3000 Miles (A Wesley Stromberg/Emblem3 Fanfiction)

Chapter One

I took my eyes of the road for one second and paid for it dearly. Oh, I was fine. But my poor little Camry Solara wasn't. I looked up just in time to see a long board go flying and a body go rolling off of my now-dented hood. With a gasp, I dropped my phone onto the passenger seat and pretended not to notice all the passersby staring at me. An agonized groan came from in front of my car making me sick to my stomach. Trying to hold back a truckload of vomit, I exited the car and rushed to the aid of my victim.

Rather than helping, I stared in awe. I hadn't just hit someone. I'd hit an attractive someone. Even with his face twisted in pain, he was gorgeous. His blue flat-billed cap was underneath his head, rolling back and forth with him. He was clutching his stomach, half-exposed with the weight of his muscular arms. He was a brunette, clearly going for the beach bum look with the shag that was taking place. He continued groaning, keeping his eyes shut tight and his body constantly rocking, the red backpack he'd been wearing serving as a stopper on his right side.

"Mother Mary," he choked. "I see a light,"

"Oh my God," I gasped, kneeling beside him searching the ground for his phone. "Oh my God I'm so sorry!"

He opened one eye, ceasing his wails long enough to get a good eyeful and kept on, this time a little more dramatically. "My life! It's over! First my boys ditched me, and now I'm sure they paid you to kill me!"

"What? No..." I shook the guilt from my head long enough to help him sit up. "What's your name? Are you seriously hurt?"

"Wesley Stromberg," he said matter-of-factly before adding a weak "I think,"

I ran to my car again and grabbed my phone off of the seat. "I'm calling someone,"

"No," he grabbed my wrist, sending my caseless phone to the asphalt. "Drive me to the hospital."

"What?" I asked, thinking about the inevitable shattering that had probably taken place.

He curved his wrist to better get a hold of my hand, interlocking our fingers and pulling them to his chest. "I need a hand to hold and someone to tell my story if I die,"

"I'm pretty sure you're not going to die," I said, now annoyed that the scene was still taking place.

"You don't know that," Wesley said, letting my hand go. "I could have abdominal bleeding. My spleen could be ruptured! Plus, I'm seeing black spots,"

He swiped at the air twice then massaged the back of his neck leaving me to nervously grin and wave off spectators. "No worries, he's fine!"

"I need a doctor and she won't drive me!" He shouted to the streets.

"I'm calling an ambulance!" I announced, beginning to hear angry horns piling up behind my car.

"Ow!" He wailed, putting his head between his knees, "the Angels are starting to sing!"

"Fine!" I hissed, taking hold of his forearm and helping him to his feet. "I'll drop you off, but you're on your own from there."

"But what if I slip into a coma? Who will explain what happened to me on this tragic day?" He asked, hopping over the door of my convertible.

"You're obviously fine," I growled, opening my own door and pressing the button to pull the roof over our heads.

I threw my shattered phone into the backseat and took a deep breath, wondering when people would quit staring at us.

"Camry Solara," he muttered before turning to me. "2002?"

"Yup," I spat as we drove on.

He let a little break in the conversation take place, rolling down his window and drumming his fingers on the outside of the door. I took advantage of the silence and turned up the radio. Had my phone not been splintering glass, I'd have played my own music. But in this awkward situation, commercials were better than nothing.