Still Beating

T E N   Y E A R S   E A R L I E R

“Dean, stop the car!”

There’s an injured dog in the middle of the busy, snowy intersection. She is limping, half toppling over, cowering in fright every time a car zooms past, spraying dirty sludge at her and leaving her to freeze to death.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, Corabelle? It’s a blizzard outside and we’re already twenty minutes late to breakfast.”

Mandy perks up from the passenger’s side, craning her head to the backseat to look at me with her perfectly lined eyebrows. “Did you forget your purse or something?” she asks me.

I shake my head, unbuckling my seatbelt and leaning forward, pointing my finger between them. “There’s a dog. She’s hurt.”

“We can’t stop, sis,” Mandy insists, her eyes landing on the pup. “It’s too dangerous. Plus, Grandma is probably going into cardiac arrest worrying about why we’re late.”

“We can call animal control when we get to the restaurant,” Dean agrees.

Mandy nods and holds up her Blackberry. “I can even call right now if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Are you serious? The poor thing was probably hit by a car. She’s going to get hit again!” I argue, my chest pounding with fear. “Stop the car, Dean.”

“There’s no place to pull over…”

“Fine. I’ll get out here.” I reach for the door handle like a rebellious idiot, drunk on adrenaline and the need to save this animal.

“Christ, hold on.” Dean pulls off to the side of the busy road as the windshield wipers squeak, gathering more and more thick flurries with each hurried swipe.

The car is barely in park when I kick open the back door and tug my hat over my ears, wincing when the icy wind takes my breath away. A car swerves past me and I jump back, wondering if this was a stupid idea, after all. I stomp my way through the six inches of heavy snow and pause at the edge of the street, looking both ways. It’s rush hour, so there’s a steady stream of traffic. The snowflakes are falling down hard, illuminated by the sea of headlights and making me feel dizzy. I decide to make a break for it, thinking I’m probably faster than the cars coming up the hill. I dash out into the highway, my heart in my throat and my blood pumping fast and hot. I almost slip on a patch of ice, but I make it to the median strip in one piece, ignoring the blaring horns and bending over to collect my breath when I reach safety.

The dog is lying flat on her stomach, her wet, shivering body pressed up against the curb.

“Hey, there. I’m here to help. I won’t hurt you.” I pluck the mittens off my hands and tuck them into my coat pockets. Then I hold my fingers out, slow and tender, watching as the cream-colored dog moves in gingerly to sniff me. “That’s it. You’re going to be safe and warm very soon.”

As I inch forward to get a grip on the dog’s scruff, I’m startled by a new presence.

“You’re a goddamn moron. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I jerk my head to the right to find Dean storming towards me in the snow with a furious look on his face. He pulls his hood up over his head as I glare at him. “Besides you?”

“Hilarious, Corabelle,” he grumbles. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I guess it’s your lucky day, then.”

“Will you stop?”

We both look at the dog, who is now trying to stand and escape, likely terrified of Dean and his brutish demeanor. “You’re going to scare her away,” I scold him. “I’m handling this.”

Dean huffs under his breath, and it looks like a plume of smoke as it hits the chilly Midwest air. “How were you planning on getting her back to the car? You barely made it over here without becoming roadkill. And the animal is at least fifty pounds.”

Well.

I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

“Just leave me alone. I’ll figure it out.” I glance across the two-lane street to see Mandy watching us from the car with wide eyes. “I’m sure my sister is losing her shit without you being within arm’s reach.”

“She’ll survive. But you’re questionable,” Dean replies, his voice growing louder over the howling wind and passing engines.

“You’re questionable,” I shoot back, and it might just be my lamest comeback yet. I blame the cold. I inch my way closer to the canine, which looks to be some kind of Golden Retriever mix, and coo out more sweet nothings to try and earn this dog’s trust in the middle of a blizzard during Monday morning rush hour.

“I’ll get her,” Dean intercedes, pushing past me and barreling towards the frightened animal with zero grace and finesse.

“Dean!”

“Come here, buddy!”

He advances on the dog and she bolts.

She straight-up books it across the opposite two lanes and almost causes a four car pile-up.

Panic and anger flare as I stare at Dean, slack-jawed. “Look what you just did! I said I would handle it!”

