Tommy takes my hand again, closing it in both of his.
“You got it. One coffee for the lady. You?” He lifts a brow to me, and while the idea of coffee right now sounds vomit-inducing, I have a feeling the morning may bring a different story.
“Sure, why not.”
“Done and done,” Tommy says. He hugs Hannah, and we both look on as he slips through the door, closing it gently behind him.
When she turns back to me, I can read the nerves on her face. She’s never been good at bluffing, and the way her lips quiver as she shoves her hands in her back pockets and forces a tight-lipped smile reeks of classic Hannah Judge secret keeping.
“Cartel?” I dive into the subject on a hunch.
She sucks in her lips and lifts her shoulders.
“Guess so.”
“Hannah.” I level her with what I hope is a serious—albeit fairly doped-up—look. She holds my stare for a few seconds but since I have no intention of blinking, she finally has to break.
“Gah, fine,” she groans, sinking back into her chair. She balls her fists and rests them on the mattress by me, her eyes fixed on her knuckles.
“Your uncle called Trisha.”
I laugh at first, and it hurts, but I have to. That’s the most absurd statement in the world. Yet, as she flits her gaze to me, eyelashes batting slowly, my opinion shifts.
“Wait, seriously?”
She nods.
“When she came to see you? She left a note with me, after you went inside. It was her phone number, and I swear, Dustin, I only took it so she would leave. I didn’t think twice about it. I shoved it in my pocket and then life went on without her.”
“Oh-kay,” I utter. It’s a lot to digest, but I believe her. And I’m glad she didn’t give it to me. But that begs the question—
“You gave it to my uncle?”
Her head wiggles from side-to-side.
“It’s not totally that simple. He and I were talking, and he said I needed to update Alysha. She called the hospital. She’s flying in tomorrow, by the way.”
My eyebrows rise.
“I know. It’s a lot. But you can’t tell a woman not to see her son when he’s in the hospital.” Hannah unfurls her fists and takes my hands. I decide she can be right about this part. It is a lot, but I’m happy I have my mom in my life again. This must be torture for her.
“I asked your uncle if we needed to call Trisha. I was really more thinking out loud, but it was in front of him. And that led to the whole me telling him about her showing up bit, and then I pulled the number from my pants pocket. Damn it, Dustin, I was wearing the same fucking pants.”
My forehead wrinkles and our eyes meet. It is weird, the coincidence of it all.
“Your uncle said things like that are signs, and he asked for her number. I figured he was going to call her, maybe check in on her and update her. They’re siblings.”
I nod as much as I can. Hannah doesn’t add anything after that, though. It’s silence, just her eyes on mine, sagging, almost hinting.
“Then what?” I wait for her to finish the story.
“Then . . . I never asked him about it. He never told me anything. But Dustin, according to reports, someone told the same cartel Colt was mixed up with that Alex Offerman stole their money. It’s not in the papers, but the AG’s office has those details. My dad called.”
Holy shit.
“You think—?”
“That Trisha took that money years ago and finally framed Alex for it? Yeah, Dustin. I do.”
My mouth hangs open wide. I’m knocked speechless, and a little awed. If that’s how things really went, then I can hold Trisha “fake mom” Miller in a slightly better light. I still want nothing to do with her, and she will never be family to me. But, I can smile about her, the tiniest smile, right now. And maybe later down the road.
“There’s one more thing.”
I chuckle then wince. Fucking ribs.
“How could there be more?”
“I know, right?”
She chews at her lip this time, and that means this news isn’t the kind she’s nervous to tell me. She’s excited about it.
“Dale’s turning his story about you into a book. You’ll get full rights, split the royalties. He’s already got offers.”
“Wow! Was it the dramatic ending where the bad guy sent in another bad guy who tried to kill me?”
Hannah shakes her head, but her expression is solemn.
“That’s another thing.”
“So there are two more things, not just one?”
She rolls her eyes at my teasing.
“Sorry.” I chuckle. Ow. Ribs.
“You were right. Alex’s family only had honorary roles in that company. They weren’t involved in decision-making at all. The sponsorship for Quin? A total fluke. He’s a nobody. Well, I mean, he’s somebody, but he’s a legit driver. Something about not reading the draft right when he bumped you or . . . I’m sure you understand what that means.”
I blink at this sudden reality. I think I stare at her for a full minute while she continues to tell me details, something about him actually being a young driver, following in my footsteps. She says something about how I’m his idol, and then I snap out of it.
“Wait, so that means Quin Bastion might have beaten me for real, not with malice for some revenge plot?”
“I mean, I guess.”
She’s not understanding me. It takes every grain of strength in my body to push myself up, and I might be undoing a lot of medical work on my ribs by doing this, but I sit up, completely. It hurts like hell.
“Dustin!” Hannah scolds.
“That means he’s better than me, Hannah. And he’s going to be back out there, this season. Probably going to grab all the headlines, and—”
I lay down fast, dizziness catching up to me. Hannah steps in, hovering over me, her face contorted in that disappointed look her mom sometimes gets.
“I thought we weren’t racing on rage anymore.” She purses her lips.
“Hannah, that’s not rage I was rattling off. That’s fucking envy and jealousy. Totally different. Call the doctor. I need to speed this up. Seven races left this season, and I’m not letting that little prick take them all.”
She doesn’t move out the door to find anyone. She doesn’t rush to press any buttons. Judging from her expression, she’s not thrilled with the idea of me racing again, but I’m sure deep down she knows I’d make her staple my ass to the seat and hands to the wheel before I gave up racing.
But maybe she’s right. A day won’t matter. I’ll give her this day, what’s left of it. I’ll eat the shitty hospital food and thank her brother for coffee in the morning. And then? Then I want my ass out of this hospital, back in Camp Verde and on that track.
24
Five weeks.
Thirty-five days.
That’s how long Dustin was away from the circuit.
Sixteen days. That’s how long he was out of a stock car cage.
Nothing about this is a good idea or safe, but hell if I know what’s good for that man anymore. Besides me, of course. And Bristol.
It seems fitting that his big comeback is here, in our home state. There’s a lot of press clamoring over this race, and it would make the book Dale’s working on a true Cinderella story. But she’s a very pretty princess, and our road? It’s been kinda ugly. Still, I think Dustin’s got this in the bag. I feel it. In my gut.