“I was thinking, when you wake up, maybe we could tell her. I want her to know why you’re special. She already loves you so much. You’re her father, Dustin. You’re our rock.” My breath hitches and I press the back of my hand against my mouth, staving off another round of sobs.
“I found the picture for you. I had Tommy get it out of your bag. The hospital let us park the hauler out front. I guess you’re sort of a celebrity. They’re bragging about treating your brain. Way to make the tabloids, Dusty,” I tease. It’s half-hearted, but in the event he can truly hear me, I don’t want him feeling my panic. That can’t be good for his healing.
I stand from the chair and pull the picture Bristol made from my pocket, unfurling it and looking at her sloppily scribbled blobs. What a perfect representation this is. My lip tugs up at my own dark humor.
“I’ll hang it up over here so when you’re ready, you can open your eyes and look at it.” I move around the bed to the corkboard by the sink. I tack the picture to the wall next to a brochure about blood-borne pathogens and a reminder for everyone to wash their hands.
I turn to look at him from the foot of the bed. He’s peaceful, even amidst the wires and tubes and whirl of machines working to take a variety of measurements every single second.
“Doc says they’ll look at easing up your meds in the morning. You might have to go through a bit of physical therapy. Trauma like that slows down a lot of the body’s functions, and I know how much you love being slow.”
I wrap my hands around one of his feet and massage the pad. His special socks inflate around his calves every few minutes for compression.
“I want him to pay, Dustin, but I know I need to let go. We need to let go. I’m going to need you to be strong because I’m going to be such a pushover. If you come out of here and make it your mission to destroy Alex Offerman, I will join your cause. And I’m afraid it will ruin us. We’ll become mired in this hate, and that’s exactly the opposite of everything you’ve been fighting for. So I’m going to need you to be stronger than me. For once,” I laugh out. “Fine, like always. You’re always stronger. The strongest.”
I move back to the chair and settle in. For the next hour I draw gentle lines in his palm and curl his fingers with my force since he’s unable to on his own. I close our hands together and imagine all the places we have yet to stroll like this, joined. I think about that dress Bailey showed me and how maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll let me borrow it one day. I pray for the opportunity for Dustin to ask me to be his wife, for real, not some lie told in a Dallas hospital.
When the afternoon round of nurses changes shift and a new crew comes in to check Dustin’s vitals, I take the chance to update whomever is left out in the waiting room. Tommy texted me about twenty minutes ago that he and Dad were going to get some food. I’m not hungry. I haven’t eaten in a day, maybe more. I was too nervous before the race.
Dustin’s uncle is the only familiar face in the waiting room, and I’m uneasy about approaching him. He and I don’t know each other well, and his relationship with Dustin formed when my relationship with his nephew was falling apart.
He sits up tall when our eyes meet, though, and I know he’s desperate for news, so I move to the chair next to him.
“How is he?”
I shrug.
“He’d hate every minute of this if he were awake and aware.”
His uncle nods then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s a thin man, maybe an inch or two taller than Dustin. He looks a lot like Trisha, but he’s healthy. Where her eyes always seemed dead, his are full of life. Dustin told me he’s like an actual real-life angel, and I can see how he might glow of goodness.
“His real mom called. At the front desk. They routed her up here and Tom took the call. I got her number, if you want to call her later. She’s worried sick.”
I picture Alysha’s face, her expressive eyes that match the shut ones in the room on the other side of that door. She just got him back. The fear of losing him again must devastate her.
Dustin’s uncle leans to his side and fishes a hospital card from his back pocket, a number scribbled on the back. I take it and promise to call her after I’m done catching him up on Dustin’s progress.
“They’re talking about weaning him from the meds in a few hours maybe, or it might be morning. He’s responding well, which is good.”
“Yes, that is good.” His uncle kneads his hands together and I identify with his need to do something—anything. All of this makes people like us feel so helpless. I take his hands in mine and his twitching stops as a tiny smile lifts the sides of his mouth.