“Ah, hell,” he mutters under his breath. Before I can curse him out further, Dean flees across the highway when there’s a small break in traffic, chasing the dog down a snowy ravine. I stand there on the median strip with nerves bubbling in my gut, unable to see Dean or the dog. Cars are slowing down to gawk at me—the shivering teenager standing in the middle of an intersection covered in snow. I tap my foot against the slushy cement, slipping my mittens back on to warm my frozen fingers. I watch and wait, anxiety swelling, my chest tightening.

And then I see them. Dean is trudging up the steep ravine, carrying the fifty-pound animal in his arms. My sigh of relief hits the air and my body relaxes—that is, until Dean makes a daring sprint across the highway, not noticing a car speeding right at him with its lights off.

“Dean!” I scream, catching his attention just in time, as the car nearly clips him.

I watch him close his eyes and breathe in deep, likely taking a moment to process his near-death experience. Then he finishes the trek across the road without injury, pausing on the median to shoot me his trademark scowl.

He’s out of breath and his cheeks are stained pink with wind burn. “I really hate you, Corabelle.”

I can’t help the smile from sneaking across my face. “Hate you more.”

We make a safe escape to the car and Dean lets the dog hop into the backseat with me. I situate myself, trying to warm up, and grin wide when she nuzzles right into my lap like its going to be her favorite place in the world. The dog releases a long sigh, her chin resting on my thigh. Safe at last.

“I’m naming you Blizzard,” I announce to the fluffy dog with matted fur and a sprained paw. “Mom and Dad better let me keep you.”

As Dean puts the car in drive and veers back onto the main drag, I catch him glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I swear there is an unfamiliar softness in his light eyes—something akin to tenderness. Something I haven’t seen before.

But it disappears as quickly as it came, and the devious twinkle returns.

I stick my tongue out at him.

He flips me off.

Day eight greets us with warm, tangerine sunbeams—a stark contrast to the murky, muddy feeling of despair living inside my heart.

Eight days.

It feels like longer. It feels like a lifetime.

I wonder when I’ll lose track of the days altogether and everything will blur into one prolonged, endless nightmare.

I look over at Dean, and I’m surprised to find him facing me again. He looks worn and rundown. His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. His skin has turned from a healthy golden bronze to a chalky shade of white. His appearance has shifted dramatically in only twenty-four hours.

But his eyes are still the bluest blue, and they are fixed on mine.

I’m about to tell him “good morning”, ask him how he slept, make idle conversation, but Dean speaks up first.

“You would have gotten them both,” he says.

His voice sounds frayed as I blink at him, processing his words. They take longer than usual to sink in, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m so exhausted or because part of me doubted that Dean would ever speak to me again. I swallow, my throat cinching.

“You would have adopted both dogs because your heart is too big for only one.”

I thought I was too beaten down and dehydrated to make anymore tears, but I surprise myself when my eyes start to mist. I keep my watery gaze on Dean, afraid to break this contact, afraid he’ll withdraw and leave me all alone again. I offer a small smile. Then I reply, my voice equally raspy, “I didn’t think you ever noticed my heart.”

It’s a heavy declaration, and I hate that it’s true.

Dean’s weary face grows even wearier as he absorbs my words. “It’s impossible not to notice, Cora.”

I finally lower my eyes and draw my knees back up to my chin. I don’t hear the dripping pipe anymore and idly wonder if it’s so cold outside that the pipes have frozen. A cold front was supposed to come through last week.

I lift my gaze back to Dean when the silence becomes too painful. He’s still staring at me. Still expressionless. “What are we?” I wonder aloud. I was not expecting those words to come out, but they have been plaguing me for days. Dean has always fit into a very specific box in my life. Dean, the asshole. Dean, my sister’s dumb boyfriend. Dean, my mortal enemy.

But…

“You don’t feel like my enemy anymore,” I finish.

You feel like my lifeline.

I watch a small frown crease his eyebrows as he studies me. Seconds tick by and turn into minutes. Our gazes drift and collide. Drift and collide.

He is thinking. Probably wondering the same thing.

“I don’t know,” Dean finally replies, a certain kind of sadness lacing every word. “But I think you were right… we’ll never be friends.”