Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 80: The Accident (2)

Chapter 80: The Accident (2)

The squeal of tires echoed in her ear, followed by a sound so piercing it seemed to split the air itself. Metal screamed against metal, and the chaotic symphony of shattering glass reverberated through the phone.

"No!" Jerica’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. The phone slipped in her sweaty grasp as she shouted his name. "Mea Amor, answer me!"

The line was silent. A dead, suffocating silence that suffused the room.

Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out every rational thought. She stared at the phone, the screen glaring up at her with the words Call Ended.

The bright letters mocked her with their finality. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she redialed, each ring unanswered tightening the coil of dread in her gut.

"Please," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She dropped to her knees, the phone clutched to her chest as if that could somehow bridge the impossible distance between them. The room spun, and she struggled to catch her breath.

Memories of him flashed before her eyes—his laughter, the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, the whispered promises they shared in the dark.

Then she remembered the odd meeting with Lydia Sutherland.

She dialed again, desperation clawing at her throat. Ring after ring, and still nothing.

A sob broke free, ragged and aching, as the reality began to settle in. Something terrible had happened, and she was powerless to change it. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the floor, but she barely noticed. All she could do was sit there, paralyzed, the echo of the crash reverberating in her mind.

"Jared," she whispered again, the sound of his name on her lips an anchor in a sea of uncertainty. But the room offered no comfort, only the silent reminder of everything she stood to lose.

Jerica stayed on the floor for a few moments, her mind a whirlwind of fear and helplessness. But then she took in a deep breath and steeled her resolve. Staying on the floor wouldn’t help her husband. Whatever had happened—whether it was an accident or something more sinister—didn’t matter at this moment. All that mattered was Jared’s life. She needed to find him.

Her hands were still trembling as she checked his location again, praying that the GPS signal would still work. Relief flooded her when it did. The small blue dot indicating his position moved slowly, as though carried by an emergency vehicle.

Without a second thought, Jerica grabbed her purse and rushed out the door. The cold night air stung her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Fortune favored her as a cab pulled up almost immediately. Jerica climbed in, her voice breaking as she instructed the driver, "St. John’s Hospital. Please, hurry."

As the car sped down the city streets, the tension in her chest grew tighter. The glow of passing streetlights flickered through the windows, casting fleeting shadows across her face. Her eyes stayed glued to her phone, watching the blue dot move steadily toward its destination. The seconds felt like hours. Every bump in the road jolted her, every pause at a red light made her stomach twist with anxiety.

The thought that the EMTs had arrived and picked up Jared was her only comfort. The alternative—that he had been taken by someone who wanted him dead—was a possibility she couldn’t bear to entertain. Her mind raced with images of the crash: the screech of tires, the shattering glass, and his voice cut off mid-sentence. It replayed over and over, each loop more suffocating than the last.

Jerica’s knuckles turned white as she clutched her phone, silently willing it to show her more. The cab driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, concern flashing across his face at her pale, wide-eyed expression, but he said nothing. The city blurred by in a streak of neon signs and darkened windows, the world outside moving too fast, too detached from the chaos within her heart.

Finally, the cab pulled up to the emergency entrance of St. John’s Hospital. She barely waited for it to stop before throwing cash at the driver and stumbling out. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the bright glare of hospital lights greeted her, but she felt none of their usual coldness. Instead, adrenaline coursed through her veins, numbing everything but the need to find Jared.

Jerica burst through the entrance doors, her eyes darting around wildly. The hospital lobby was spacious, filled with the buzz of muted conversations and the sterile scent of antiseptic. Her gaze locked onto the reception desk, and without a moment’s hesitation, she sprinted toward it.

But before she could reach her destination, a sudden commotion erupted to her right. The sharp bark of a dog echoed through the hallway, and before Jerica could process what was happening, a powerful Rottweiler broke free from its handler, its muscled frame barreling toward her. She barely registered the startled gasps of people around her as she skidded to a halt, nearly tripping when the dog’s cold nose brushed her leg.

The dog’s deep growl sent a wave of panic through the crowd, and chaos unfolded. Patients, visitors, and staff scattered, some cowering against the walls while others whispered frantically or stared in shock. The security guards, caught off guard, rushed toward her, but hesitated, clearly unsure how to handle the powerful animal that stood between them and Jerica.

Jerica’s heart hammered in her chest, not from fear of the dog, but from the overwhelming sense of urgency coursing through her veins. She didn’t care about the sudden, dangerous situation or the way people’s eyes widened in pity, as if she were the next victim of an impending attack. She had one singular thought: Jared.

"Sit!" she shouted, her voice laced with both command and desperation as she pointed at the Rottweiler.

The dog’s growl softened, and with a small whimper, it obediently sat, though it leaned forward and sniffed at her leg curiously. Jerica barely acknowledged its compliance, the pounding in her chest only easing slightly. The tension in the lobby remained palpable, eyes still fixed on her and whispers circulating about the bizarre scene. Some people muttered complaints about the irresponsibility of bringing a dog into the hospital, while others expressed relief that at least they were already in a place where she could get immediate help if needed.

From the corner of her eye, Jerica saw a well-dressed older man hurrying down the hallway, followed closely by a group of men in dark suits. The man’s expression was stern, and the urgency in their stride suggested he was the dog’s owner. But Jerica didn’t stop to watch their approach. Her mind was already moving ahead.

She turned on her heel and rushed to the reception desk, breathless and trembling. The receptionist, who had been watching the scene unfold with wide eyes, snapped her attention back to Jerica. "My husband," Jerica gasped, her voice breaking. "Jared Petrovski—there was an accident. Where is he?"

The receptionist’s expression shifted, professionalism masking her initial shock. She clicked away at the keyboard, the seconds stretching like hours for Jerica.

"Room 307," the receptionist said at last. "He’s in the trauma unit, but I’m not sure—"

Jerica didn’t wait for the rest. She bolted down the hallway, each step a drumbeat of hope and dread. Behind her, the murmur of the lobby faded as she pushed forward, focused solely on reaching Jared before fear could swallow her whole.

The lobby’s chaos seemed like a distant echo now, each second stretching unbearably as she raced down the sterile corridor. The overhead lights blurred into streaks, and the sterile smell of disinfectant filled her nose, mixing with the bitter tang of her anxiety. Her breath came in short, frantic gasps as her heartbeat pounded a relentless rhythm in her ears.

The owner of the dog tightened his grip on the leash, glancing at the now-quiet animal with narrowed eyes. The large Rottweiler, muscles taut under its sleek coat, had lowered itself to an unusual position of obedience, eyes locked in the direction Jerica had disappeared.

The man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that barely showed a crease, watched her retreating figure with keen interest. His dog never submitted to anyone—not his wife, not even his adult son who’d trained with it since it was a pup. Yet that young woman, in a moment of raw emotion, had commanded it with such authority that it obeyed without question.

A flash of recognition flickered in his mind. He had seen many strong-willed people in his life, but this one... there was something different. Something he couldn’t quite place. The resonance in her voice spoke of a rare, fierce resolve.

His pride stung slightly, yet curiosity overrode it. Who was she? And what kind of bond did she share with the man she was so desperate to reach?

The answer teased the edge of his thoughts as he took a step forward, eyes narrowing as he pieced together fragments of what he had just witnessed.

Then, clear as a bell, he heard her voice echo in the distance, trembling but determined as she called out. "Jared Petrovski."

His brow furrowed as realization began to dawn. He turned to one of the suited men behind him, a silent command passing between them. The man nodded, slipping away quietly to gather information.