He Killed Me Then Loved Me novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Handbrake

Hallie hides behind a planter, warns Phillip his brakes are cut, and drags him out of the wreck when he drives anyway; he grips her wrist and says she knew.

I left the carriage house at 6:45 with the back door locked behind me and my shoes still untied.

I did not wait for the ride Phillip had texted about.

I took the cross-town bus and got off at the testing center before the doors were even unlocked.

The lot was nearly empty. Only a few test-takers stood by the curb with coffee and flash cards.

I walked to the far corner and stood behind the big concrete planter by the fence.

It was the one place Phillip would have to look for me.

My hands were cold. I rubbed them together and counted the cars coming in.

At 6:58 the red car turned into the lot.

It came in slow. Phillip was driving, and Beckett sat beside him with his phone already raised.

They did not look at the doors. They looked across the whole lot until they found me.

Phillip smiled with half of his mouth.

He had not expected me to hide, and now he had come to drag me out.

The car swung around and stopped across the exit, facing me. More test-takers had gathered on the curb to watch.

I knew this part. Everyone on the curb knew it too, and not one of them said a word.

"Hey, scholarship!" Phillip shouted through the open window. "You're early. Did you sleep out here?"

Beckett laughed. "She looks scared, Phil."

"I'm not scared," I said.

My voice came out steady. I had already died once this morning, and the fear was gone.

"Then come out from behind the flower pot," Phillip said.

He revved the engine until the windows of the school shook.

I stepped out from behind the planter, into the open, because I needed him to hear me.

"Phillip, listen to me," I said. "Your brakes are cut. Do not drive that car."

The whole lot went quiet.

Beckett lowered his phone an inch.

Phillip's grin stayed where it was. "Nice try."

"I'm not joking. Pump the pedal. Go ahead. Test it now."

"You think I'm falling for that?"

"Test it," I said. "Please."

He looked at me, and for the first time in seven years he looked at me for longer than a second.

Then he shrugged and put the car in gear. "Fine. I'll test it on you."

He floored it straight at me.

I threw myself sideways behind the planter, and the red car tore past it toward the curb, where two hundred people stood.

I saw his face through the window when he stamped on the brake pedal.

The car did not slow down.

He stamped again, and again, with both feet.

"It's not stopping!" he screamed. "Beck, it's not stopping!"

The curb crowd broke and ran. A girl dropped her cards and a boy dragged her backward by the arm.

I ran toward the car instead.

I ran alongside it with my shoes slapping the asphalt and shouted in through the open window.

"Phillip! The handbrake! Pull the handbrake and steer for the planter!"

He stared at me with the wheel locked in both fists.

"Now!" I screamed.

He yanked the handbrake with his right hand and hauled the wheel left with his left.

The back end skidded around. Tires screamed, and the smell of burning rubber poured over the lot.

The red car slid sideways, missed the curb by a yard, and slammed into the concrete planter, passenger side first.

The crash was louder than anything I had ever heard.

Glass fell across the asphalt in a long bright sheet. The hood buckled, and gray smoke came out of the engine.

Nobody on the curb moved.

I got to the driver's door first.

It was jammed. I put my foot against the frame and pulled with both hands until my palms burned on the hot metal.

"Get out!" I shouted. "It's going to catch!"

Phillip did not answer. Blood ran from his hairline down one side of his face.

I reached in, unbuckled his belt and got both arms under his shoulders.

He was heavier than he looked, and I dragged him out onto the asphalt anyway.

Beckett crawled out the other side, white and shaking, and dropped his phone in the broken glass.

I pulled Phillip ten feet clear of the car before I let him go.

Then I looked up.

Two hundred people were filming me with their phones.

Phillip lay on his back and blinked at the sky. His chest heaved.

He turned his head and found my face.

His hand shot out and closed on my wrist. His grip was hard enough to hurt.

"You knew," he said.

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