Rocky Road Page 5

  "Of course, of course," the doctor said, practically sniveling to my mother.

  "How did you reconstruct the foot?" she asked.

  My doctor recounted the surgery in sickening detail.

  "Good choice." My mother shot me a look, though she didn't meet my eyes yet. "Her stitches look good. Might need some laser treatment to make that nasty scar go away."

  "Mom." I groaned.

  "Hold on," she said, turning her back to me.

  She'd never been a particularly cuddly mother and this was no different. I struggled to keep up as she grilled the doctor, the pain clawing at my consciousness with increasing fierceness. Too many medical terms. Too much back-and-forth. When she was done, she turned toward the window of the room.

  "Are you the woman who called me?" she asked.

  Only then did I remember Billie was still there, standing over to the side. Billie had folded her hands in front of her. I had never seen her look uncomfortable, but she did now, looking from me to my mother to the door.

  I bet you wished you had left now, huh?

  "Yes," she finally said.

  "Are you two together?"

  "Mom," I hissed. "No, we're not together. I just met her yesterday."

  "I apologize, Mrs. Ekert," Billie said, the picture of politeness. "I had to lie to the nurses so they would let me in here. I didn't want Krysta to wake up alone."

  "Thank you. I appreciate that. I've got a handle on it now, as you can see. You may leave if you wish."

  "If it's all the same to you, Mrs. Ekert—"

  "I'm not Mrs. Ekert. Just Shirley Jones." Mom's smile spread across her face, never meeting her eyes. I hated that smile. That smile that said I'm better than you, and whatever you say, you can't win. You're only still standing in front of me because I'm allowing it.

  Billie slid me a glance. The whole of her situation appeared before me. How had I not seen it before? (The drugs, maybe.) She must have been here through the night. It was bad enough I'd cost her sleep. I didn't know her plans, but they certainly didn't include a hospital visit. It was time to let her go.

  "Go teach those guys who's boss," I said, forcing a lightness into my voice.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah." I managed a smile for her. "You've done your duty. You're free. Go."

  I barely choked out the words. Billie's eyes bore into mine. They seemed to stare right through me, right to the point where a little voice was screaming please don't go. Hold my hand again. Tell me everything is going to be okay.

  "Go," I mouthed, before I changed my mind. What else could I do? She was practically a celebrity. It was bad enough she had to see me like this, never mind what would come next.

  Billie nodded once and walked out the door without a glance behind her.

  My mother perched on the edge of the bed, her back ruler-straight. She resumed her conversation with the doctor. In her usual way she made me feel more lonely than ever, and now that Billie was gone, the feeling dominated my mind. Even more than after I dropped out of Georgetown and she refused to speak to me on the car ride home. Even more than the time she left me home for an emergency when I was twelve and I had no one to take care of me after I sliced my thumb on a knife while cutting a bagel. Even more than those nights where she'd failed to come home though she promised she would for some special treat or other.

  It wasn't Billie I missed. It couldn't be. I barely knew her. Even so, I yearned for her to come back. To bring that silent strength with her that had propped me up and distracted me from thinking about the long months to come. I would have to find something else to do that, now, but the prospect was too daunting. So I closed my eyes and tried to find some sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BILLIE

  Something about Krysta's eyes as she'd told me to go haunted me. She hadn't really wanted me to go at all, had she? She had told be so, but leaving her there with her mother—who had barely looked at her since arriving—was making me uneasy. Maybe I should have stayed a little while longer. I had time. I could serve as a gopher for Krysta, getting her water or blankets. At the very least I could do that, I could be a support for her.

  I closed my eyes, hesitating just outside the hospital doors. This always happened. I always got too involved. Too intense, too quickly. She had told me to leave, and I should do as she asked.

  But if I left without making absolutely sure she would be all right, I would hate myself. I couldn't live with that kind of guilt in my brain during a race. Who knew when it would pop up? Around the last turn? Just as I was trying to execute a tricky pass?

