Molly
The words hit me.
The brakes aren’t working.
At first I think I misheard him. My brain refuses to accept it. But then I see it. His hands tightening on the wheel. His foot pressing down again and again. The car isn’t slowing.
It’s still moving.
Still very fast.
My chest tightens and a sharp panic claws up my throat. The road stretches endlessly ahead of us, cars passing, horns blaring, everything moving too normal for what is happening inside this car.
No. No. No.
This can’t be happening again.
My fingers curl into the seat as my heart starts pounding so hard it hurts. I feel it in my ears, in my throat, everywhere. The air suddenly feels too thin.
Charles doesn’t look at me. His jaw is locked, eyes sharp, focused. One hand tight on the wheel, the other trying the handbra
