The first thing Emily Mercer URM remembered after the crash was the smell of gasoline and lilies.
Not blood.
A Bride Survived the Crash, Then Learned the VR Driver Was Hired
Not smoke.
Lilies.
Her bouquet had been crushed somewhere near her feet, the white petals mashed into the floorboard like wet tissue.
Rain blew through the missing windshield in cold sheets and hit her face, her arms, the torn lace at her shoulder.
Somewhere beneath the twisted metal, a turn signal kept clicking with a calm little rhythm that felt almost insulting.
Click.
Click.
Click.
As if the car were still asking to merge.
As if her life had not just broken open in the middle of a wet road outside Mount Pleasant.
Beside her, Nathan Mercer sat completely still.
Emily turned her head because she could not move anything else without pain ripping through her body.
His tuxedo collar was bent.
His wedding ring was still bright on his hand.
His face was turned slightly toward her, as if he had been about to say something and had been stopped halfway through the sentence.
“Nathan,” she whispered.
