by Lauren Runow
“Jalynn, look at me!” he shouts, bringing my attention, which has been scattered around everything from the cars to the exhaust smoke to the music and boisterous crowd, back to him and into the deep blue that holds my soul.
My heart is beating wildly, but it’s a steadier strum as I fall into his stare.
“There’s my girl.” He lays his hands on the sides of my face and runs circles with his thumbs along my cheeks. “This is why I didn’t want you to come. You overreact.”
“I don’t—”
His kiss breaks my thoughts.
“You can’t just kiss me when you want me to shut up.”
“I can, and I just did,” he teases.
I try to escape his embrace, but he wraps his arms around me.
“So, what? If you win, he won’t tell everyone you’re Falcon? And what does he get if he wins?” I ask.
“We already solved all of that. He’s not going to say anything. This race is for pride only.”
I stop, struggling at his words. “For what?”
“I didn’t want you here because I know you’ll talk him out of it. You’ll beg him to walk away for you. But that won’t change this feeling he has deep inside of him. I’m doing this for Beckett.”
My breath halts. I lean back and stare into his eyes, searching for an understanding as to what’s going on. My brows furrow as I read the answer to my question. “You’re going to throw the race.”
He slowly nods.
My jaw drops as I look down and turn around as I try to process this. “What am I missing?”
Austin’s hands lower to my arms as he steps behind me and pulls me in. His breath whispers into my ear, “You want to stop him from racing, but he’s here for something greater than me and you. He’s on this track, running away from the memory of your father. As long as I have the win over him, he’ll always remember that we aren’t equal, that I won. Beckett needs the upper hand. He needs to claim victory, and tonight, for the sake of you and for the kid who got his ass whipped every day to protect my girl, I’m going to give him what he wants.”
I spin around and look back at him. It’s hard though because tears are welling up inside my eyes. “Austin,” is all I can say as the roar of an engine makes all of us turn our attention toward the Ford truck headed our way.
Gregg parks and hops out. “We ready to race?”
Austin walks over to the crowd, leaving me to wipe my tears on my sleeve. Eva is standing near Beckett. When I walk over to her, the rules have just been explained.
Eva looks at me with an expression of concern. I let out a shaky breath and give her a smile.
Looking over at the Camaro, I admire the sleek lines of the car and remember the rush of driving it just a few days ago, but then the sight of Beckett climbing in makes me jolt to the side.
“They’re switching cars,” Eva explains. “Austin’s in the Mustang.”
My head turns fast to see Austin opening up Beckett’s driver’s-side door. Before he’s even in his driver’s seat, I’m at the passenger door, pulling it open.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, looking annoyed yet relieved.
I hold up the helmet that’s sitting on the passenger seat. “You were right. I like the rush just as much as you.”
I slam my car door shut and lean across the center console to kiss him with heat and passion and every ounce of love I have for the man who is going to throw a race despite his enormous ego.
When I lean back, I bite my lip and sit back in my seat.
“That wasn’t very nice, you know,” he says, helping secure the helmet over my head. “You shouldn’t rile a man up like that, especially before a race.”
“I know.” I shrug. “But it sure is fun.”
He laughs and revs the engine. It’s not until his hand lowers to below the gearshift that we both realize he must have left his mother’s angel charm in the other car.
“I’ll go get it,” I offer with my hand on the door handle.
“It’s okay. I got my other good-luck charm with me.” His tone doesn’t sound as sure as his words.
But I settle back in my seat and hold his hand as he closes his eyes and says a small prayer to himself.
Once we’re both set, I look at Beckett, who’s to my right, looking disappointed at seeing me with Austin.
“I don’t have a sister, but I can only imagine the level of protectiveness he must feel over you,” Austin says, bringing my attention back to him. “You don’t need his protection anymore. That’s my job now.”
He kisses the top of my hand and releases it as he prepares for the race. Giving his attention back to Gregg, he nudges the car forward to line up correctly.
Austin’s fingers grind on the steering wheel, anticipation rippling through his body. “You ready?” he asks me.
I grip the door and the seat between us. “Let’s do this.”
His foot hovers over the pedal, waiting for Gregg to raise the light. One nod to both cars signals the race is about to begin as Gregg runs back, stops, and holds the flashlight low at his side.
Engines reverberate against the pavement.
The car is shaking with excitement.
My heart palpitates as the flashlight rises, and the game is on.
Austin drops the clutch, slamming on the gas, only slightly squealing the tires as the G-force pushes us both against the backs of our seats. I grip the door handle harder and feel the rattle of the car. Speed builds. We’re flying in the darkness. Austin’s hands seem to grip firmer than when he’s in his Camaro, desperately trying to keep the Mustang in line.
I glance to my right for just a second, seeing where Beckett is, and when I look back, something gives.
A loud bang.
A sharp squeal.
My shoulder collides with the right window as the car spins out of control. Austin’s hands are fast on the steering wheel, and then his right arm flies across my chest, holding me tight to the seat.
I grab on to Austin’s arm and scream his name as we slam into something and ricochet back. My head hits the door and then the dashboard as I’m thrown around like a rag doll.