“I’m not great in hospitals. Our mom was in and out a lot. She had . . . troubles.” He grimaces and I understand. Trisha didn’t become an addict on her own. It was in her nature.
“Dustin doesn’t like them either. Same reason, basically,” I say, hoping I’m not giving away secrets that will make Dustin upset. I don’t think I am. He and his uncle have become close, even though they don’t speak often.
“Would Trisha want to know?” The question slips from my lips before I have time to weigh it mentally, and I regret it a little when Dustin’s uncle pulls in his brow.
“She’s around?”
I close my eyes and suck in my lips.
“Dustin didn’t tell you.” Of course he didn’t. Why would he? His plan was to erase Trisha’s visit from his mental database. I was in full support of that plan. Yet here I am, digging her up from the dead.
“She showed up a few days ago. I’m sorry. Dustin probably would have told you, but honestly, I don’t think he wanted to reconnect with her beyond her ambush. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.” I mentally kick myself.
“She leave a number?”
His question takes me for a loop, and I think back to the note Trisha gave me that day outside Dustin’s door. I was wearing these jeans. My eyes widen and I stand, feel in my back pocket. I pull it out, the paper pressed and the ink faded from having gone through the wash, but damn—what are the odds of this?
“That’s really weird,” I say, handing it to him.
“Is it?” He unfolds it carefully and pulls a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. He studies the number for far longer than it should take to decipher ten digits, and I get the sense that he’s debating internally whether or not he should make a call. Finally, he tucks his glasses back against his chest and stands from his chair, stretching, Trisha’s note held firmly in his hand.
“Sometimes the universe speaks in mysterious ways, Hannah. If you don’t mind, I’m going to step outside and call the sister I haven’t spoken to in decades.”
“Okay,” I agree, a little unsure of the events I may have sparked.
“Oh, and that reporter fella. What’s his name, Dale?”
I nod.
“Yes.”
“He’s downstairs. Said he needs to talk to you if you can. Said it isn’t about the story, but you know those reporter types.” Dustin’s uncle rolls his eyes and I play along with his distrust, though I’ve decided Dale is a genuine guy. He seemed to be really taken with Dustin’s motivation and his life story. He was at the track when the crash happened. Honestly? I have questions for him, too.
I wait for Dustin’s uncle to leave on his own before I find the stairs and trail down a floor to the main lobby. It’s busier than most hospitals, but this place leads the city for traumas and births, so I’d imagine there’s always someone looking for someone else in this space.
I spot Dale’s hat in the middle of the room, his body hunched over as though he’s reading. I step up behind him and catch him playing Candy Crush on his phone.
“Real highbrow kinda guy, huh?” I tease.
He jolts but smiles when his eyes take me in.
“Hannah. Thank God! How is he?”
I hug him on instinct. Scary shit like this makes strangers close.
“Major swelling in his brain.” It’s my one line and I repeat it to
everyone who asks.
“That doesn’t sound good.” His eyes sag.
“They say his vitals are good and the swelling is coming down. They’re talking about reducing the meds. With some luck, we may hear his voice in the morning.”
Dale relaxes a little and holds his hand on his chest.
“That’s good news.”
I glance around his pile of things. He has a laptop bag, which makes me think Dustin’s uncle wasn’t too far off of his assessment, but he’s also collected a stack of magazines, which means he planned on waiting for news on Dustin, not only for a story but because he’s worried and cares. Why else would a man sift through a sixteen-year-old issue of Garden Goddess Life?
“I want to show you something.” Dale drops back into his chair and digs through his laptop bag, pulling out an envelope that’s ripped open at the top. He slips out a stack of papers filled with handwriting I instantly recognize. I grab the papers from him and flip my gaze to his.
“What is this?”
I round the end table and sit in the chair across from him to begin reading.
