Rocky Road Page 13

  I turned to Tanya. "We have to find her."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  KRYSTA

  The sight and smells of the hospital brought with it flashes of memory from my crash. I remembered sitting forward on the gurney and holding my hands around my feet as if I could heal them like that. Frozen, like a statue, afraid that if I touched my mangled feet they would just crumble to dust, unable to look away. I remembered the paramedics as they gently pushed me back to lie down. The panic that my feet would just disappear if I couldn't look at them. These thoughts flashed so strongly in my mind I struggled to stay present.

  But I had to.

  I'm not here for me. I'm here for her.

  This constant refrain kept me moving forward.

  The good thing about being in a wheelchair was that people didn't question you when you rolled into a hospital. You looked like you belonged. It was maybe the only place where you looked like you belonged. So, I rolled through the halls, Tanya behind me, without anyone questioning my presence. I hadn't been in a hospital enough to know—did people even do that? Did they question your presence like on TV?

  It didn't matter. I asked a nurse where to find the Emergency Room and she pointed as she ran off to do another task.

  Billie was in the third private room we tried. Once we discovered her, Tanya hung back in the hall.

  Silently as I could, I rolled into the room. Billie looked so small in the bed, more feminine than I had ever seen her. Her dark lashes swept across her high cheekbones. Her delicate hands rested on top of the sheets. I never thought her delicate before—any part of her—but there was a helplessness about her tonight. Maybe it was because I'd seen her car careening into a concrete barrier. Concrete against human flesh, who wins that battle? What was broken? Nothing. It looked like nothing.

  As Billie's eyes fluttered open, I gazed into their aquamarine depths. She could have died. This place and every one of my flashing memories reminded me of that. She could have died thinking I was mad at her. I wasn't sure I could live with something like that on my conscience. Hopefully, now, I wouldn't have to.

  ...

  BILLIE

  Ed had insisted I come to the hospital. I knew it was nothing more than a concussion, but he probably wanted to cover his ass for insurance purposes. Since he was footing the check, I took advantage of the time and rested.

  Whenever I closed my eyes, something odd happened. I didn't imagine my crash over and over again. I'd been pushed into the wall before and afterward I had replayed the seconds just prior. How a twitch in my wrist had caused my car to swing out of balance, or how a certain line I'd taken had sent me down the path toward another car.

  This time, it wasn't my car I imagined, or even the track. Instead, I imagined a car on the street rolling right over Krysta's feet. I imagined her bones crunching under the wheels, unable to withstand the weight of the car. She could've lost her feet. She could have died.

  I was in the most vivid part of one of these fabricated memories—a memory that wasn't even mine—when I heard the squeak of a wheel. I thought I'd imagined it, conjured Krysta to my hospital room, but when I open my eyes, a real woman stared back at me.

  "Is it you?" I asked, somewhat dazed.

  "It's me," the woman said. "Are you okay?"

  I closed my eyes and opened them again, thinking it was the concussion bringing on hallucinations. Then I realized it was rude not to answer her question, even if she wasn't really there. "I think it's just a concussion. Nothing's broken."

  "Thank God." She reached out and slipped her warm hand over mine. There was no way a hallucination could be this warm, this expressive. Her eyes were so dark they almost blended with the black of her pupils, but I could see so much in them.

  She leaned forward and placed her other hand underneath mine. An inexplicable ball of emotion strengthened in my chest. I swallowed it down and I swallowed it down, but it wouldn't seem to go. This wasn't because of my crash. It couldn't be. This one had been so minor. My breath started to stutter in my chest, though I tried to slow it.

  Krysta glanced up, her eyes searching mine. She must've found something there, because she squeezed my hand.

  The more she touched me, the more real she became, and the more I imagined the car slamming into her. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

  Krysta released my hands and twisted around. She rolled to the door, calling for Tanya. I didn't hear what she said. My ears were swimming with fear. I pulled at the neck of my hospital gown, wanting to break free.

