Rocky Road Page 4

  Who else would text me about underwear?

  I don't know. One of your large harem spread throughout the country?

  The three dots appeared on the screen, then disappeared. This time, they didn't reappear. Why had I said that? I usually didn't care at all about someone's other lovers. I certainly hadn't narrowed it down to one. Had the comment been passive aggressive? I shrugged and slipped my phone in my pocket, heading toward home, humming a song I'd heard yesterday on the radio I couldn't get out of my head.

  My face hurt from smiling. My mind flitted to a fantasy version of us together on the beach, arm in arm. Swimming. Splashing one another. Playing volleyball. Doing more of what we'd just done. I had to physically stop walking to grind this little fantasy to a halt.

  It was over. Billie Page was now in the past.

  My stomach clenched at the thought. Maybe we could… no.

  No, no, no. She had been clear about what she wanted. I had been clear, too. There was no future for us. I had to get her out of my head.

  I pulled out my phone and deleted her number.

  There. Now I couldn't call her.

  Still, I couldn't stop thinking about her. She hadn't texted me back. Why not? Had I gone too far? Maybe she'd fallen asleep. Maybe she just wanted to get rid of me.

  That was fine. I could let go of this, too. I could see it for what it was—an amazing night between two people who really had a connection. An unusual connection. One that I wouldn't have believed if my lips weren't still tingling from her kisses, if my legs weren't trembling like a scared puppy's. If my cheeks didn't feel like they were feverishly warm.

  It was the connection part that was getting me, the way we were so equally matched. I'd never felt that way before.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I took the bus back into town. I needed to use up some of this energy. It was a busy night. Bar-hoppers and satiated restaurant-goers strolled the streets. Traffic clogged the road. I waited for the walk signal to turn white, then I crossed. My mouth pulled up in a smile as I remembered the time I'd just had. That's what it could be for me. A memory. I would have to—

  A horn blared.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BILLIE

  Something woke me. A buzzing, a vibration under my hip. It kept going and going and going. I rolled off of it and picked up the phone.

  But even after wiping my hand over my eyes, my blurred vision couldn't see the number on the screen.

  "Hello?" I slurred.

  "Hi, I'm a nurse at Bayfront Medical Center. Do you know Krysta Ekert?"

  "Mmm. Krysta, who?" As soon as I said the words, I sat up straighter. "Krysta. I know her."

  "What is your relationship with her?"

  Good question. I wasn't sure how to answer, especially given how I'd felt about her. I'd even dreamed about her. As I thought this, something tugged on me. Had the woman on the phone said she was from the hospital or did I just think that because I had fallen asleep to a rerun of ER? Who else would ask after Krysta? "Friends. Is something wrong?"

  "Do you know how we can get in contact with her family?" the voice asked.

  "Who is this again?"

  "I'm a nurse at the hospital. This is the last number Ms. Ekert contacted. Do you know how we can get in touch with her family?"

  "No. We haven't known each other all that long. What happened?"

  "I'm not at liberty to disclose that information."

  "Is she okay?"

  "I'm not—"

  I groaned. "At liberty. I get it. You said you were at Bayfront Medical Center?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  I hung up my phone, dressed, quickly found some directions for the hospital, and caught an Uber to the place.

  My mind went wild. If they were calling me to find Krysta's family, something terrible must have happened. It meant she was unconscious or she would have been able to answer. What happened? Had she been attacked after she left my room? Why didn't I answer her last text? Why hadn't I insisted on walking her home?

  Because she was a one night stand. We'd both agreed not to maintain a relationship. Plus, Krysta was a strong, sensible woman. It was safe to let her go out on her own. But what if she had died? Did they still try to maintain patient confidentiality if someone was dead? They couldn't. It wouldn't matter after that, right?

  I arrived at the hospital and ran straight to the reception desk. "Can you tell me where Krysta Ekert is?"