  So I turned around and walked back through the hospital doors, the lobby, and up the stairs. I passed the nurses station and walked down the hall to Krysta's room. At her door, I stopped, hearing voices inside. One I recognized as Krysta's doctor, another I recognized as Shirley, her mother. The third, a deep male voice, I didn't recognize at all. They were all talking about Krysta like she wasn't there.

  "She'll need intense care over the next few months," the doctor said.

  "We'll pay for whatever she needs. Right Oslo?"

  "Yes, we'll pay," said the male voice. It must have been Krysta's father.

  "You both live in Atlanta, don't you? I would suggest one of you stay, if you can, to give her moral support."

  "And I suggest you stick to your job, Dr. Montgomery. We will make our decisions based on what's right for our lives and our daughter. For you to suggest otherwise is not only unprofessional, but totally out of line," Shirley said, cutting him off.

  "Of course, Dr. Jones. Of course."

  There was a pause, and I could only imagine what was going on in the room. How Dr. Montgomery would shrink in on himself. How Shirley, though not a terribly tall woman, would tower over him. I'd only just met her, but I already didn't like her. She was even more overbearing than my father, which was not an easy thing to do.

  "Shirley," the man named Oslo said. "Maybe he's right. Maybe you should stay here with her, just for the first month."

  "Why me?"

  "Because you have the more flexible job."

  "I'm an attending physician at a prestigious hospital, and you still expect me to mother her like she's a baby? You wonder why I left you."

  Holy shit. This was pretty messed up. And where was Krysta in all this? Why wasn't she standing up for herself? She had been willing to track me all the way back to my hotel just for a night with me—for less than a night. Yet she wasn't standing up for herself now? Maybe it was the painkillers.

  "We'll hire someone for round-the-clock care. We'll probably have to get someone to move her out of her wretched apartment as well."

  Would Krysta even want that? I gripped my fists, digging my nails into my skin as I listened to their plans for her. As they tried to control her life. What was up with parents? Why did they feel the need to do this?

  I paced away from the room, then resumed my spot outside the door to listen again. No, I wasn't just going to stand there and listen. Krysta deserved better.

  I stepped into the doorway. "Why don't you ask Krysta what she wants? It's her life."

  The three standing adults in the room turned, and as they turned, I noticed the bed was empty.

  I blinked. "Where is she?"

  "She went to get a CT to check her brain again," her doctor said.

  "Oh." My shoulders slumped, but I couldn't leave it. "I heard you all talking, and I don't think you should be making decisions for her."

  "What's your name again?" Shirley folded her arms.

  "It doesn't matter what my name is," I said, refusing to be intimidated by her. She knew my name. She was just trying to make me feel small, insignificant. Too bad I was Billie Fucking Page. She didn't know who she was dealing with. "She deserves better than this."

  Shirley squared her shoulders. "I don't know who you think you are, but you'd be better off minding your own business, too."

  "You barely even looked at her when you came into the room. She's hurti
ng, and what do you do? You didn't even touch her or hug her or console her." Where was this all coming from? Why did I feel so angry? I didn't know. All I knew was that the release felt good. It felt like I was on top of the world.

  Shirley didn't appreciate it. "I'm taking care of the situation, stupid girl," she spat.

  The spring that had been coiled so tightly in my chest sprung. I stepped forward. "You might be doing that, but do you realize she's your little girl and she needs comfort right now? Her life has been turned upside-down."

  "She'll be fine. She's tough."

  "No wonder, with a mother like you. Did she have a choice?"

  "Billie?" said a voice from the door. At the sound of Krysta's voice, I deflated like a downed hot air balloon. My breath came in short rasps. The pit in my stomach grew, threatening my lungs, my throat. What was I doing here?

  "What are you doing back here?" she asked, echoing my exact thought.

  "Being a pain in the ass," Shirley said.