The car stills. All I hear is the silence of night and the hiss of the engine. It’s still running, and the dashboard is lit up brightly. When I turn to Austin, all I see is a gash across his head as he falls forward in his seat and lies limp over the steering wheel.
21
JALYNN
“Austin!” I shout his name even though he’s just inches from me. I’m reaching out with shaky hands, grabbing on to his back and shaking him to wake him up.
He’s not moving.
My jaw trembles as I unlatch my seat belt and toss the helmet into the backseat. I’m on my knees in rapid time, running my hands all over Austin—his shoulders, his arms, his thighs—checking for more injuries. When I reach for his face, it’s with delicate fingers despite the fact that I can’t keep my hands still.
“Baby.” I lightly pat him on the cheek. “Wake up. We were in an accident. Please,” I cry out. “Please wake up, Austin.”
Everything around me is crushed. There’s glass all around, and the nitrous tanks are jammed forward, partially blocking me from him.
My lips quiver as tears pour down my cheeks and fall into my mouth when I gasp. I swallow with short, staggered breaths and pat him again, desperate to stir him awake.
“Open those beautiful eyes for me. Austin, please,” I beg between my cries. “I need you to wake up. I need you. You can’t leave me. I love you.”
I lightly pull his shoulders back, praying he doesn’t have another injury that I’m hurting in the process. When his head falls back against the seat, he lets out a low groan that sounds like heaven to my ears.
A high-pitched squeak escapes my mouth, followed by a sharp inhale. “You’re okay. Listen to my voice. You’re gonna be okay.”
The faint sound of police sirens rings in the distance. I look at Austin’s watch and see it’s too early. We shou
ld have ten more minutes, but the sirens are most definitely headed this way. Austin might not be in his Camaro, but he is at the race, and I can’t let him get caught here. There are too many people trying to pin him to these races, and I’ll be damned if he gets caught on my watch.
Austin’s door looks bent in, so there’s probably no way I’ll get it open. I swing mine open, unhook his seat belt, and reach in to try to pull him toward me.
Austin’s eyes close again.
“Stay up. I need you to help me get you into the passenger seat.”
I yank on his torso, but he’s not budging; his weight is too heavy. I pull him again and pray to God that I’m not hurting his back, which I know is already damaged from the war.
“I need you to help me. Wake up for just one minute. I have to get you out of here.”
“Jalynn,” I hear someone yelling. “Jalynn!” Beckett pulls me out of the car.
“Help me get Austin!” I yell as I try to get to him again.
I hear Gregg as he runs up to Austin’s side of the car. “I can’t get the door open.” He grunts as he tries again.
Beckett quickly examines me, but I assure him I’m fine. “I was trying to get him in the passenger seat. It has to look like I was driving. He can’t get caught behind the wheel.” His attention rises from being fixed on a bruise on my arm to my face, which he’s now looking at, astonished. “You’re going to take the fall for him?”
I lean my head forward and open my arms. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
The disturbed look on his face morphs into something softer. It’s as if Beckett is finally seeing me for the first time in my life, like he can read every thought in my head and hear the exact syllable in every word. I’m the one person he’s probably spoken to every day of his life, yet tonight is the first time he’s actually listening to me.
“Is he okay?” I yell toward Gregg in desperation.
“He’s breathing, but he has a huge cut on his head,” Gregg says as he rounds to my side of the car. “Beckett, come help me pull him out.”
My brother runs to Gregg’s side and helps him pull Austin out.
The whirl of sirens grows closer. The crowd has dispersed, including Eva, and the only cars here are Beckett’s Mustang, Gregg’s truck, and Austin’s Camaro. The two men are dragging Austin out as I stand, frozen. I can’t believe this.
Austin wasn’t wearing a helmet. I was. How could we have been so stupid? Why would Austin have me wear the helmet and not himself? Why was I okay with it? Why was he okay with that?
Fear of throwing up has me doubled over.
Beckett grips my arms, making me stand straight to look at him. “You need to get out of here. He needs a hospital. You have to get yourself together and drive him.”
I don’t see the fear I feel reflecting back at me. No, I see Beckett being the strong one for both of us, and it’s the exact push I need to get my shit together.
“Take Gregg’s truck. He needs to get the Camaro out of here, and you need to get Austin to the hospital,” Beckett explains.
“I’ll call Bryce. He’ll know what to do,” Gregg yells to me as he climbs into the Camaro and closes the door.
“What about you?” I emphatically ask Beckett.
“Don’t worry about me. You need to get out of here. Now!” He pushes me into the driver’s side of Gregg’s truck and closes the door behind me.
Austin is lying in the backseat.
Tears start to roll down my face as I put the truck in drive and take off just as the sight of red and blue lights blink on the nearby trees, signaling they’re too close.
I pray for dear life that Austin will be okay. I pray Beckett won’t find himself in a world of trouble.
I pull up to the emergency room doors where doctors and nurses are waiting with a stretcher like Gregg said they would be when he called telling me to take him to UCSF instead of San Francisco General.
