Hold Me Tight (21 page)

Preview of
Heartbeat
by Faith Sullivan

Katie and Adam are afraid of love.

She carries the scars of a first kiss gone terribly wrong.

He uproots his life to flee the stinging betrayal of an ex.

When trust is no longer an option, all romance is suspect.

As a young paramedic, Adam rescues people for a living but cannot save himself. Katie, just out of high school, struggles with a tortured home life she cannot escape.

Everything changes when Katie hops into the front seat of Adam's ambulance. Overwhelmed by what they are feeling, neither possess the confidence to make the first move. They walk away from each other, full of regret.

To find her, Adam risks his future. To be with him, Katie sacrifices her security.

Little do they know, what little time they do have, is being measured by a heartbeat that is slowly dying out.

Chapter One
Katie

CRASH!

The force of the impact is jarring, but it doesn’t completely startle me. A split second before the SUV hurtles into Grandma’s driver’s side door, I catch a glimpse of it in my peripheral vision. Grandma isn’t so lucky.

“Are you okay?” I gasp.

“I think so,” she says, moving to unfasten her seat belt.

The driver of the SUV is already outside of his vehicle inspecting the damage. It is a miracle Grandma isn’t trapped behind the steering wheel. She is able to open her dented car door. She struggles to stand, wincing in pain. The passenger in the SUV is already on his cell phone, probably calling 911.

I don’t want to get out of the car. It is a February afternoon. The temperature is hovering in the teens. The wind is whipping through the movie theater parking lot as snow flurries begin to fall. I crouch down in my seat.
Why did this have to happen?
I don’t want to deal with a guy who drives like Rambo, taking down every elderly woman in his path. Maybe if I close my eyes, it will all go away.

A speeding police car with lights flashing arrives on the scene.
Do they really need to make such an entrance? They probably just left the donut shop down the road. No need to give in to the sugar rush.

Grandma slowly sits back in her seat as Rambo’s father comes over to our car.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” he asks.

“I don’t know…I’m awfully sore,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

“It’s not a good idea for you to be moving around. Why don’t you just sit back and stay as still as you can. The police are here now. Let me go and talk to them,” he says.

He strides into the wind head-on as his son bends down to analyze the damage to his front fender.
Really? He can’t even come over and see if the old lady he hit is okay? He has to send his dad? Way to be a man.

I lean forward and open the glove compartment to find the insurance information and registration card.

“Here comes someone now. Are you able to roll down the window, Grandma?” I ask.

“I think so…let me see,” she says, hitting the power button.

“How are you doing, ladies? Anyone seriously hurt?” asks a female police officer, her blonde curly hair blowing around her head like a tornado as the wind begins to increase.

“Well, I feel a little banged up,” Grandma replies.

“Look straight ahead, and keep your head against the headrest. Do not move a muscle. I don’t even want to know what happened. We’re going to give you an incident report that you can fill out later and drop off at the station next week. For now, just sit tight until the ambulance arrives,” the officer says with practiced authority.

“I don’t think I need an ambulance,” Grandma says.

“Grandma, it’s better if you go and get checked out at the hospital. Just to be sure,” I insist.

“Listen to your granddaughter. We’ll all feel better if you let them examine you,” the officer responds.

“Okay, if you think it’s necessary,” Grandma sighs.

“Try to relax. I’m going to talk with the other driver. Remember, don’t move,” the officer commands.

“Yes, officer,” Grandma replies meekly.

“Well, I guess they don’t want our paperwork,” I grumble.
What a mess.
We just wanted to get out and enjoy a movie without having it end in disaster.

It is the first time in a week that I have left the house. I’m still a little weak after what seemed like a never-ending bout with the flu. Last weekend, I was in the emergency room sick as a dog. Looks like this weekend is going to be more of the same. Except this time, I won’t be the patient.

This wouldn’t have happened if I had been driving. But the wind was so fierce that Grandma didn’t want me getting sick again. So she told me to wait at the entrance of the theater and she would pick me up. I ran from the theater entrance to the car, yet I still felt chilled to the bone. I didn’t notice anything amiss with Grandma. Everything seemed fine, until she plowed through an intersection without stopping. That’s all it took to land us in this predicament.

I look up as the ambulance pulls into the parking lot. A lanky guy with scruffy blonde hair and a face full of stubble jumps out…without a jacket…wearing short sleeves.
Is he crazy?
We’re practically living on an ice planet, and he’s dressed like it’s a summer day.
And he’s going to be the one taking care of my grandmother?
I think he’s the one who needs to get his head examined.

