I squeeze my knees together and will away the tightness in my stomach as Dustin punches it on the back straightaway, the turn coming closer and eventually, too close. He has to fall back. Or . . . he should. But that’s not what he does. Instead of giving the lane, Dustin stays high, working twice as hard—putting his car through the bigger test—until he breaks out of the curve and is somehow in fucking first!
“Go!” I stand and shout too.
Bailey laughs nervously behind me, and Bristol races in from the kitchen where she’s been frosting cookies with my mom. She jumps on the ottoman and my mom and Bailey’s rejoin us in the living room.
My feet grind at the floor as if I’m pressing the gas right along with him. Every lap he completes is one less he needs to win—needs to hold.
We’re down to four when Quin makes his move and is in second. Dustin still has a car length on him, but my paranoia has me seeing Quin gaining on him.
I hold my balled fist to my mouth as we get to three, and at two, when their cars are neck and neck, I hold my breath and pray. It’s selfish to ask for Dustin to win, but it’s what I say in my head. I ask for any help that can be offered, for something good to come his way. I ask for him to come in first.
And then Quin clips the back of Dustin’s car, sending them both spinning out. The Miller Trucking car slams into the wall and flips twice. There’s smoke. A blur of color as the car spins, pieces flying in all directions, skipping along the track and up into the stands. The announcers gasp and the crowd screams. Sirens blare and a flurry of people in uniforms—emergency personnel—rush the track. It’s controlled chaos, and the response massive. Every single person seems to be heading toward Dustin’s car. So many people running to him. Except me, because I am here, pinned to the floor, my heart beating erratically.
“No,” I utter against my hand. My knees grow weak and I falter.
My dad steps closer to the screen, but he’s blocking my view so I wave at him.
“No, no, no, no . . .”
Bristol turns around and my eyes meet hers. I’m too scared to fake a smile. I can’t protect her from my terror. And that’s what this is—terror.
“Mommy?”
“Come here, baby,” I utter, opening my arms to her. She runs to me and slams into my gut. I hold her tight, tucking her face against my body so she can’t see anything—not the screen, not me.
“Virgil, talk to me,” my dad says, walking out of the room, phone pressed to his ear. I’m torn between following him and staying right here so I can watch them pull Dustin from the car live.
“I see Tommy,” Bailey shouts. She cups her hands over her mouth and stares at the screen without blinking. And from that point on, everything in my world moves at zero beats per second.
22
Twenty hours later
Massive swelling in his brain.
There are a lot of other medical terms floated around, but they’re the only words that make any sense. The only thing that matters. Dustin is in an induced coma because of massive swelling in his brain.
His ribs are cracked. Broke? Busted? Does it matter?
Lots of deep bruising. No burns, and his neck and spine checked out.
But his head—it’s in danger. His beautiful mind, our beautiful life—our future—is at risk. All because some asshole who drove a car for Alex fucking Offerman decided to take Dustin out.
There’s no proof. I know it in my gut, though. Dustin knows it. Wherever he is in his dreams? He’s screaming it.
I’m so tired of this hospital. I’ve been here for eight hours and I’m already sick of it. Bailey’s father was able to call in a favor from a client who flew us in on his private jet. I know Dustin wanted us to go to the cabin, but that was part of a different plan. Plans change.
My mom and Bailey and Bristol went along with Bailey’s parents. The people we care about are safe, but I need to be here. My dad needs to be here. Dustin needs us, to hear our voices. My brother needs us to anchor him to Earth.
Tommy told them I was Dustin’s wife. For some reason, his lie broke me and I started crying in the middle of the waiting area. Panic and shock had been holding me together, but the thought of only getting to pretend to be Mrs. Dustin Bridges is the thing that tore me in two.
It took me an hour to pull myself together. Now, I’m a circling lioness waiting to see my king. Every new hospital staffer who passes through those doors gets the brunt of my anxiety. I’m close to ripping one of their badges from their chest so I can race through those doors and shout Dustin’s name until I find his room.
Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that.
“Mrs. Bridges?” The doctor who said the words swelling in his brain calls my name. I bolt from my miserable chair and take several steps toward her.
“We’ve got him in his room now. You can come back, but only you.”
I nod.
“I understand.” I turn to my dad and he shoots a warning gaze my way. He’s willing me to stay strong, and I nod, knowing I’ll break that promise the moment I get into Dustin’s room.
“Come back out when you can. Keep us posted?” Tommy asks. He takes a seat next to Virgil and kicks his feet up on one of the tables, probably in an attempt to take a nap. I don’t think my brother has slept in nearly forty-eight hours.
Dustin’s Uncle Jeff is already asleep in the opposite corner, and I think if he were awake they’d probably let him in the room too, given that he’s family. The irony is that neither of us are in reality. But reality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s a formality.
I follow the doctor through the doors and she guides me into a room at the far end of the hall. He’s in here alone, though there’s a second bed buried behind a curtain. It’s the ICU, and the echo of beeping coming from every room around us penetrates my ears. Dustin’s own machines blend right in.
“Thank you,” I say, dragging the chair to his bedside as the doctor writes a few vital statistics on a white board by the door.
“If you need to come and go, there’s a pass for that. I’ll have the nurse bring one in. Only you.”
“I understand,” I say.
I wouldn’t let anyone take this time from me. I’m too greedy. I have to be here for him, to hold him close until his head is ready.
Swelling in the brain.
I wait until the doctor leaves. It’s hard to act crazy and heartbroken in front of people, and I’m about to do a lot of both. The tears come the moment the door closes behind her.
“You know I hate this crying business, you big jerk face.” I laugh through my tears and wrap my hands around his. His body is warm, but his hand is lifeless. It’s such a strange paradox.
I rest my head at his side and press my cheek to the back of his hand, counting the beeps. His rhythm is steady—strong.
“Your heart is fine.”
Mine isn’t.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his car spinning. I replay the moment of impact again and again. The hate I have for Quin Bastion is massive. He walked away unscathed, pulled from his car by his team, and is probably already in Vegas toasting with his asshole boss.
I want to kill him.
I actually want to kill him.