I noticed several flashes of light as we waded along and realized that not just press were in this mix. Paparazzi had shown up too, and they were by far more aggressive than the fans and reporters. While security merely had to stand in front of those groups to keep them back, paparazzi pushed to get past them. A pair of tenacious photographers found their way through the swarm to step right in front of Kellan and me. Kellan forced me back a step, and I shielded my eyes against the ceaseless bright flashes.
The people snapping our picture didn't seem to care in the least that we were trying to get to the car. They tossed out question after question, never even pausing long enough for us to answer-not that we were going to. Miffed, Kellan tried squirming past one; the portly man wouldn't budge, though.
Careful to not be too aggressive, since we'd just narrowly escaped an assault charge the last time we'd encountered these guys, Kellan politely said, "We're trying to leave; please let us through."
It was like they didn't even hear us. They just kept snapping away. Looking up at the safety of the SUV, I saw Matt and Evan watching us in concern. They looked just about ready to start pummeling people aside to get to us. I didn't want that. Kellan didn't either. When I was beginning to believe there wouldn't be another choice if we ever wanted to get out of this mob, a narrow path to the street opened up. It was far to the left of where we wanted to go, and it cut right through a pocket of excited fans, but it was our only option at this point.
Kellan saw the ray of hope at the same time I did. He pulled us to the right, faking out the paparazzi, then swung us around to the left, and we ran for the closing hole. Kellan pulled me through the break in the crowd just as it began to close back up. We were stroked and fondled by fans on the way through, but the aggressive photographers couldn't follow us.
Now that we were through the conglomeration, we were a little stuck. The label's SUV was a ways up the street, blocked off from us by a mass of people. The buzzing crowd was behind us, and the street was in front of us. Since the rest of the band was safely tucked away, Kellan and I were now the only point of interest. Over my shoulder, I could see them all shifting our way. Kellan stuck his hand out for a taxi, trying to get us away, but trepidation shot up my spine as everyone zoned in on us.
The reporters kept up their questions, holding large microphones our way, hoping for a response. The paparazzi were pushing through the fans, trying to get a better angle. And the fans were in a dither having their idol so close to them. They didn't even seem to care about what we'd said about Sienna, especially the ones who Kellan had brushed past as he was trying to get us away. Those ones looked elated, and they looked like they wanted to touch him some more. I understood that feeling, but the zealous energy growing in the crowd made me nervous.
"Kellan, I don't like this, let's get out here."
Kellan nodded at me. "We'll get a cab in a second."
Just as he said it, the fans started to realize that he was getting away and surged forward. They swarmed around us, all hands and giggling laughter. Arms circled Kellan, hands ran up his chest, pens were shoved in his face, and cell phones recorded every moment. They squeezed between us, separating us. I tried to keep a hold on Kellan's hand, but like a stretched rubber band, we eventually broke apart.
"We love you, Kellan!" rose above the din of the reporters and photographers shouting questions. Much to my surprise, just as many fans were clamoring for my attention as Kellan's. I guess I was just as much an attraction as he was-the woman who had the Golden Boy's heart. Some wanted to know what he was really like, some wanted to know how I felt about the music video, some even asked if I was pregnant. Overwhelmed, I instinctively backed up.
The press were behind the fans now, and they moved forward as more curious onlookers swelled the crowd. The curious, eager fans in front of us were pushed from behind, and with nowhere to go, they bumped into Kellan and me. Kellan held his ground, but I was pushed back so hard, I lost my footing. My heel slipped over the edge of the sidewalk. I hadn't even realized I was that close to the street. I was even more aware of my proximity when I stumbled and fell into a lane of traffic. A fan reached for me, but she missed; I landed on my ass, hard. Dazed, confused, I stared at a pair of headlights baring down on me. The only thought that flashed through my head was that I hoped being hit by a truck wasn't as painful as it seemed.
I started to get to my feet but was disoriented, and I knew I wouldn't make it in time; the truck didn't even seem to be slowing down. Then, like my own personal white night, or maybe, more fittingly, like a clearly deranged madman, Kellan recklessly rushed into the street. I was one hundred percent positive that I was about to witness my husband's death. I was about to become a widow before I even had the chance to officially get married. I stopped breathing.
Kellan's fingers closed over the tattoo of his name on my wrist, and he yanked me to my feet; I felt like my shoulder was being disconnected as pain torn up my arm. I heard the vehicle's brakes squealing as it finally noticed us, but it was too late. When I crashed into Kellan's chest, he shoved me behind him and put his hand up to the truck, bracing himself for impact. It was all he had time to do.
Oddly, even though I knew we were a microsecond away from something terrible happening, I couldn't help but notice that it was a floral delivery truck about to hit us. My mind snapped to Kellan's petal messages. I'd really miss them.
The truck veered to the left, trying to avoid us, but it couldn't. It smashed into Kellan, hitting him at stomach level. The truck's forward momentum caused it to hit me too. I crashed into Kellan's back, then fell to the ground. It hurt just as much as I was afraid it was going to. The blow knocked the wind out of me, and I felt like rubber. My head hit the asphalt before my hands could break my fall. I felt my scalp burning, saw stars, and then all I saw was blackness.