  "Are you—"

  "I'm her sister," I said, out of breath, wanting to avoid any roadblock I'd hit along the way.

  The woman gave me one look and typed something into the computer. "She's in surgery right now."

  "For what?"

  The woman shook her head. "You'll have to go upstairs for that. Fifth floor. Check in with the nurse there and her doctor will update you."

  I nodded and ran up the stairs to rid myself of excess energy. My legs felt powerful despite the day I'd had. This was adrenaline fuel. I knew it well, except usually I would use it for my race. Now, it pounded through my feet on the stairs. When I reached the nurses station on the fifth floor, I placed my hands on the table, barely winded. "Krysta Ekert. I'm her sister. What's her status?"

  The woman on the opposite side of the desk finished whatever she was typing into the computer. She looked and me, then did a double-take.

  Crap.

  "You're Billie Page."

  "Yes."

  Thankfully, she was professional and didn't press the issue, though if she knew who I was she was probably a fan. She didn't even press me on my relationship to Krysta. Sometimes, fame—even the small time—was helpful. As I waited, my legs cramped. I shook them out.

  "She's in surgery," she said after a minute of typing and clicking on her computer screen.

  "What happened to her?"

  The woman's eyes moved back and forth across the screen as she read. "Looks like she was hit by a car while crossing the street. Crushed foot. Broken ankle. I don't know much more than that."

  "Thank you," I managed. I clutched at my stomach. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. What was I supposed to do now? Just leave her in a hospital bed to wake up alone? If she was lucid, why didn't she give them information for her family? If I had been in any sort of accident, I would want someone there. In my previous crashes, at least my mother had been present, sometimes my father, too.

  When Krysta woke from surgery, she would be disoriented. Would she be scared if she found herself alone?

  I couldn't leave her. But I couldn't stay either. I pulled out my phone and maxed out my searching skills to track down her family. Nothing. There had to be something. I scrolled through my contacts, then remembered my friend Julia was dating a librarian. Maybe she would know something. I typed out my question in a message.

  Did you try White Pages? Julia replied.

  White Pages. Of course. I found Krysta, then found her family connections.

  I called the first one on the list—a Shirley Ekert. The phone rang and rang. Only when it went to voicemail did I recognize it was too late for a phone call, but this couldn't wait. I tried again, and on the second ring, a sharp voice answered.

  "Are you Krysta Ekert's mother?" I asked.

  "Who's asking?"

  If I had woken her, I couldn't tell. Her voice was crystal clear and sharp as a knife.

  "My name is Billie. I'm—Krysta's been in an accident. She's in surgery now and the hospital couldn't find a way to reach you."

  Silence came through the phone in response.

  "Hello?"

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know. I think… something about broken feet… but they won't tell me much. She's at Bayside Medical Center in St. Petersburg."

  "I'll take a plane out in the morning." The phone line clicked dead.

  A plane? In the morning? Where the hell was she coming from and why wasn't she coming right then and why was she so nonchalant about it? I thought about calling the man
on the list—an Oslo Ekert—but was that really necessary? I had notified a member of Krysta's family, and she would tell the others. Once someone arrived for her, I could leave. Until then, I would stay.

  I spent the night nodding off in the uncomfortable vinyl chairs. Once, I woke to the nurse tucking a pillow under my hip and setting a blanket next to me. She said nothing. I offered her a weak smile and resolved to sign something for her on my way out.

  I woke a few times, but didn't have a sense of the passing hours. It all blurred, the overhead lights windowless walls obliterating daylight. My body ached. When I couldn't sleep, I paced and watched the clock. I sent my father and Ed a text that I would be late for my workout that morning, then I paced some more.

  Finally, a doctor came out, still wearing his mask and scrub cap, and consulted with the nurse. The nurse pointed at me.

  "She's out of the woods," he said, his hands clasped together as he approached me. "I set her broken ankle, stitched up her head laceration, and did the best I could to reconstruct her foot."

