Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(87)

“I’m not short. You smell incredible. Is that something new you’re wearing?”

He sets me down, kisses me softly, and smiles. “Nope. Just love pheromones. You ready to go?”

A thrill runs through me at his mention of the word “love,” but I don’t make a big deal of it. “Almost. I have to finish packing.”

“You say that like you’re going on a two week vacation to Europe.”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know I’m an over packer. Well, better you find out now what you’re in for.”

I lead him into my bedroom. On the bed are the two suitcases I’ve already packed, along with the open weekend bag on the floor by the dresser that I’m still working on filling.

He looks at them and lifts his brows.

“I know. It’s a problem. I’ll wear the same yoga pants five days in a row at home, but put a suitcase in front of me, and I’ll pack every piece of formal wear I own, plus a dozen pairs of shoes and twenty handbags.”

“Do you really think the ballgown is necessary?”

“That’s not a ballgown. That’s a bathrobe.”

He eyes the puffy pink silk robe spilling out of one of the cases. “It’s voluminous.”

“It’s pretty!”

“You won’t need it. If you packed any panties, bras, or nightgowns, you can take those out too.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

As I pull the robe from the case, he slaps me playfully on the bottom. Then we’re grinning at each other.

“Why do I feel like I’m nine years old, headed to Disneyland for the first time?”

“Because you’re adorable. But watch out. At my Disneyland, Mickey Mouse fucks Minnie on the jungle cruise.”

He kisses me again, I finish packing, and then we’re off, headed to his mansion in the hills with the radio blaring, holding hands and singing along to our favorite songs.

We’re still holding hands when I glance out the driver’s side window and see a cargo truck barreling through the intersection against the red light.

I don’t even have time to scream Cole’s name before it crashes into us at full speed.





Cole





It’s a funny thing, karma.

Just when you think life is going your way, karma shows up to remind you that there’s a price to be paid for everything.

The bigger your sins, the bigger the price.

And the longer you’ll pay for them.





Shay





It’s the beeping that gets me. The incessant beeping, like one of those annoying back-up sensor alarms on a car. Except it never stops, not even for a second.

Irritated by the noise, I open my eyes. My lids weigh a thousand pounds, so they slam shut almost immediately. But it’s enough for me to catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar room, bright with florescent light.

“She’s awake! She opened her eyes! Call the doctor. Get him in here quick.”

I recognize that voice. It’s my mother’s.

Why is my mother here?

Where am I?

The irritating beeping continues.

A confusion of scents hangs in the air. Flowers and perfume, hairspray and mouthwash, body odor and bleach. There’s something else beneath it all, an underlying stench I’ve never encountered before. Like the smell of something rotting, it’s deeply disturbing.

I open my eyes again, this time focusing on the person looming over me, bending down over the bed. It’s Chelsea.

Her eyes are red and swollen. Her face is blotchy, and her blonde hair’s a mess. I’ve never seen her look like this. And why is she in her work scrubs?

When I speak, I’m surprised by how weak and scratchy my voice sounds and by how much my throat hurts. “Hey, girlfriend. You look like shit.”

She grabs my hand and bursts into tears. “Shay. Oh God. Thank God.”

I look around the room. My parents stand together at the end of my bed. My father is gripping the metal guard rails that surround the mattress with both hands as if he’s hanging on to it for life.

“Hi, honey,” he says, his voice choked. His clothing is rumpled and his eyes are red, and I realize that, like Chelsea, he’s been crying too.

The beeping grows louder and faster as cold fear seizes me.

I’m in the hospital.

This is a hospital room, and my parents and Chelsea are here because I’ve been hurt.

Suddenly, I can’t catch my breath. It feels like a thousand pound weight is crushing my chest. I swallow, blinking against the harsh light of the room, and try to sit up.

I can’t move.

Panicking now, I look down at myself.

I’m covered by a thin blue blanket, but my arms and legs are where there should be. Slender plastic tubes are stuck in both arms and the back of my right hand. The tubes lead up to bags of clear liquid hanging from a silver pole beside the bed. Next to the pole is the heart rate monitor causing all the beeping.

A young doctor in a white jacket sweeps into the room, followed by a big male nurse in blue scrubs. He must’ve been who my mother ordered to call the doctor. Chelsea moves aside to make room for the doctor at the edge of the bed but doesn’t let go of my hand.

“Hello, Shay. I’m Dr. Dayan. How are you feeling?”