I watch him through the windshield as he follows his two older co-workers over to the police. Snowflakes stick to the black shirt of his uniform.

Great, they have some crazy guy who doesn’t look much older than me running the show. Perfect.

Luckily, one of the other paramedics approaches our car. He gently opens the door and looks at Grandma. He must see a lot of horrific things in his line of work. At least in this case there’s no blood or massive injuries.

“Hi, my name is Charlie, and I’m going to be taking care of you,” he says, with a smile.

Grandma nods.

“Oh, now don’t go moving on me. I need you to stay nice and still while I examine you,” he says in a soothing voice as he looks into her eyes with a mini flashlight. “Everything seems fine, but as a precaution, I’m going to put this neck brace on you. Then we’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you to the hospital.”

As Grandma is awkwardly fitted with the brace, I glance over at Mr. Short Sleeves. He’s not even shivering.

Chapter Two
Adam

Just another endless day on the job…these twelve-hour shifts are murder. How much longer until I can go home?

The clock on the ambulance dashboard reads 4:03 p.m.

Great, two more hours…
I don’t mind when we’re busy, but sitting around a gas station parking lot isn’t exactly what I signed up for.

A call comes through the speakers interrupting my inner gripe session. “We have a two-vehicle crash in the parking lot of Crown Theater off Maria Boulevard. Closest unit please respond.”

Sitting behind the wheel, I grab the comm. “10-4, unit 365 responding.”

“Adam, please try to curb your enthusiasm. You know I don’t like having my coffee breaks interrupted,” jokes Charlie, my co-worker.

He is close to retirement and my get-up-and-go attitude, never fails to amuse him. He has seen a lot over his thirty-plus years as a paramedic, and I hope that my sense of humor will still be intact when I reach his age instead of having blood and death burned into my retinas.

“C’mon kid, let’s roll,” adds Tommy, another veteran on the staff. He is quieter than Charlie but no less professional when it comes to answering a call.

I turn on the overhead lights and ease into traffic. No need for the siren since we are only two minutes away and no major injuries were reported. It is probably the usual fender-bender with bruised egos and heated tempers.

I turn right at the light and aim the ambulance down the road. The movie theater is next to the new shopping center. Traffic is busy, but it’s nothing to worry about. I can already see the police cars by the theater.
Jeez, did they really need three cruisers for a minor crash? Looks like they’re having a slow day, too.

I inch onto the scene as a gust of snow nearly obliterates my vision.
This is going to be fun.

“All right, let’s go and get a handle on the situation,” Charlie says. “I’ll talk to the cops. Tommy, take Adam with you and see if anybody needs immediate assistance.”

“Should I bring any of the equipment with me, boss?” I ask.

“Yeah, you can start with the neck brace. We’ll see if we need to bring out the stretcher,” Charlie responds.

As Charlie greets the cops, Tommy and I get our first look at the crash. The SUV looks fine, maybe a bent fender, if that, but the driver’s side door of the black sedan resembles the Incredible Hulk’s punching bag.
I hate when people driving smaller cars become the crash test dummies of larger vehicles. It’s not a fair fight. Not by a long shot.

“The two men with the SUV look fine. They’re out and walking around. But it looks like something’s up with the old lady in the car. See how that cop is hovering over her?” Tommy asks.

“Guys, come here for a minute, will ya?” Charlie calls.

We jog over to where Charlie is standing. He is talking to a cop whose face is covered in acne scars. I don’t usually notice things like that, but the guy looks like a pepperoni pizza.

“You guys are first on scene, so if the lady wants to go with you, you’ll be the ones to take her to the hospital,” the cop says. “The other three aren’t complaining of any injuries, so it’ll just be her.”

I glance over again at the car and catch the girl staring at me.
Is she shaking her head?
I hope she’s not talking the driver out of seeking treatment. Big mistake. So many times an accident victim is still in shock, coasting on adrenaline when these things happen. It’s an hour or two later when the real pain sets in.

“You continually amaze me, kid,” Charlie says.

“And why is that?” I ask.

“We’re in the middle of a blizzard and you’re standing there like it’s the Fourth of July. I might be old and feeble, but would it kill you to wear a damn coat every once and a while?” Charlie asks.

“Old? Feeble? Glad you finally admitted it, old man,” I joke.

“Watch it,” Charlie warns.

