Chapter Twenty-three

Emma

Mom.

I held tight to my own trembling hands as I twisted back, craning my neck to see what was left of the SUV and of Ian and Noah. My stomach knotted as the scenes outside the windows sped by too quickly. All that I could see of the crash was a plume of smoke rising above a growing crowd. And then we turned and the scene was gone.

My black slacks were covered in the white powder from the air bags.

“Is Ian okay?” I asked.

“He isn’t my concern nor yours, Emma.” The woman reached over and ignoring the powder all over my slacks, placed her hand on my thigh as she smiled. Rings with large colorful gemstones glistened on each finger.

When I turned, her blue eyes—the same shade as mine—stared back. The shape of her face and even her petite stature were as if I’d been created not by the union of a man and woman but from a copy machine.

My pulse thumped as my mind reeled. Images of the crash infiltrated my thoughts.

“He is my concern,” I replied. “He’s my...friend.”