  Krysta rolled back to me, guiding her hand along my forehead. "It's okay, sweetheart. The nurse is on the way. It will be okay. Try to breathe."

  "It's probably just the concussion," I choked out. My hands trembled. They never trembled, not like this.

  Krysta kept stroking my head. "When I saw you go into the wall, I thought I lost you."

  The ball in my chest exploded with such force I couldn't control it. Hot tears pressed against my eyes. My breathing stunted again. I turned away from her to escape her grasp and pressed my palms into my eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

  "You just got in a car accident at two hundred miles per hour. You get to feel upset about that," she said, reasonably.

  "I know." I had to get it together. Come on, Billie. You're stronger than this.

  Krysta stared at the hands in her lap. "After I got hit—and I know it's nothing like yours—I couldn't stop replaying the scene over and over again. The only thing that kept me grounded was knowing you were in the next room. You brought me back to earth."

  As she spoke, my tears fell faster. Sobs clutched my chest. I couldn't push them away if I wanted to, but I hadn't cried for many, many years. Maybe since I was a child. Maybe since before I crashed my go-kart and was praised for my bravery with my father. But this was like a natural disaster, a torrent of water that couldn't be stanched. I let it flow through me because I had no choice.

  I felt Krysta's hand on my shoulder. She whispered things in my ear, cooing like I was a child. No, like I was a baby. It wasn't even words, just sounds.

  When I opened my eyes, Krysta had practically dragged herself out of the chair. Her feet must've been in excruciating pain the way she was leaning on them.

  I dried my tears. I had to be strong for her. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I never cry."

  "You just had something very dramatic happened to you. You get to be upset. You get to cry."

  "No, I don't. I can't feel like this the next time I step into my car. That's how people die."

  "Then get it out now," Krysta said. "You don't have to hold it in."

  I let the last of the shudders run through me. I let Krysta grasp my hand. The tears continued to run after the shudders calmed, hot rivers down my face.

  A nurse entered the room and asked what was wrong. I couldn't find the words, I didn't even really know, but Krysta saved me. She looked up into the nurse's face and said, "She's fine. The pillow was uncomfortable. I thought I couldn't reach, but it turns out I could with a little stretch."

  The nurse checked my vitals and left us alone.

  I only had a few moments to dry my tears before Ed came in. As soon as Krysta saw him, she covered our hands, blocking them with her body and then the sheet. She didn't let go, though.

  Ed stopped at the door, as if he was surprised to see Krysta there. I couldn't read his face. He didn't greet her. He turned to me. "Motorsport.com wants an interview with you about the crash. Will you be up for it later today?"

  My hand felt sweaty in Krysta's so I pulled it away. The emotions lined up inside me in a row. I felt like I had a little control over them now. Enough control to speak without blubbering, anyway.

  "I think she needs to—" Krysta started.

  "Yes," I said, cutting her off.

  I could almost feel the emotions stuffing back inside their boxes, my insides going numb.

  Ed frowned, walking closer. "Are you crying?"

  "No," I said.
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  Krysta's face split with her radiant smile. "She's crying with laughter. I told her really stupid joke and she laughed so hard she cried."

  Ed squinted and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you'll be well enough for next week?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Because Amanda's showing promise."

  "Ed." I shoved aside the hospital blankets, feeling like someone had poured steel in my limbs. Up and down and up and down. "I'm fine. I promise."

  Ed nodded once and left the room.

  I settled the covers over my legs again, feeling pathetic in my gown. Truthfully, he was right not to believe her, to worry. I was his investment. The whole team depended on me. If there was no driver, there was no race.

  Krysta picked up my hand once again. "I'm behind you, Billie. Whatever you decide, I'm behind you."

  Krysta was a threat. She—with her alluring and expressive eyes, with her jokes—could make me quit if she asked me.