“Well, if you fellas are done horsing around, I’d be much obliged if you could take a look at the victim. I wanna get outta here, the sooner the better,” says the pimple-faced cop.

Charlie turns around and rolls his eyes at me. Tommy is already hurrying toward the car.

“What do we have here? Officer, what’s the situation?” Tommy asks, as he reaches the female cop. She is still standing guard over the elderly lady, who is clearly injured.

“Looks like possible whiplash, but you’re the experts,” she says. “I’ll leave it to you to examine her. I’ve been trying to keep her from moving her neck.”

“Excellent, we’ll take it from here,” Charlie responds.

Since I am still in training, I step back and watch as Tommy takes the neck brace from my hands and gives it to Charlie. Charlie is such a pro in these situations. He always knows how to keep a victim calm and get the job done.

I chance another quick look at the girl. She is extremely quiet, no doubt taking it all in. At least she’s not causing a fuss or getting in the way. Looks like we’re all headed for a ride to the hospital.

Preview of
Unexpected
by Faith Sullivan

September 11, 2001.

A day that forever changes the destiny of college overachiever, Michelle Rhodes.

Shattered, confused and alone, no one understands the trauma consuming her until she meets Connor Donnelly.

A native New Yorker, he believes he can aid in getting her life back on track. But what if he's even more broken inside?

Offering her a chance at a fresh start, Connor convinces Michelle to move in with him. Hiring her to waitress at his bar, their mutual attraction only complicates matters.

As more details surrounding Connor's past emerge, Michelle uncovers the full magnitude of the loss he's trying to hide. Refusing to let her feelings for him hinder his recovery, she makes a decision that winds up hurting them both.

By sacrificing her heart, Michelle thinks she is helping Connor come to terms with his grief. Little does she know, Connor is gambling everything for the sake of having a future with her.

What happens is truly unexpected.

Chapter One

What the heck is that?

A deafening rumble fills the air. Then just as quickly, it disappears. I sit upright in bed trying to figure out what jolted me awake. I check the clock. It’s 8:46 a.m. I still have fourteen minutes before my alarm goes off, but I’m too wired. Talk about a rude awakening.

I push the covers away and shuffle the six steps it takes to get to the bathroom. Living in a studio apartment in New York City is like residing in a very expensive walled-in box. It’s not for the claustrophobic or the faint of heart. This tiny one-room dwelling is costing my parents $1,500 a month. The sacrifice they’re making is mind-boggling, I know. But they want me to be able to concentrate on my studies outside of a crowded dorm environment, regardless of the hefty price tag.

It’s because I’m their fulfillment of the American Dream. I have the chance to make something of myself since they believe my life is destined to be one shining success story. My acceptance into New York University’s film program is the first step toward an illustrious career. It’s my golden ticket to fame, riches, and glory. Failure is not an option.

My parents aren’t college graduates. Dad is a tollbooth worker on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and Mom mans the drive-through window at McDonald’s. We’re from a town so small it doesn’t even have its own zip code. It’s a place where conversation revolves around the record of the high school football team and the latest weather forecast. My parents want more for me. And I’m grateful, I really am, but their lofty expectations rest heavily on my shoulders.

I pad across the uncarpeted floor to the window. I keep the blinds tightly drawn and peer through the cracks. Nothing looks amiss in the courtyard below. I hate shutting out the sunlight, but I’m afraid to expose myself to the apartments directly across from me. I moved in a little over two weeks ago, and the one time I opened the blinds, a strange guy was knocking on my door fifteen minutes later. I’m not taking any chances.

It’s a bright Tuesday morning, and it’s as quiet as a tomb. I’m not surprised. It’s not until two o’clock in the morning that the maintenance crew begins its nightly racket, talking loudly, slamming garbage cans, and stomping up and down the hallway. Needless to say, I’m still adjusting to all of the nocturnal activity.

I flick on the TV that’s not much bigger than my toaster. It’s time to get my morning routine underway. I have class at eleven o’clock. Even though it’s only a ten-minute walk from my apartment on Bleecker Street across Washington Square Park, I better get a move on.

Absentmindedly, my gaze drifts to the events unfolding on the screen. The morning news program is showing a close-up of one of the World Trade Center towers, smoke billowing out the side. Leave it to New York. I’m not even living here a month and crazy things are happening.

I listen more attentively. The reporter is saying that a small commuter plane or a helicopter apparently flew too close to the building and crashed into it. An equipment malfunction is likely to blame since the mid-September sky is crystal clear. I have to call Mom and see if she knows about this.

She picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Mom, turn on the TV.”

“I know. I have it on.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“I don’t know why they let them fly so close to those tall buildings.”

Predicting she’s about to break into a rambling tirade, I halt her momentum midstream. “Well, I have to get ready. I just wanted to call and see if you were watching.”

“Okay, Michelle, but be careful when you go out, and don’t go anywhere near that area,” she admonishes.

“I won’t, Mom. Don’t worry,” I respond before hanging up.

I haven’t lived by myself before, and it’s weird not having anyone to talk to when things like this happen. A shiver of loneliness runs through me when I realize that Mom is over two hundred miles away in another state. So far, I’ve attended only a few classes. Orientation was followed by the Labor Day weekend, so I don’t really know anyone yet. At least, not well enough to exchange phone numbers.

Transfixed, I stare at the screen, watching what is happening literally right outside my door. I’m two miles away, but after exiting the confines of my building, the Twin Towers are easily visible from the street. The only thing holding me back from running outside and taking a look is that I’m still in my pajamas. I’m not brave enough to check it out until I’m fully dressed.

Suddenly, a massive fireball erupts on TV. The anchors are at a loss for words. They don’t know how to describe what they are witnessing. Anxiety enters their voices. Something isn’t right.

Rushing to the TV, I hover over it. Seconds later, they begin showing a replay of a giant black plane—a second plane—hitting the other tower.

Shaking, I reach for the phone and hit redial.

I sputter before she can answer. “Mom? Oh my God, did you see that? They think it’s another plane.”

“Just stay calm, Michelle. You’re safe where you are, right?”

“I think so, but what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t think anyone knows.”

Trembling, I keep my eyes glued to the inferno raging from both skyscrapers. “Mom…I’m scared.”

She breathes deeply, trying to control the unsteadiness in her voice. “You’re going to be all right. Hang tight.”

I have never wanted my mom so much in my life. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll call you back later.” For some reason, it hurts more to stay on the line with her. The distance separating us seems greater over the phone.

In a sort of stupor, I gingerly sit on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest. I am alone—completely, and utterly, alone. There’s no one coming to help me deal with this. I’m on my own.

An announcement is made that all bridges and tunnels into Manhattan are closed. There’s no way in, no way out.

The minutes tick by, but it seems as if time is standing still, frozen around this moment. What started as an ordinary day has gone terribly wrong.

A news bulletin breaks in, and the scene shifts to Washington, D.C. as the Pentagon smolders. They think it’s the work of a third plane.

The world crumbles around me, and a desperate energy fills my veins. I pace the length of the apartment like a caged animal. I’m numb. I can’t process the severity of the situation I’m watching unfold. I keep telling myself that it’s a bad dream, nothing more.

Military fighter jets roar outside my window, patrolling the airspace above my head. Words like ‘terrorist attack’ and ‘all flights grounded’ pour out of the TV. I try calling Mom again, but I can’t get a signal on my cell phone.

Muttering to myself, I wander through the apartment, disoriented. In the bathroom. Out of the bathroom. Open the refrigerator. Close the refrigerator. Up to the door. Away from the door. I am going mad.

And just when I’m at my wit’s end, I watch in horror as the South Tower collapses. My knees buckle, and I hit the floor. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I whisper over and over. On some metaphysical level that I can’t quite explain, I can literally feel, in the essence of my being, the multitude of souls instantaneously ripped from the world, like an inter-dimensional vortex opened, swallowing them whole.

The chaos continues as I momentarily lose touch with reality. The North Tower falls. A fourth plane crashes in Pennsylvania. My nerves break down, and I retreat into myself. Everything is a blurred-out haze.

I don’t know what to do. Somehow, I end up back in the bathroom. I close the door and robotically remove my pajamas. Shuddering, I turn on the tap and step into the shower. As I’m being pelted by the stream of hot water, my psyche reverts to the familiar action of washing my hair. But my inner consciousness is screaming, “How can you wash your hair when you just watched thousands of people die? What the hell is wrong with you?”

I stagger and lean against the tiled wall as my insides churn. I gasp for breath and feel like I’m going to be sick. I twist the knob and cease the flow of water. I unsteadily place my feet on the fuzzy bath mat. The room is filled with steam, making everything appear indistinct. I clutch a towel around my dripping body and grab onto the counter, lowering myself onto the toilet seat. Clasping my wet head in my hands, I close my eyes and rock back and forth, trembling violently as the tears begin to fall.