They open the back door and are quick to remove Austin. I hop out and run around the front of the truck just as they are wheeling Austin through the double doors. I rush to follow him in when someone holds me back.
“Miss, you can’t go in there. You need to move your truck,” a nurse says.
I slam my hand against my forehead and heave as Austin disappears from my sight. I’m forced backward toward the parking lot, only to start walking forward again toward the double doors.
The nurse pulls me back again. “Let them work. He’s going to be okay.”
“How can you say that?” I scream back at him. “Did you see him? The gash on his head?” I look down at my hands and the blood from his wound that lines the crevices of my palms.
Everything is a blur. Time stands still, yet everything around me races out of control. I crookedly park Gregg’s truck in between two spaces and somehow get back into the hospital.
Gregg and his girlfriend, Julie, show up within an hour. I’ve never met her before, but she’s quick to ask if I need anything and offers me a flask, which I decline. Gregg takes a seat next to me, and I watch as his knee bounces with worry.
“Bryce is on his way,” Gregg says. “He’s a donor for the hospital. The Sextons have a children’s wing named after them. They’ll make sure Austin’s presence here stays private.”
“That’s good,” I say because I need something to be good. Right now, everything just feels wrong.
After a few minutes, a nurse walks into the waiting room and approaches us. “Are you with the gentleman they brought in on the stretcher?” she asks.
“Yes, we are,” Gregg responds, standing quickly. “Is he okay?”
“They had to take him into surgery for some internal brain bleeding, so we’re not sure what’s happening yet.”
I cover my face with my hands as every ounce of calm I started to feel, knowing he was in the hands of doctors, disappears, and panic slaps me in the face again.
“How did the patient sustain his injuries?” she asks.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“He fell down a flight of stairs,” Gregg states calmly. “He hit his head on the wrought iron railing.”
I’m amazed that he can be so calm while he tells such lies.
The nurse glances at me and notices a cut on my arm. “Ma’am, are you okay? That cut looks fresh.”
My eyes open wide as I remember feeling the scrape against my arm as I was thrust into the car door. I place my hand over one, wincing at the pain it causes.
“They were carrying a glass table down the stairs. She must have hurt herself during the chaos of it all,” Gregg says.
I gulp. “I guess I didn’t even notice that I’d gotten cut, too,” I say fearfully.
“I’ll get you a bandage for that,” the nurse says. “You can go up to the fourth floor waiting room. A nurse will come get you there when he’s out of surgery.”
I look back at Gregg, who motions for me to follow the nurse. She gives me a large, rectangular bandage and a packet of Neosporin. When I come back, Gregg, Julie, and I head upstairs.
The floor is quiet as we walk into the empty waiting room. I don’t know if they put us here because this is where Austin is or if it’s to keep the Sexton family away from prying eyes. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.
Time dreadfully ticks by.
Eva arrives, dressed in the jeans and silk top she wore to the race. I wrap my arms around her, holding her so tightly, trying to steal any strength she has.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” she whispers. “Is he okay?”
“We don’t know,” I sob into her shoulder.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what to do. He’s been in there for almost two hours. They’ve said nothing. Nothing, Eva. What if …” I sob harder, covering my face as she holds me against her. “I fell. You told me not to fall, and I fell so damn hard. Now, I’m afraid he won’t be here to catch me.”
She pulls me down to a couch. “Don’t think like that. You have to think positively. He�
��s going to be okay. We have to believe.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to tell him that I’m in love with him.”
She pats my head as I curl up against her shoulder. “He knows, sweetie. He knows.”
My entire body starts to shake from both exhaustion and adrenaline. What feels like hours starts to take its toll. Nausea runs through my body, and chills constantly make me shake.
How can it take this long?
Why aren’t they saying anything to us?
It’s not until the door opens, and Edward and Missy Sexton enter that I feel like the whole universe has shifted. I glance at Gregg, whose eyes are as big as mine.
Edward sees us and struts right up. “You can write a five-million-dollar check, but God forbid someone actually tells you what’s going on with your son in this damn hospital!”
I’m taken aback when I see his demeanor. His thick head of salt-and-pepper hair looks like his hands have been running through it, and his bent shirt collar looks like it was tugged on in a rush. He’s worried, scared almost. This is not the same man I met a few nights ago.
Gregg’s expression proves he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“He’s in surgery for an internal brain bleed. We don’t know anything else yet,” Gregg addresses Edward from his seat. “How did you know he was here?”
“The public relations department. Thankfully, someone was smart enough to think to call his”—he turns to Missy, narrowing his eyes at her—“father. Has anyone called Bryce or Tanner?”
“Gregg called Bryce. He’s the one who said to come here.” My voice turns sheepish as Missy lays her eyes on me.
“What happened?” Edward asks.
“I can tell you exactly what happened.” Missy steps forward, rolling her head like she knows all the facts. “He was racing and crashed.” Her tone makes me want to rip her eyes out and yank her hair to the ground.
Gregg feels my tension rise and places his hand over mine, gripping it. “He fell down a flight of stairs.”
“Where’s the car?” Missy asks loudly.