“Elliot!” I screamed as the car swerved. “Elliot, help us. We’re driving through Tulse Hill. Please, please! Anderson is going to kill us – Bailey! Look out!”
One moment we were sliding at an insane speed, then the next our bodies were being violently jerked from side to side as the car flipped multiple times before landing on its side and smashing into something solid and unmoving. Somewhere in the midst of this, I smacked my head against the window of my door and felt warm liquid dripping down my face, as pain unlike anything I had ever felt before spread like wildfire across my head and body.
Before I closed my eyes, I called out a name. I called out for a man to help me, but before he could answer . . . darkness had already claimed me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ELLIOT
Present day . . .
I was going fucking crazy.
I hit my hands against the steering wheel of my car for the millionth time. This was the most insane thing I had ever done, and I was a fucking firefighter! Sitting in my car while knowing the woman I loved was in the flat she’d once shared with a husband she couldn’t remember was like resting my balls on scalding-hot coals. I hated every fucking second of it. But I had no choice but to endure it until she heard whatever it was that she thought Anderson Riley was going to tell her.
For her sake, I hoped he had the information she believed he might.
I would be lying if I said a huge part of me wasn’t curious to know if he knew anything. The police had questioned him for information about that night, but he’d said he hadn’t been aware that Noah had even left their flat. He went to sleep early and was awoken by the police knocking on his door to inform him about the crash that took Bailey and almost took Noah too. They had no reason not to believe him, and though I disliked him greatly, I had no reason either.
Maybe Noah was right. Maybe there was a chance that Anderson knew something that could help shine a light on what took place that night and he didn’t realise it, but I wasn’t holding out much hope.
My issues with the man boiled down to one thing on my part: raging jealousy. I hated him for having Noah, and he knew it. He hated me for wanting her, because I made no effort to hide that fact. Back when I found out that Noah had moved in with the creep barely a few weeks after we broke up, I blew like a fuse. I was so furious, hurt and ready to beat the shite out of the man who had moved in on my girl. I’d found out where they lived, showed up at the place and demanded to know what was happening. Anderson had happily told me how he’d fucked Noah in every way imaginable, and planned to continue fucking her for the foreseeable future. I landed a solid to his jaw. Noah hadn’t been home at the time, but Anderson made sure to let me know that she would be returning to him and to his bed.
I left the flat that day expecting to feel better after letting my frustrations out on the pathetic wankstain, but I didn’t. I felt a million times worse off than I could have ever imagined. It had solidified in my mind – and heart – that Noah and I were never going to get back together. She had chosen another man over me . . . and at the time, I blamed myself. As time went by, I’d still mourned the loss of her and our relationship, and had a lot of self-hatred and blame for what had happened, but after thinking of our talk in the hospital I’d come to a conclusion.
It was no one’s fault.
Noah had wanted to get married and I didn’t; it was something we couldn’t compromise on and it was the end of our relationship. When said like that, it seemed easy to understand and to accept, but the reality of