  What if I decided to break off whatever we had going on? Would she be behind me then? The way she leaned forward on her elbows, the way her worried eyes scanned mine, the way she'd overreacted when she'd wet her pants—it all pointed to one answer. No, she wouldn't stay behind me. Neither would she let me leave without a fight. Krysta wasn't a meek lamb who would do whatever I said.

  When she wanted something she would do anything she could to get that thing. That's what she had done with me. Now, that determination put my career in jeopardy.

  As these thoughts roved through my mind, I felt myself pulling away from her. I felt myself watching the two of us together. We made a pretty couple, Krysta and me, but it wouldn't work. It could never work. I'd tried, but it turns out I couldn't have everything. It was just too dangerous.

  The only way out was to pretend I was in and pray I could compartmentalize. Pray that I wouldn't get sucked in to the vortex of lust for Krysta. And pray that I could pull out a win to prove to everyone that I was Billie Page, and I wasn't going to go down that easily.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  KRYSTA

  Billie's accident had made me realize something that my own, somehow, had not: life can be ripped away at any moment. As the days passed after her accident and she returned to the hotel, and we traveled to Long Beach for the next race, this thought weighed on me, probably because I didn't get to see her all that much. She had been busier while "recovering" than she had while racing.

  So my thoughts went on and on without a stop. What if I had lost Billie in that crash and never told her how I felt about her? What if my love could have been the thing that pulled her through? All my hang-ups about long-term relationships seemed silly when up against the threat of death.

  On the day of test runs at the Long Beach track, I remained in the hotel. We'd decided—Billie decided, really—I would stay home given what had happened last time. From the moment I woke, I felt a jitteriness in my limbs. Once upon a time, I would have gone for a run, but now that obviously wasn't an option.

  I decided to do the next best thing and work. I set up camp on the deck overlooking the ocean and posted to Billie's Facebook and Twitter pages, responded to fan messages, noted some messages down to show Billie later, and blocked some persistent trolls.

  No wonder Billie had never really managed her social media accounts. It was a minefield.

  It made me wonder what my social media accounts looked like. I had been avoiding them for weeks because I didn't know what I would find there. Today, with the sea breeze in my hair, I felt strong enough to look.

  The sheer mass of messages I found overwhelmed me. Where are you? Just about everyone asked.

  I answered some messages personally and wrote an apology on my Facebook profile. I told them what had happened and promised I wouldn't disappear any longer. Not from the internet, anyway, even if I would be traveling for a while in the real world.

  The afternoon rolled by, the warm breeze carried a hint of the ocean just beyond. Tanya popped in and out all day. It was the perfect day for me, and by the time Billie returned, I felt confident in what I was about to ask. It didn't matter I couldn't predict Billie's answer. I had to try.

  "How was your first day back?" I asked as she opened the sliding door to the deck and stepped outside.

  She fell into the lounge chair beside me. "Long. Hard."

  "That's what she said."

  Billie chuckled half-heartedly. "Not what you said, though."

  My throat narrowed. She's tired. Give her a break, Krysta. "No, I prefer my lovers short and strong and tough-as-nails. And with boobs."

  Billie smiled tightly, shading her eyes and looking out over the ocean. "I don't feel tough or strong, not today. Even a few days off from my fitness regimen and I notice the difference."

  Every time Billie went to work and returned, it felt like she shed a part of herself. Or more like she built a wall around her heart that I had to tear down before we could get somewhere. It was exhausting. I decided to ignore it this time rather than call her out. "You had to let your brain heal."

  "Fuck my brain. If I could drive headless, I would."

  "That would be a funny image. I can imagine the commentary. And it seems like Billie Page has come to the race—headless—ladies and gentleman, prepare to be amazed."

  Not even this made her laugh as much as I hoped it would. Was it smart to spring something on her today? As my stomach twisted in knots, I decided to ease into it. "I spent the day interacting with your fans on Twitter. You're starting to gather quite a following."

  "Because of you."

