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anavoliselenu · 6 years

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Crashed chapter 2

“He’s strong, Andy … he’s going to be … he has to be okay,” I finally say when I trust the resolve in my voice.

He just nods his head. We see a set of doctors running past us and my heart lodges in my throat, worried it’s because of Justin. He scrubs a hand over his face and I watch the love fill his eyes. “The first time I ever saw him, he broke my heart and stole it all with one, single look.” I nod my head at him to continue because more than anything I understand that statement, for his son did the same thing to mine.

He captured it, stole it, broke it, healed it, and forever owns it.

“I was on set working in my trailer on a scene rewrite. It had been a long night. Quin was sick and had been up all night.” He shakes his head and meets my eyes for a moment before looking back down to focus them on the band of his watch that he’s fiddling with. “I was late for a call time. I opened the door and almost tripped over him.” He takes a moment to will the tears I see welling in his eyes to dissipate. “I think I swore aloud and I saw his little figure jolt back in unmistakable fear. I know he scared the shit out of me, and I could only imagine why a child would have that type of a reaction. He refused to look at me no matter how gentle I made my voice.”

I reach over and take his hand in mine, squeezing to let him know that I know Justin’s demons without him ever revealing them. I may not know the specifics, but I have seen enough to get the gist.

“I sat on the ground next to him and just waited for him to understand that I wasn’t going to hurt him. I sang the only song I could think of.” He laughs. “Puff the Magic Dragon. On the second time through, he lifted his head up and finally looked at me. Sweet Christ he stole my breath. He had the hugest green eyes in this pale little face and they looked up at me with such fear … such foreboding … that it took everything I had not to wrap my arms around and comfort him.”

“I can’t imagine,” I murmur, going to withdraw my hand but stopping when Andy squeezes it.

“He wouldn’t speak to me at first. I tried everything to get him to tell me his name or what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered—my missed call time, the wasted money, nothing—because I was mesmerized by the fragile little boy whose eyes told me they’d seen and experienced way too much in his short life. Quinlan was six at the time. Justin was smaller than she was so I thought he was about five. I was shocked later that night when the police told me he was eight years old.”

I force the swallow that’s stuck in my throat down as I listen to the first moments in Justin’s life when he was given unconditional love. The first time he was given a life of possibilities rather than one of fear.

“I eventually asked him if he was hungry and those eyes of his got as big as saucers. I didn’t have much in the trailer that a kid would like, but I did have a Snickers bar and I’ll admit it,” he says with a laugh, “I really wanted him to like me … so I figured what kid couldn’t be bribed with candy?”

I smile with him, the connection not lost on me that Justin eats a Snickers before every race. That he ate a Snickers bar today. My chest tightens at the thought. Was that really only hours ago? It feels like days.

“You know Dottie and I had talked about the possibility of more kids … but had decided Quinlan was enough for us. Well, I should say that she would have had more and I was content with just one. Shit, we led busy lives with a lot of travel and we were fortunate enough with one healthy little girl, so how could we ask for more? My career was booming and Dottie took parts when she wanted to. But after that first few hours with Justin, there wasn’t even a hesitation. How could I walk away from those eyes and the smile I knew was hiding somewhere beneath the fear and shame?” A tear slips over and down his cheek, the concern for his son, then and now, rolling off of him in waves. He looks up at me with gray eyes filled with a depth of emotions. “He’s the strongest person—man—that I’ve ever met, Selena.” He chokes on a sob. “I just need him to be that right now … I can’t lose my boy.”

His words tear at places so deep inside of me, for I understand the anguish of a parent scared they’re losing their child. The deep seated fear you don’t want to acknowledge but that squeezes at every part of your heart. Sympathy swamps me for this man that gave Justin everything, and yet the numbness inside me incarcerates my tears. “None of us can, Andy. He’s the center of our world,” I whisper in a broken voice.

Andy angles his head to the side and looks over and studies me for a moment. “I fear every time he gets in that car. Every goddamn time … but it’s the only place I see him free of the burden of his past … see him outrun the demons that haunt him.” He squeezes my hand until I look back up to see the sincerity in his eyes. “The only time, that is, until recently. Until I see him talk about, worry about, interact with … you.”

My breath catches, tears well for the first time but don’t fall. After having Max’s mom, Claire, hate me for so long, the unspoken approval from Justin’s father is monumental. I hiccup a breath, trying to contain the tornado of emotions whirling through me.

“I love him.” It’s all I can manage to say. Then it’s all I can think about. I love him, and I might not ever get to really show him now that he’s admitted to feeling the same way about me. And now I stand on the precipice of circumstances so out of my control that I fear I might not ever get the chance to.

Andy’s voice pulls me from my rising panic attack. “Justin told me you encouraged him to find out about his birth mother.”

I look down and draw absent circles on my knee with my fingertip, wary that this conversation can go one of two ways: Andy can be grateful that I’m trying to help his son heal or he can be upset and think I’m trying to drive a wedge between them.