  I crossed the room to Krysta and kneeled down next to her so her eyes were level. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

  "I'm sure. Go. God, you're like a dog with a bone." Krysta said this with a smile that was too big, almost garish next to the gash over her eye.

  I dropped my voice to a whisper. "They're talking about what to do with you like you're a child, or mentally incapable of making your own decisions."

  Krysta grew a little taller, her neck taking on a swan quality that made her beautiful even with her injuries. "They'll go. Trust me."

  "Then what?" I waved at her legs. "With injuries like that…"

  "What?"

  "It'll be hard. I've seen people—"

  "Don't. I don't want to hear it." Krysta blinked and glanced away, her face hard.

  "Krysta. I can help."

  "Go." Her eyes flicked to me, then her mouth pulled into a tight smile. Her face was so tense it looked like it could shatter. I didn't want to be the one to cause her pain.

  I realized, looking at her, that I had done it again. I was the one who had made this serious, though I had also been the one to tell her I didn't want that. Truthfully, I had no right, no stake in this situation.

  The best thing for me to do would be to leave. Krysta would be fine, and even if she wasn't I had a job to do. I had to get back to my life, to pick up the pieces of my career, and assemble myself a win. That was my only job, and it would be best for everyone if I stuck to that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KRYSTA

  "Holy mother of Jesus, what are you doing to me?" I shouted, gritting my teeth through the pain.

  "Go ahead, hate on me all you want, sweetheart. Push. There you go."

  "I hate you. I do hate you." I gripped the edges of the bed, my bruised elbow throbbing with the effort. Who knew that attempting to move my thigh when I hadn't even broken it would be such a painful thing? To think, I had taken walking for granted my entire life. "And don't call me sweetheart."

  "There you go. Good job." My torturer lowered my legs to the bed.

  The pain diminished.

  I sunk into my array of pillows, out of breath like I'd run a marathon. As my breath returned, I let my head fall to the side to regard the woman who was causing me such pain. Tanya was a stout woman, strong, with wide-set eyes and a gap between her two front teeth. She put that gap on full display then.

  The humor I reached for so often before the accident failed me again. A smile felt like a two hundred pound deadlift. I still tried, despite the sweat pouring down the side of my face. "How did I do, coach?"

  "You gained half an inch in the past week. You're my star student." She winked and stood, adjusting her floral scrubs. Her long braided hair fell over her shoulder as she bent to retie her shoe.

  Ugh. What I would give to bend over from a standing position. "A half inch, huh?"

  "Hey, don't knock it. Ever millimeter is a gain for you."

  "Only a thousand of them until I can walk again. Yaaay." I twisted away from her to hide my expression. I don't know what I'd expected coming home from the hospital. Maybe I thought I'd heal more quickly, progress a little more easily. I thought maybe I'd be able to get in and out of bed by myself, but that hadn't been the case. I needed a nurse just to turn over.

  Tanya squeezed my shoulder. "I've got some time. Do you want to go out on the porch and get some sunlight on that beautiful face of yours?"

  Yes. Yes, I did, but only if I could levitate from my bed into the reclined lawn chair on my porch. The effort of even getting into my chair was too much for me to contemplate at the moment, especially after that torture session. Still, I didn't want to show Tanya any of this. I twisted around, matching her smile. "I'm going for the vampire look."

  Tanya chuckled, a low throaty sound that shook her to her core. "Honey, no amount of staying inside is going to help that. You're gonna have to pull a Michael Jackson if you want to get there."

  "I suppose you're right," I said, rolling back to my pillows. "I like my skin the way it is, anyway. Why aren't there any black vampires? Oh, wait, I know. It's because we have style. That cape would just look horrible on me."

  Tanya let out a low, rumbling belly laugh.

  I loved that I made her laugh.

  As she left, the haze of that pleasure remained. Before long, the pain took over. Like the rays of the sun as it set below the horizon, the efficacy of my pain meds floated away.

