One Moment

Forty-Four

Noel

Kinsley Hastings.

Her name echoes through my mind throughout the ride back to the house.

It stills does when I push through the door and enter the house.

I'm a mess because of her. Our association goes deeper than falling in love, twisting our relationship into something different. Something bitter and painful. Although I never put in the effort to discover the name of the survivor, I read newspaper articles and heard broadcasts over the radio and TV. Now, her name replaces the word anonymous.

Kinsley Hastings.

Her name is destroying me. All I hear is her story and her name. The pain in her voice. I feel her warm teardrop on the pad of my thumb. Her lips on mine.

She's the girl who survived the accident.

The accident I caused.

Behind me, the front door slams. Slams so hard it shakes the walls.

I want this to be a sick and twisted practical joke.

But I know this is reality. I'm not stuck in some nightmare.

"Noel? Is that you?"

Gramps shouts from the kitchen; his voice echoes down the hallway.

His voice triggers me, adding to the continuous loop my mind is stuck on. It makes me feel sick. Kinsley and I aren't just connected because we like each other. We're connected because of a drunk man and a weak mind. 

My sister didn't die on scene. She died in the hospital. They couldn't stop the internal bleeding.

I choke on a sob.

Saying goodbye to our parents is inevitable. Kinsley's chance was taken away. She never should've said goodbye to her boyfriend, friend, or sister. Those goodbyes are not inevitable. We always hope we'll be the first ones to leave in order to avoid the pain.

Instead, Kinsley woke up from a two-week medically induced coma to learn her loved ones are dead.

My chest tightens. My palms become clammy. The same disassociation I felt post-accident is returning, and I can't stop it.

The shock is too much.

I don't know how I'm supposed to react. To handle this. If learning Cole has a kid was shocking, then this is something new. Almost an out-of-body experience.

As I continue down the hallway, heading for the stairs, anxious adrenaline courses through my veins.

It's all my fault. My fault. I did this to Kinsley. She lost her loved ones because of me. There's no way I can fix what's happened. She'll never forgive me.

Just then, my thigh slams against the corner of the small side table in the hallway. The force and sudden pain knock me off of my feet. I fall to my knees, clutching my thigh.

I stay there. Even after the pain has subsided. Moving feels impossible.

How did this happen?

Billions of people populate the planet. There are thousands of cities and water systems. Different countries. Vast oceans. Yet Kinsley and I found each other.

Kinsley Marie Hastings.

She told me her middle name while we were playing Russian Rummy. She told her wants and needs. Why she wants to become a vet. How much she loved her trip to the Okanagan, where she went to wineries with her parents and drank red wine and sparkling rosé while enjoying charcuterie boards with assortments of cheeses, nuts, olives, and grapes. We discussed sports. Created a playful argument over which team is better: the Flames or the Jets.

Kinsley Hastings.

I squeeze my eyes shut and fold my arms across my stomach, choking on a sob. Everything that's happened to her is my fault. She limps because of me. Her loneliness stems from my weak decisions. My decisions have damaged her mentally, physically, and emotionally. I'm the person who destroyed everything she ever loved.

A sharp gasp escapes my mouth as I hyperventilate. My lungs can't absorb enough oxygen.

Using the minimal strength I have, I push into a sitting position and press my back against the wall. I press my face into my hands.

Nothing's right.

Everything's wrong.

"Mate?"

I look up, still suffering from constricted lungs. Cole looks concerned, but his concern isn't as strong as the regret.

I'm not an idiot.

"You knew," I rasp, tears burning my cheeks. "You fucking knew."

Cole looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

I close my eyes, another desperate gasp consuming me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What the hell is—"

Gramps' feet pad against the hardwood of the hallway, stopping when he plants himself beside Cole. He clears his throat, which prompts me to open my eyes.

Gramps is staring at me. "What the hell happened?"

The lack of emotion in his voice makes me cry harder. Makes my lungs strain.

In the distance, I hear the door opening. It closes. Then I hear her voice.

"Noel?" she calls.

Gramps and Cole exchange a worried look. Then Cole excuses himself, retreating down the hallway to Kinsley.

He's not fast enough.

She steps around the corner. My cowboy hat is in one hand. The backpack in the other. Her eyes are pink, but the puffiness has gone down.

My chest tightens.

I lift my hand and grasp my shirt just over my heart. My nails dig into my skin. I can't breathe. All the oxygen has been sucked from the air. I feel like I'm dying a slow, painful death.

She speaks again. "I was worried about you. I thought..."

She trails off. Her gaze trails over me as a crease forms between her brows. "What happened?"

"Cole," Gramps says. "Get her out of here. Now."

Cole doesn't move. He's staring at me, pain visible on his face.

I close my eyes, letting the world around me fall into nothing. Guilt, shame, and despair surround me, tearing me apart and leaving nothing behind. It consumes me until I'm nothing but a bottomless void in a human suit. Until I'm numb.

Until I lose consciousness.