“Thank you for that.” He exhales softly. “I think he’s always been missing a piece and maybe knowing about her will help fill that for him. Just the fact he’s talking about it, asking about it, is a huge step...” he reaches out and places an arm around my shoulder and pulls me toward him so my head rests on his shoulder “...so thank you for helping him find himself in more ways than one.”

I nod my head in acknowledgment, his confession causing words to escape me. We sit together like this for some time, accepting and pulling comfort from each other when all we feel is emptiness inside.

It’s a perfect day. Blue sky overhead, sun warming my cheeks, and not a thought on my mind. The waves crash into the sand with a soothing crescendo, roll after roll. I come here often, the place we had our first official date, because I feel close to him here. A memory, something to hold onto when I can never hold onto him again.

I wrap my arms around my knees and breathe it all in, accepting that sadness will always be a constant ache in my heart and wishing he were here beside me. But at the same time, I know I haven’t felt this at peace since he’s been gone. I might be turning a corner in my grief—at least that’s what the therapist thinks—since it’s been days without the blind panic and strangling screams that consume my thoughts and skew my grip on reality. I think that maybe after all of this time, I might be able to move forward—not on—but forward.

The lone car in the parking lot to my right catches my eye. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because the car is parked near where Justin parked the Aston Martin on our first spontaneous outing—the most expensive beach date ever—but I look, my heart hoping what my mind knows is not possible. That it’s him parking the car to come join me.

I turn to look just in time to see a figure walk up to the passenger side and lean over to talk to the driver through the open window. Something about the person causes me to rise from the sand. I shield my eyes from the sun’s glare and study his profile, suddenly feeling that something is off.

Without thinking, I start walking toward the car, my unease increasing with each step. The stranger straightens up and turns to face me for a second, the sun lighting his dark features and my feet falter, breath lost.

My dark angel standing in the light.

“Justin?” My voice is barely a whisper as my brain attempts to comprehend how it’s possible that he’s here. Here with me when I saw them load his unresponsive body on the stretcher, kissed his cold lips one last time before they laid his casket to rest. My heart thunders in my chest, its beat accelerating with each passing second as the hope laced with panic starts to escalate.

And although my voice is so soft, he tilts his head to the side at the sound of his name, his eyes filled with a quiet sadness, lock onto mine. He starts to raise a hand but is distracted momentarily when the passenger door is shoved open. He looks into the car and then back to me, resignation etching the magnificent lines of his face. He hesitantly raises his hand again but this time finishes the wave to me.

I bring my fingertips to my lips as the grief rolling off of him finally reaches across the distance and collides into me, knocks the breath clear out of my lungs. I feel his absolute despair instantly. It rips through my soul like lightning splitting the sky.

And in that instant I know.

“Justin!” I say his name again, but this time my desperate scream pierces through the quiet serenity of the beach. Seagulls fly at the sound but Justin slides into the passenger seat without a second glance and shuts the door.

The car slowly heads toward the parking lot’s exit, and I break out into a full sprint. My lungs burn and legs ache but I’m not fast enough. I’m not going to get there in time and can’t seem to make any progress no matter how fast I run. The car turns to the right, out of the lot onto the empty road, and is angled to head past me on its way south. The blue metallic paint shimmers from the sun’s rays and what I see stops me dead in my tracks.

It feels like forever since I have seen him like this. All-American, wholesome with blue eyes and that easy smile I love all too much. But his eyes never break from their focus on the road ahead.

Max never even gives me so much as a second look.

Justin, on the other hand, stares straight at me. The combination of fear, panic, and resignation etched on his face. In the tears coursing down his cheeks, the apologies his eyes express, in his fists pounding frantically against the windows, in his words I can see him mouth but can’t hear him plead. All of it twists my soul and wrings it dry.

“No!” I yell, every fiber of my being focused on how to help him escape, how to save him.

And then I see movement in the backseat and am knocked clear to my knees. The gravel biting into them is nothing compared to the pain searing into the black depths of my core. And although I’m hurting more than I ever thought imaginable, a part of me is in awe—lost in that unconditional love you never think is possible until you experience it for yourself.

Ringlets frame her cherubic face, bouncing with the car’s movement. She smiles softly at Max, completely oblivious to the violent protests from Justin in the seat in front of her. She twists in her car seat and looks toward me, violet eyes a mirror reflection looking back at me. And then ever so subtly, her rosebud lips quirk up at one corner as childhood curiosity gets the best of her and she stares at me. Tiny fingertips rise above the windowsill and wiggle at me.

I have to remind myself to breathe. Have to force the thought into my head because she’s just singlehandedly ripped me apart and pieced me back together. And yet the sight of her has left me raw and abraded with tomorrows that will never be.

That I can never get back.

That were never mine to keep.

And from my place on the ground, my soul clinging for something to hang onto before being swallowed into the darkened depths of despair, I yell at the top of my lungs the name of the only person that can be still be saved.

“Justin! Stop! Justin! Fight damn it!” My voice falls hoarse with the last words, sobs overtaking and despair overwhelming me. I hang my head in my hands and allow myself to be dragged under and drowned, welcoming the devastating darkness for the second time in my life. “No!” I scream.