  I picked up my phone, scrolling through my messages. I had a whole bunch from Ty—joking ones, at first, then increasingly frantic and worried messages. I'd sent him one in reply, that I was okay, but I hadn't answered any of his requests to visit. Billie had messaged me too, called me even. Though I'd deleted her number, I'd kept her messages so I could see it was her. But I hadn't replied to her either.

  I'm not sure why, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It was hard enough to keep up appearances with Tanya and my nurses. What would I say to Billie? Thank you? Or… wasn't it awkward the way you confronted my parents? Or… how are you? I thought about her more than I should have. About the turn of her nose, about her hair covering her face as she slept next to me.

  Everyone else had known the fun Krysta. This Krysta was no fun. She couldn't have fun.

  Would I ever find her again?

  I didn't know, but until I did, I had to isolate myself. She, and everyone else, deserved better.

  ...

  BILLIE

  Our team was based in Mooresville, North Carolina, so that's where I returned after my time in St. Pete's. Each day for the next two weeks was the same. I would wake up at six in the morning and head to the gym, spend three hours beating my body with the help of my personal trainer. Then I would stop for breakfast. Once that digested, I would hop on the bike and do hill sprints. Then yoga, lunch, lifting, and the pool to help calm my muscles. Then some more gym time. This was the schedule my father had created for me. Project Make Billie Strong.

  He was right. Most didn't know it, but IndyCar was an endurance sport. If you weren't in shape, you simply couldn't contend with the top drivers. Since I was a woman, I had to work even harder to strengthen and maintain my core and arm muscles.

  Most mornings and afternoons, I was too busy to think of anything but my routine. But each evening, between dinner and falling asleep, thoughts of Krysta Ekert flooded my mind. How was she recovering? Had her family stayed? Had her friends flocked to her side when she arrived home? Was she finding humor in this like she had in so many things?

  Over the course of that week, I managed to find all her social media pages. I couldn't help myself. Every time I pulled away I felt drawn back, though I knew nothing good would come of it. It seemed as if she had gone dark. There were people asking about her everywhere. Where are you? Are you okay?

  She hadn't answered.

  This worried me. I couldn't imagine a world in which Krysta was not engaged with the people around her. Had she isolated herself? Had something happened to her that made her incapa
ble of responding to these messages?

  By the end of the week, I had maxed out her videos. She was just as bright and brilliant and alluring online as she was off. At night, I dreamed of her pinning me to the bed.

  It was getting to be all-consuming. I had three weeks until the next race, but I knew myself. I knew the guilt would gnaw at me. I just had to know she was okay. So I picked up my phone and dashed off a message to her.

  Krysta—I'm just checking in. How are you? Are you improving?

  It wasn't a whole lot, but it was something. No reply came. The next evening, I decided to call her. I left her a message asking her to call me back.

  "I've got your panties," I joked. "I wanted you to be ready for them to come in the mail. Ha. Give me a call."

  It was a poor attempt at humor. She was the jokester, after all. I was the one obsessing, stalking her, practically. I tried again with a third, more serious voicemail message. And texted her again.

  A slew of horrendous scenarios popped into my brain, each one worse than the one before. What if her mother had hired someone who was mistreating her? What if she was alone in her apartment and was hurt and couldn't get up on her own?

  The next day, my first simulation test run for the Phoenix track, the location of my next race, was a mess. So much so that Ed pulled me aside.

  "What's going on with you?" he asked.

  I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm distracted. I'm sorry."

  "Do you need some time to take care of it?"

  I'd never taken him up on an offer like this before, but he'd also never had to offer. Whenever I'd shown up I'd given everything to the car, to the race, to the road, to whatever I was doing. "No," I said. "I'm fine. Let's go again."

  I slid into the simulator. But my next run wasn't any better. I could feel myself drifting away, imagining Krysta there on the ground. She was in trouble. I knew she was in trouble in my gut. I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing about that. I stood right in the middle of the test and stepped out of the machine.