  "Which foot?"

  "Right ankle, left foot below the arch."

  Both feet. My God. "Will she walk again?"

  The doctor shrugged. "She should, but it will take some time and a lot of hard work."

  I paused, thinking this information through. She would need a therapist and someone to take care of her if she couldn't walk. I'd known many drivers in horrific crashes. This kind of injury could be debilitating to your psyche, even if you were a confident person.

  "She's still heavily sedated," the doctor said. "I'll have a nurse come get you when she's ready to see you."

  There was a tiny voice in me that wanted to tell him I wasn't related to Krysta. That I didn't deserve this information. That I needed to go. That we'd only had a night together and what did a night mean anyway? The day after tomorrow, I had to leave. I was expected back at home base to prep for the April races. I needed to secure another sponsor for the year, especially if the Almansa Group fell through. But I had almost a month before my next race, and a larger part of me wouldn't let the words come out of my mouth. Leaving at this point would make me scum. I didn't know a lot of things, but I knew I wasn't scum.

  "Thank you, doctor," I said.

  At least she wasn't dead. That was the only thing I had to console me. This could be so much worse than it was—a coma, paralysis—but she had suffered no injury to her internal organs. Bones could heal. The trauma would take a little longer, but the scars from that would fade after a while. She was strong. She could do it.

  A nurse came out to get me a few minutes later. As I followed her, my stomach twisted in knots harder than the ones I'd had before any race. The smells of antiseptic clogged my nostrils. The bright lights tinged everything green.

  Krysta had a private room off the main hallway. She turned her head to me as I walked in. Her hair was matted down on one side of her head and remained curled on the other. On the matted side, a gash crept over her forehead from her nose all the way up into the hairline above the temples. Both legs were elevated.

  My mind flashed to us together in bed, when Krysta was whole. How strong she'd been in every way. How she'd challenged me. I glanced away, this image of her jarring against the one in my mind. Had that only been ten hours ago?

  "You came," she said, slurring the phrase into one word.

  I took my time walking over to her. "They called me after your accident."

  "I wanted to…" Her lips smacked together.

  I picked up a bowl of ice chips next to her bed and slid one into her mouth. "You don't have to talk."

  She closed her eyes and sucked on the chip. After a few minutes of stillness I thought she'd fallen asleep. The sight of her like that was almost too much to bear. Like a car burning, I just couldn't watch. It was tearing down the photograph I'd taken of her in my mind, and I didn't want that to happen. Though brief, our interaction had been special to me.

  I stood up, backing away.

  She caught my hand in hers. Her good eye opened, the other squeezing shut, oozing moisture. "Please don't leave."

  Her sedated voice more than her weak grip kept me pinned in place. I sunk down in my chair, my chest a ball of mixed feelings. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't do that either. If she hadn't come to my room, would she be in the hospital now? What fate had brought us together?

  Her eye continued to ooze. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped away the stream as gently as I could. Oh my God.

  She turned her face away from me, her lips parting around a jagged inward breath. With each beep of her monitor my heart thudded harder. I caught myself bouncing my foot, uncharacteristically jittery, like I'd had four cups of coffee in an hour even though I'd had none.

  What was I doing? I had done all I needed to do, all the things required of a half-decent person. I'd called her parents. I'd come to see her. She was well-cared for at the hospital. I could just leave, right? We had no obligation to one another, and I really had to get some sleep before practice tomorrow… no today. It was already today.

  A swell of exhaustion threatened to tumble me right over in the chair.

  I tugged my hand from her grasp, but her grip tightened.

  Sigh. What was I going to do? Rip my hand away? It wasn't like she was asking me to stay forever. She hadn't demanded anything permanent of me. So why did I feel like with every moment that passed someone placed a stone on my shoulder? Under the pressure, I leaned forward and rested my head on the space by her shoulder.

  I wouldn't pull my hand away, not until she was asleep. When her family arrived, I could leave. I could go back to work and figure out what all these new feelings meant.