“Dustin told me not to read it until the end of the race. It seems he was planning on winning and there being some retribution. Hannah, is this . . . true?”
I hold up a finger and speed read as fast as I can. Dustin’s detailed everything, down to the first time he met Alex up in Vegas for some illegal racing. He’s logged every meeting he’s had with the man and all of the races and positions he had to come in based on Alex’s whims and desires. Seeing the list, how long it is, makes me sick to my stomach.
I glance up and find Dale’s eager eyes waiting. I refold the pages and hand them to him.
“Dale, you can’t print any of that. Not yet. But yes, it’s true. All of it.”
“Whoa.” Dale falls back in his seat, and I give him several seconds of silence to let his mind catch up. It’s a big info dump, and it feels so unreal. We don’t like to think that heroes can be corrupted, but Dustin was. Not by his own will, though. He was trapped. He was given no choice.
“I won’t print it. Not unless you tell me to or he does when he wakes up. But Hannah”—his eyes meet mine as he draws in a long breath—“I can’t help but think that Quin clipped his car on purpose. Someone didn’t want Dustin to win that race. And I’m thinking it was Quin’s job to make sure it didn’t happen.”
23
I love racing in the dark. Fools thought they could beat me this way but they had no idea. I can feel the road.
This track seems different, though. It’s not Texas anymore. I’m somewhere else, only I don’t remember finishing the last race. I don’t remember winning, or how I got to this place. The car hugs me, though, and that feels right. The rumble under my body is soothing, and I’m tempted to sleep, but that’s what they want—me falling asleep at the wheel.
Wouldn’t that make it easy for them?
I can’t see the road, only glimpses of the striped line when the moon clears from the clouds. My headlights don’t work. I can see his behind me, though. He’s chasing me. He’s been chasing me for hours. I can’t shake him, no matter how fast I drive. I don’t even know who I’m racing against, which . . . that’s strange.
It doesn’t matter. Any road. Any opponent. I’m winning. Hannah must be able to see me. She’s probably so proud. And Bristol. I wonder if she can see this race. Are they broadcasting it if it’s dark? How do they do that?
Wait! There she is. Hannah. She’s sleeping. Why is she sleeping? And how did she get that chair?
“Hannah!”
How can she not hear me? I’m screaming her name. Doesn’t she hear the car? It’s so loud out here. Maybe she can’t hear me over the engine.
“Hannah!”
There! She moved. Her eyelids twitched, and her arm slid forward. Her neck is going to hurt from sleeping like that for so long.
“Ha—” That’s all that comes out. It’s brighter now, but my voice doesn’t work. It crackles, and I can’t form a full word. Hannah is still here, though. We’re together. In this . . . room.
The crash.
“Ha—” I try again. She stirs and I work to keep my eyes open, to hold on to this world, the one she’s in. Her eyes blink wildly and my finger moves. I’m telling my hand to move but all I can get to work is my finger.
“Dustin!”
Thank God!
She leaps from the chair and rushes to the door, shouting. Her voice is so loud and my head is pounding.
Her hand wraps around mine a second later, and she helps me curve the rest of my fingers around hers.
I feel her. She’s so warm. My pulse is racing. Something is beeping. I feel hot, covered in sweat. And who are these people?
“Dustin? Can you hear me?” It’s another woman wearing all blue. Those are scrubs.
This is a hospital. Oh fuck! Oh no, oh no!
Someone holds down my arm and Hannah clings to my other hand.
“Dustin, you’re okay. They’re taking care of you. I need you to calm down. Just for now.” Hannah’s voice soothes me, but my pulse races right through her words. I hold her gaze, struggling to focus and stay locked on her. She’s the only thing I understand. The only thing that makes sense. I need her. I want to hold her. Our daughter. I want Bristol.
“This is going to be uncomfortable.” That warning comes from my right side, and I blink into a light above me as someone pulls something from my throat. I gag and Hannah squeezes my hand tighter.
