound of her body hitting the hood of my car. The sickening thud. The crunch of glass.

The tires squeal to a stop, and I open my eyes, wildly searching what's in front of me. "Oh god. Oh god!"

There, lying twisted, rain pounding against her, is a woman sprawled out on the road.

I take one heavy breath. And then another.

"Oh god!" I sob-scream as the realization of what I've done slams into me like a ton of bricks.

Yanking open my door, I leave it ajar as I dash to her side and drop to my knees beside her. My hands hover an inch as they pass over her body, not knowing what to touch or what to do.

Dark, soaked hair sticks to her bloodied, high cheekbones, and wide, almond-shaped blue eyes stare off into the distance, toward the field of lilies that I can barely make out. Her ragged, frilly dress sticks to her body, pronouncing her swollen belly. A very pregnant belly.

I hit a pregnant woman.

Her leg is twisted the wrong way, and her arm is bent behind her. She doesn't move. She doesn't speak. I don't even think she can.

"You came out of nowhere," I cry out as I watch her struggle for breath. "Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do!"

Something in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and my head swivels in that direction. There, standing in the dark, is a figure. For the height, I assume it's a man. I squint against the rain running into my eyes. Because the hood is up, I can't make out his face, but his bright orange raincoat stands out against the darkness.

"Please!" I beg the man. "Help her!"

At the sound of my voice, the man turns and takes off in the direction he came from. I watch in horror as he sprints toward the driver's side of the black van, and I plead for his aid when he hops inside and peels away, passing us by at an accelerated speed. From his tires, water splashes over us, and I quickly lean over the woman to keep the majority of it off of her. I gasp as the giant puddle he ran through batters against my back.

Underneath me, the woman's breathing becomes more labored, more struggled.

I lean back a little and tip her head so she can look at me instead of off into the darkness. "I'm going to get help," I sob to her. "Please, please don't die. Help is coming. Okay? Keep breathing!"

She doesn't respond. She doesn't even blink as the rain pelts her open eyes and mixes with the blood dripping from her nose and mouth.

I scramble to my feet and race back to my car. As soon as I have my phone in my hand, I quickly swipe in the password and dial 9-1-1 while I jog back to the woman. I kneel down beside her as the line picks up, and before the man can spit out his formal greeting, I spew my emergency.

"Please! I hit a woman with my car!"

There's a pause on the line before he says, "Ma'am, where are you?"

"Next to the field of lilies!" I rattle off the road I'm on, and her chest stops rising. For a second, I hold my breath and wait for her lungs to fill, but they never do. "Oh god, she stopped breathing! What do I do? Tell me what to do!"

He pauses again, and it makes me want to scream. "Ma'am, help is on the way."

"Help is too late!" I yell into the phone, and then I end the call with a furious press of my finger.

"Oh god," I whisper over and over again. I tap her cheek as tears flow freely down my cheeks. "Please don't die. Please!" But it's no use.

Her eyes are unseeing.

Her chest is not moving.

The only sound is the rain pelting ominously around us, around me , because I'm alone with a woman I killed.

I lift my hands and sob into my palms.