  "No, it's because of you. You're what they want. You're badass, and funny, and kind, and I'm just rolling around recording that for everyone." And barely doing that.

  Billie twisted toward me, covering her eyes from the sun. It was the first time she had looked at me since she'd come back, but her eyes were too squinty to read. "You're so sweet. Who made you that way?"

  "You've met my parents, right?" I barked a laugh. Yeah, no. Then I brought myself back to Billie. "Why do you do that?"

  "What?"

  It was something in her demeanor, the way she had avoided me. It sent my spidey senses tingling. "Change the subject when we're talking about you."

  "I'm not changing the subject. I thought we were done with the praise Billie session."

  I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. Our arguments flashed through my mind. She'd called me prideful, I'd called her cold. She was exhibiting a little of this coldness now. It was in the stiff set of her shoulders, the sarcasm of her voice. Of course, that could all be explained by a hard day at the track as well, but I couldn't help thinking maybe it was something else.

  Maybe she thought we weren't well-suited. I stared out at the ocean, my mind going down a rabbit hole. "What do you want from life?" I asked randomly.

  Billie blinked, turned her gaze toward the ocean, and looked back. "What's with the third degree?"

  "Changing the subject again."

  "I want to win. Isn't that obvious?"

  "Seriously?" Pride. Her tone had hurt my pride and I had lashed out. I watched my single-word answer land on her. No, I couldn't let this get the best of me. "Can we back up a moment?"

  "Gladly," Billie said, her jaw clenching.

  Could I bring this conversation back around? Was there the potential for her to say yes? "Here's the thing. I really like you."

  Billie's eyebrow quirked.

  Do not think about what that hesitation means. Keep going. "After your crash, I started thinking about my life and our relationship and what it all meant."

  "Oh really?" Billie folded her arms.

  "Yeah. And I was thinking." Do it. "Is there any reason we haven't made this official yet? I think two hospital visits, a week together at my place, and a couple weeks in a hotel together without killing one another means we have something."

  I'd dated a lot of women. I'd slept with even more. All that combined wasn't as scary as that moment. I tracked the movements of Billie's face with a preci
sion I imagined a hunter would use. I stopped everything—breathing, moving—I wouldn't have been surprised if my heart had stopped, too. The moment seemed to stretch forever.

  "You know what?" Billie asked.

  "What?" I choked out.

  "I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight," Billie said without looking at me.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. My heart echoed in my ears. Holy shit. This was really happening. I wanted to jump out of the chair and onto Billie's lap. My spidey senses stopped me from doing that, not to mention the casts. "But…"

  "But nothing. But you beat me to it." Billie swung her legs around the chair to face me. Her expression was blank. She didn't seem as happy as she should have. She didn't seem to be feeling much of anything.

  I leaned back. "Something's wrong."

  "Not wrong, really."

  "Billie, spill."

  "The only problem is—I wouldn't want to have to choose between racing and you."

  I frowned. "I would never force you to make that choice."

  Billie's gaze met mine. "But if you and I are going to be official, I'm going to have to ask you to do just that. I'm going to have to ask you to leave your position as my social media manager."

  Okay. That was all right. I'd worked hard on it, and it turned out I really liked the work. I had done enough to get the ball rolling on Billie's accounts, and I was sure she or someone else on the team would support me if I applied somewhere else and needed a reference. "Okay. But why? If I'm your girlfriend, then I'll be able to post even more."

  "I just like to keep a separation between business and pleasure, you know? I don't want anything weird between us because of money or…" Billie trailed off.

  So I would just be Billie's girlfriend. Her hanger-on. "Are you sure?" I asked, skimming my hands along the arms of the chair.

  "It would make me feel a whole lot better."

  I swallowed. Could I do this? What if she decided she didn't really like me and she left? I wouldn't have anything to hold on to. However, losing her now because of a few silly social media accounts was not ideal. In the battle between Billie and social media, Billie won hands-down. I swallowed. "I'm in."