Something is burning my arm. There’s an IV in my vein. What are they giving me? I don’t want anything. I want to feel the pain, whatever it is. I’m not Colt.
“Rest, Dustin. I need you to rest.” Someone centers their face above mine. She’s wearing a mask. This is my doctor. I recognize her voice.
I nod, or at least, I think I do.
There’s more rushing around me and in the chaos, Hannah’s grasp on my hand slips and we lose each other. I struggle to say her name, but nothing comes out. Everything hurts.
“I’m here, Dustin. I’m right here.”
I turn my head to the sound of her voice, and fight to take a breath. My chest aches, as if someone drove a massive SUV through the center of my body.
I can’t see Hannah. There are too many people between us.
“I’m here,” she says again.
I choose to believe her and leave my head to its side. I stare into the rush of bodies working to fix me. I’m not sure what’s broken, but I’m alive. I’m alive and so is Hannah. That’s all that matters. I can sleep now.
* * *
I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the light. Everyone from before is gone—both the doctors and the people I imagined. It’s only Hannah. I study her shape, and soon her smile comes into focus.
“Hey, Dusty.” She leans forward and runs her hand along my forehead. It’s the best feeling in the world. Oh, my God, I can feel it.
“Hey,” I croak.
She grabs a pink cup and a straw from the nearby table and brings it to my lips. Her hand aids me to lift my head and I take a drink. This is the greatest water I have ever tasted.
“I feel like my ribs are broken,” I whisper in a raspy voice.
“Probably because they are,” she says, mouth settling into an apologetic smile.
I move my hand to my chest and feel the taut bandages.
“You told Bristol I was getting Band-Aids,” I say.
“You heard that?” Her eyes become misty. I bet she’s cried a lot the last—.Wait, how long have I been in here?
“I did. What day is it?”
“Wednesday. Late morning. Don’t worry, TV was a bunch of reruns. You didn’t miss a thing.”
I try to laugh but it feels like stabbing so I wince instead.
“Sorry. I won’t be so funny.”
“Shouldn’t be hard,” I tease.
She gives me a sideways glance.
She slides her chair closer and takes my hand in both of hers, leaning forward a
nd pressing her lips to my knuckles.
“You scared me,” she admits.
I do my best to move my thumb along the back of her hand. Every movement seems difficult, like my brain has to tell my body what to do twice before it actually does anything.
“Scared myself pretty good too, if that’s any consolation.”
She shakes her head.
“Not at all. Dustin Bridges doesn’t get scared.”
I stare at her tired eyes and pale face and wonder when the last time she stepped outside was.
“Am I in Dallas still?” I can’t imagine they flew me to Arizona, but at this point, I’m willing to admit there are a lot of things I don’t know.
“You are. It’s humid here, and it’s winter.”
“Texas,” I respond.
She shakes with a short laugh, but her mouth forms a fast frown.
“Hey, I’m okay. We’re gonna be okay,” I say, reaching up. I can’t get my hand completely to her face so she helps me.
“Your motor skills are coming on board slowly. It’s going to take a few days, maybe a week with some therapy.” She must sense my worry.
My mind is assaulting me with so many questions. They’re flying at my nerve centers, all fighting to be first out of my mouth, but I hold them at bay. While this feels as though it’s all happened over minutes for me, I realize for Hannah, this has been nearly a life-altering week. If you take in everything we’ve been through as a whole, it’s been three weeks. And on a grander scale, it’s been years.
Instead of hammering her with questions, I enjoy the bliss that comes with feeling her hand in mine. There was a moment, a blip when the doctors were in here early, when I thought maybe I couldn’t feel her that well at all. It terrified me.
“I love you.” Those words come so easily.
“Oh, Dustin.” She lays her head on my pelvis and stares up at me, and I manage to get my hand to her hair. “I love you, too.”
Burn: The Fuel Series Book 3 Page 19