Chapter 27: That Did Not Just Happen
When I came to, someone was shining a light in my eyes. It hurt. I hurt. I couldn't remember where I was. My head hurt, and I felt so nauseated. Why did I feel nauseated? Hating the brightness piercing my brain, I tried to look away, but something around my neck made it hard to do. What was that? From the corner of my eye, I could tell that I was lying on a city street; there was headlight glass and debris around my head. And a jagged piece of metal covered in blood. Fresh blood. Why was I lying in a street? Was I blocking traffic? People must be so pissed at me. I should get up. I didn't want to move, though. I had a feeling that would hurt.
My mind in a fog, I felt hands lifting me, then placing me on a flat, white table. It did hurt to move, and I cringed and sucked in a sharp breath. Why was someone putting me on a table? Why was there a table in the middle of the road? A man in a reflective jacket was asking me questions.
"Ma'am, do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?"
My body felt so heavy. My mind felt so slow. Blood was dripping down my face. I could feel it in my eyes. "I . . . I . . . don't . . ."
Memories floating through my brain. Headlights coming toward me. Brakes squealing. Falling. "I was hit by a truck," I muttered.
"Yes, that's right." A bandage was placed on my head. My head. I remembered hitting my head on the ground. That's why I hurt. That's why I was bleeding. But my body hurt too. My shoulder ached. I felt bruised. Kellan pulled me to my feet. I hit him before hitting the ground.
I instantly tried to sit up. "Kellan!"
The paramedic pushed me down and tried to stabilize me. My eyes flew to where Kellan had last been. All I saw was glass and blood; no Kellan. "You have a nasty cut, ma'am. I need to bandage this and make sure you don't have any other injuries. You could make things worse by moving. Do you know your name?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"Kiera Allen . . . Kyle. Where's my husband?" I asked, my voice raw.
The paramedic's hands worked on my head. I tried to hold still for him, but all I wanted to do was run up and down the street screaming Kellan's name. "The other paramedics are working on him, Kiera. He's in good hands."
Even though my vision was a little blurry, I noticed the paramedic look to our left. My soul filling with trepidation, my gaze followed. Kellan was lying on a stretcher similar to the one I was on. He was covered in blood too, and I didn't know if it was his or mine. And not knowing scared the crap out of me. "Kellan!"
I shouted his name, but he didn't respond. He was shaking. He looked ill. Then, to my absolute horror, he leaned over and vomited blood.
Panic set in, and I tried to get to him, but the paramedic held me down and my stretcher was shoved into the back of an ambulance. "Is he okay? Is he okay?" I just kept repeating it. I couldn't stop myself.
Before I got an answer, the doors were closed and the vehicle took off. The sirens hurt my ears, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Why was he throwing up blood? Was he okay? He had to be okay.
Holding my hand, the paramedic told me, "They'll do everything they can for him. I promise."
His words didn't help me much. I started sobbing.
I felt numb when we got to the hospital. Words hit my ears, but I couldn't process any of them. Someone said I was in shock. Someone mentioned concussion. Head injury. Internal injuries. None of the words stuck, though, because a vision of Kellan heaving blood was all I could think about. I was poked, prodded, and my stomach was pushed and massaged. I was sore, my shoulder throbbed, but I wasn't hurt. Only not knowing Kellan's fate hurt.
He arrived at the ER right as a nurse injected a numbing agent into my head; I had to get stitches for the cut on my scalp. I saw him being wheeled past my room and hopped off the bed. Kellan wasn't vomiting, but he wasn't awake either. He looked completely lifeless. It scared the shit out of me.
My nurse hurried after me, telling me I needed her attention. The nurses hovering around Kellan were telling the doctor in their midst just what had happened to Kellan. I stayed back so I could listen without them seeing me; I did not want to be dragged away until I knew what was wrong. "Young male, early twenties, involved in a car accident. Was confused and light-headed at the scene, vomiting blood. Abdomen is distended, he has tachycardia and is hypotensive."
The doctor nodded as he checked Kellan's vitals. He pulled up his shirt, and even I could see his stomach was bulging. He tenderly pressed on it and Kellan's eyes opened as he gasped in pain. "He's bleeding internally. Prep him for surgery."
That got my attention. Stepping forward, I asked the doctor, "Surgery? Is it bad? Is my husband going to be okay?"
The doctor gave me a polite smile. "I'll do everything I can." Blocking my path, he examined my head as Kellan was carted away from me. "You really need stitches for this cut."
He nodded his head at the nurse behind me. She gently grabbed my arms and pulled me back into the exam room. Kellan was already gone, and I knew there was nothing I could do for him by trying to follow. Tears in my eyes, I turned to my nurse. "Do you know what happened to him?"
The nurse sat me on the table and pressed some gauze against my head. "Most likely, something inside of him ruptured. He's bleeding. They need to remove or repair the damage as soon as possible."
She grabbed a needle and some thread and I fought against the sudden acidic bile in my throat. "Is he going to die?" The tears in my eyes spilled down my cheeks. It couldn't end like this.
The nurse didn't answer me right away, and when she did, her voice was professional and courteous. "We have the best doctors in the country here. He's in good hands." I knew she was giving me a stock answer. I wanted a real one.
Jerking my head up, I glared at her. "That's not an answer."
Turning my head back into position, she told me, "I know, but it's the only one I have for you." Her words were gentle and kind, but firm, and I understood: My question wasn't answerable.
They ran some tests on me after my head was sewn back together-X-rays, an MRI. They gave me a cold pack for the strain in my shoulder and told me to ice it twenty minutes every hour. Other than feeling sore and achy and having a headache, I felt fine, and I told them that repeatedly. When all of the tests backed up what I was saying, the hospital finally released me.