  ...

  KRYSTA

  I dreamed of the moment of impact, my body turning to an avalanche of disjointed bones. I dreamed of pain so bad, stars appeared before my eyes—something that only happened in cartoons. I dreamed I was in a hospital and that Billie had visited and held my hand and stroked my hair.

  I knew it was a dream because of that last thing.

  Billie and I were never supposed to see each other again, and here I was dreaming her up, forcing myself to see her in my subconscious, if not in my conscious mind.

  Except when the edges of the haze started to fade away, I realized I wasn't dreaming. I was in a strange room with machines beeping around me. I couldn't move my legs and one of my eyes wouldn't open. When I turned my neck, it ached with stiffness. Billie's head rested beside my shoulder, her hand in mine.

  The beeping increased in speed. "It wasn't a dream."

  Billie lifted her head, squinting into my face. She jumped and pulled away, sitting on the hand that had held mine. "You're awake."

  I shifted my hips, and as I did, pain ricocheted through my torso. I could feel nothing in my legs, and the aches I had were dulled, as if muffled. "What happened to me?"

  Billie stood, covering my free arm with a blanket. She wouldn't meet my gaze. "You were in an accident."

  "Was I with you?" I squinted, trying to remember, but after leaving Billie's hotel room, everything else was a blank. Had my dream not been a dream?

  "No. The hospital called me. I wanted to make sure you were okay," Billie said.

  The hospital. I was in the hospital and Billie was here. My mind struggled for a joke, something I could lob out to ease the heaviness of the situation. To make her smile. But it was like walking through a forest of cobwebs. I couldn't find my thoughts. It was all sticky. All except Billie. She was here. My eyes pricked with tears. It must have been the drugs. Otherwise, I would never even think of crying in front of her.

  I smiled, finding the joke. "Did you want to see me that bad?"

  "Hm?" Billie frowned.

  "You ran me over, right? That's the only logical explanation I can find for you being here."

  "You can't seriously…"

  Shit. I closed my eye against the bright light of the room and turned away from her, un
able to tolerate the pity in her face. "It was a joke, Billie. Lighten up."

  I was in an accident. An accident? I didn't even have a car. Where had I been? I wanted to ask Billie, but asking required talking and talking would take too much effort.

  "I called your mother."

  I flinched, the movement sending a ripple of pain through my thighs. The pain was only a small amount of what would come if she had called my mother. I swallowed the nothing in my dry throat. "You did what?"

  "She's coming on the next plane."

  I groaned. "Great."

  "Should I not have done that?"

  "You couldn't have known." I twisted around, attempting to open both eyes, but failing. "Did she seem worried?"

  Billie frowned, tucking her hands into her elbow creases. "Not really."

  Crap. This was going to be a shitshow. It was embarrassing enough to be here in bed, incapable of moving. If my mother showed Billie would see far too much of my life. She didn't need to know that. "Can you go, please?"

  "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

  "Just go." I hated myself for the sharp tone. It was ruining everything, like dragging a knife across the canvas of a painting. I just couldn't bear her seeing me like this. She had done what she thought was right, and I was going to have to deal with the rest on my own, like any other situation. I'd done it all on my own so far. I'd put myself through college, though it had taken me six years. I'd found money for myself, though not with a conventional job. I'd created this wonderful community around me in St. Petersburg. I could do this.

  I turned around and found Billie still staring at me.

  Then my mother walked in to the room. She came in mid-sentence, like a tornado. She must have taken a late-night flight from Atlanta, but she wore a designer suit and a full face of make-up.

  "What painkillers do you have her on?" she asked, turned away from me.

  "She's still on the nerve block," he said. "I was just about to write a scrip for oxy—"

  "Make sure it's short. I don't need an addict in the family."

  I closed my eyes, but my mother's harsh comment barely registered above the throbbing pain surfacing over my left eye.