He does, with one last glance at me. Even though he must be in astonishing pain, his face hardens and he pulls his broken arm up to his chest and moves carefully but quickly through the broken glass, banging his head on the dash and muttering to himself. He makes a play for the gun and snags it around the barrel before he gets clear and rolls out onto the pavement. He turns and holds out his hand.
Fuck, this is going to hurt. But I hear Cal grunting, see him getting pulled closer to the edge as the truck slides. I look back behind me and enough of the rear of the cab has cleared the cement that I can see the river below, rushing so far underneath me it seems a frightening distance. I turn back to Cal in time to see his wings disappear completely.
“Benji!” Abe cries as the truck slides further over the edge.
Knowing there’s not much time left, I curl myself up toward the floor of the cab so when the seat belt comes undone, I’ll land on my back instead of my neck. The muscles in my stomach howl and burn, and my fingers fumble with the latch. More blood gets in my eye. I can’t see. My fingers feel numb as they skitter off on the belt. I’m going to die here. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please just let me—
I find the latch. I pull the metal tab up and the seat belt releases instantly. Before I can even brace myself, I crash down onto the roof of the cab, the air knocked out of me, slamming my head against the roof. There are stars everywhere for a moment, and they are so fucking blue that I just want to follow them into the dark. I almost do, but then I hear him say, “Benji, don’t go,” and I can’t. I can’t leave him here alone. Not after all he’s done for me. Not after all he’s done to get to me. I can’t. I won’t.
Forcing the stars away, I roll over, glass cutting into my arms as I crawl forward. The truck shifts again, and Cal and Abe both cry out. Abe leans in closer, reaching out his hand for mine. I raise my hand toward his and his fingers graze against mine and—
The truck slips even farther. I glance back and see the cab is caught on the very lip of the bridge. Only another few inches and it will fall. It starts to slide again. “Benji!” Cal shouts, the terror in his voice rocking me to my core. I turn back to Abe and push up with my hands and feet, launching myself toward his outstretched hand. We snap wrist to wrist, our skin slick with blood, but his grip is strong and he pulls as my feet scrabble for purchase, slipping against glass and debris. Cal cries out again as the Ford tilts upward and begins to fall off the bridge. The edge of the windowsill clips my left ankle, causing searing pain to shoot through my leg, and then the truck is gone and I’m partially on top of Abe, both of us gasping for air. Only a few seconds later, there’s a crash, a splash of water, and even though it’s distant and muffled by the wind, it still grates against my ears.
Then I’m lifted up off the ground and cradled against a broad chest. Cal has fallen to his knees near the edge of the bridge, pulling me tightly against him. He brushes a big, calloused hand against my face, wiping away the dirt and blood and tears. “Are you okay?” he asks me roughly. I can feel him shaking against me. “Oh, please tell me you’re okay. Please, Benji.”
I reach up to touch his face. “You came,” I whisper.
He turns his head to kiss my palm, his stubble scraping against my flesh. “Saw your thread,” he says. “Saw Abe’s too, but your thread was like the sky exploded. So bright. So blue. I was scared.” His voice cracks, but he pushes on. “Didn’t think I’d get to you in time.” He kisses my hand again, an action so tender I start to shake right along with him.
“I called for you,” I breathe. “And you heard me.”
“Yes,” he says simply.
I tear my eyes away from his. “Abe?”
“I’ll be fine, boy,” he says. “Takes more than a car crash,