I’m going to be sick.
“We can’t see inside the van, but as you can see, fire trucks are arriving to help as we speak.”
“They didn’t fall,” Da says and pats my shoulder. “She’s okay.”
“The front of the van is smashed,” I reply. “She could be hurt.”
Lights flash on the screen as the men in the trucks jump into action.
I’ve never been so scared in my life.
“I feel so damn helpless. I’m just standing here.”
“There’s nothing else you can do,” Cameron says. He’s been quietly watching the screen from his perch on a stool. The pub is perfectly quiet as we watch it all unfold.
Then the screen changes back to the studio.
“We think it’s best to come back to the studio in case the families are watching this and something goes wrong. But don’t worry, we’ll keep you posted as we learn more.”
“Damn it!”
“Hey.” Da cups my face in his hands. “She’s safe right now, and that’s what you need to keep reminding yourself. Right this minute, she’s safe. Dozens of people are there right now to help her.”
“But I’m not there.”
“And you can’t do anything about that, son. So, you need to trust in those professionals—and in Izzy to keep a straight head. She’s a smart woman, our girl, and she’s going to be back on solid ground in just a few moments.”
I nod and take a deep breath. He’s right, losing my shit won’t change this or make it better.
But, damn it, I want to get to her and pull her into my arms to make sure she’s okay.
“When were you going to tell us that you’re having a baby?” Maeve asks.
“In a couple of weeks.” I turn to her. “Isabella wanted to make sure everything was okay before we told everyone, just in case.”
“We did that,” Stasia says. “It’s understandable. And she and the baby are going to be great.”
I nod and turn back to the TV, hoping they’ll show me the van again. Or better yet, Izzy herself.
She has to be okay. There is no other option.
Chapter 19
~Izzy~
“Are you okay?”
I can’t speak. I can only stare down the front end of the van to the freeway below.
“Izzy, are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh my God,” Phil says next to me. We’re both perfectly still. “I don’t know if we’re teetering or if we’re hung up on the guardrail.”
“It’s icy.” I swallow hard. “We could slip off.”
I hear him take a long, deep breath. I’m doing my best not to freak the hell out. My heart is hammering, my blood rushing through my ears.
I feel sick, and it has nothing at all to do with the pregnancy.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt. “Not how I planned to tell anyone, but here we are.”
“Okay, I need you to listen to me, Izzy. Are you listening?”
“Yes. But speak up because it’s hard to hear past the roaring in my head.”
“We’re going to make it out of here just fine. You and the baby are both good. Did you hit your head or anything when we hit the guardrail?”
“No. Why didn’t the airbag go off?”
“Good question. The station knows what happened. We were on-air. They’ve called in help by now.”
“Okay.” I lick my lips. “That makes me feel a little better. And I hear sirens. You’ve been doing this for a long time. Has this happened before?”
“I wouldn’t still be doing this if it had happened before.”
“Great.”
“You did great at cutting off the camera when it all happened.”
“I didn’t want Keegan to see it. That’s what flashed through my head; that if I died today, I didn’t want that in his head for the rest of his life.”
“We’re not dying today. Tomorrow is my wife’s forty-fifth birthday, and I have reservations at her favorite place. We’re finally empty nesters after having kids in the house for more than twenty years. I’m going to enjoy the next forty years with my wife. And you’re going to have that baby and live another eighty years yourself.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath. “Sure. Tell her I said happy birthday, by the way.”
The van slips, just a few inches, but it feels like feet. I scream.
“Okay, this isn’t fun,” Phil says.
A fire truck pulls in behind us. I see two more in my peripheral vision.
“People are here. Thank God.”
It feels like forever before I hear someone on a loudspeaker say, “Open your window.”
I do as he asks, by just barely moving my arm to press on the button. I don’t want to move too much in case it causes us to fall.
“I want you to know that you’re not going to fall. You’re hung up on the guardrail. But we have to figure out how we’re going to tow you back onto the road in this ice. It might be a while before we get you out of there. Your doors are too far over the edge. The tires are off the pavement. But I repeat, you’re not in danger of falling.”
“Thank Christ,” Phil mutters.
I reach my arm out the window and give the man a thumbs-up, then roll the window back up because it’s damn cold outside.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to do on-scene reporting for the weather. And look where that got me—hanging over the side of an overpass.”
“It doesn’t usually happen like this, you know.”
“But why is it my luck that it happened this time?”
Phil shrugs. “If it happens to us once in our careers, you got it over with in the beginning. It’ll be boring from here on out.”
“I hope you’re right because I don’t want to do this again.”
We hear and feel the team working behind us as they hitch something to the back of the van—at least that’s what I assume they’re doing. But when the fire truck starts to pull us back, the tires only spin out on the ice.
“They have to use some ice melt under their tires,” Phil mutters.
“I think I see them grabbing buckets of something,” I reply, watching in the side mirror. “I wish I could call Keegan and tell him what’s happening, but my phone is in my bag in the back. Do you have your phone?”
“It’s in the back, too,” Phil says. “We only had a half a mile to go before we planned to pull over again.”
“Yeah.” I sigh and watch in the mirror as they try again to pull us back. This time, the truck gets traction, and the metal of the van screeches as we scrape along the broken guardrail.
When we’re back on the road, I break down into tears.
Our doors are yanked open simultaneously as firefighters help us from the van.
“Are you hurt?” a woman asks, looking me over. “The airbags didn’t go off.”
“No, but I’m okay, I think. I didn’t hit my head. I’m pregnant, though. About ten weeks along.”
“We have to go to the hospital,” Phil says. “It’s company policy to go get checked out if something like this happens.”