Invisible hands grab me and try to pull me away from him, but I struggle with every ounce I can muster against them so I can save Justin.

Save the man I love.

“Selena!” The voice urges me to turn away from Justin. No way in hell am I walking away again.

Never.

“Selena!” The insistence intensifies as my shoulders are shoved back and forth. I try to flail my arms but I’m being held tight.

I awake with a start, Beckett’s aqua blue eyes staring intensely into mine. “It’s just a dream, Selena. Just a dream.”

My heart is racing and I gulp in air but my body doesn’t seem to accept it. I can’t grab my next breath fast enough. I bring a trembling hand up and rub it over my face to gain my bearings. It was so real. So impossible, yet so real … unless … unless Justin is …

“Becks.” His name is barely a whisper on my lips as the remnants of my dream gain momentum and I start to understand why Justin would be with Max and my daughter.

“What is it, Selena? You’re white as a ghost.”

The words strangle in my throat. I can’t tell him what my mind is processing. I stutter trying to get the words out when we are interrupted.

“The family of Justin Donavan?”

Everyone in the waiting room stands and moves to congregate near the entrance of the waiting room, where a short woman in scrubs stands untying her surgical mask. I stand too, fear driving me to push my way to the forefront with Becks clearing the path ahead of me. When we stop next to Justin’s parents, he reaches his hand over and grips mine. It’s the only indication that he’s as scared as I am.

Her eyes take in the lot of us and she shakes her head with a forced smile. “No, I need to speak to his immediate family,” she says. I can hear the fatigue in her voice and of course my mind starts racing faster.

Andy steps forward and clears his throat. “Yes, we’re all here.”

“I see that, but I’d like to update his immediate family in private as per hospital protocol, sir.” Her tone is austere yet soothing, and all I want to do is shake her until she says “screw the rules” and gives me an update.

Andy shifts his eyes from her to glance over at all of us before he continues. “My wife, daughter, and I may be Justin’s immediate family, but everyone else here? They’re the reason he’s alive right now … so in my eyes, they are family and deserve to hear the update at the same time we do, hospital protocol be damned.”

A look of slight shock flickers across her features and in this moment I can see why all those years ago the police officers in the hospital didn’t question Andy when he told them Justin was going home with him for the night.

She nods slowly at him, lips pursed. “My name is Dr. Biggeti and I teamed up in the operating room with Dr. Irons on your son’s case.” In my periphery I see most of the guys nod their heads, bodies leaning forward to make sure they hear everything. Dorothea steps up next to her husband, Quinlan on the opposite side, and grabs his hand like Becks is clutching mine. “Justin made it through surgery and is currently being moved to the ICU.”

A collective gasp fills the room. My heart thunders at an accelerated pace and my head dizzies with the news. He’s still alive. Still fighting. I’m scared and he’s scarred but we’re both still fighting.

Dr. Biggeti puts her hands up to quiet the murmuring among us. “Now there are still a lot of unknowns at this point. The bleeding and swelling were quite extensive and we had to remove a small section of Justin’s skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. At this time, the swelling seems to be under control but I need to reiterate the words at this time. Anything can happen in these cases and the next twenty-four hours are extremely crucial in telling us which way Justin’s body will decide to go.” I feel Beckett sway next to me and I detangle our hands and wrap my arms around his waist, and take comfort in the fact we are all here, feeling the same way. That this time I’m not alone in watching the man I love struggle to survive. “And as much as I have hope that the outcome will be positive, I also need to prepare you for the fact that there may be possible peripheral damage that is unknown until he wakes up.”

“Thank you.” It’s Dorothea who speaks as she steps forward and grabs a surprised Dr. Biggeti in a quick embrace before stepping back and dabbing the tears beneath her eyes. “When will we be able to see him?”

The doctor nods her head in compassion at Justin’s parents. “Like I said, right now they are getting him situated and checking his vitals in the ICU. After a bit, you’ll be able to see him.” She looks over toward Andy. “And this time, I must follow hospital policy that only immediate family be allowed to visit with him.”

He nods his head.

“Your son is very strong and is putting up one hell of a fight. It’s obvious he has a strong will to live … and every little bit helps.”

“Thank you so very much.” Andy exhales before grabbing Dorothea and Quinlan in a tight embrace. His hands fist at their backs and expresses just an iota of the angst mixed with relief vibrating beneath his surface.

As the doctor walks away her words hit me, and I close my eyes to focus on the positive. To focus on the fact that Justin is fighting like hell to come back to us. To come back to me.

All of us—crew and family—have been moved to a different waiting room since we were taking up all of the space in the emergency area. This one’s on a different floor, closer to the ICU and to Justin. The room’s a serene light blue, but I’m nowhere near calm. Justin is near. The thought alone has me hyperventilating. I’m not immediate family so I’m not going to get to see him.

And that alone makes every breath an effort.

Leaves every emotion raw, nerves bared as if my skin has been peeled back and exposed to a fire hose.

Each thought focused on how much I need to see him for my own slipping sanity.

I stand and face a wall of windows overlooking a courtyard below. The parking lot beyond is swarming with media trucks and camera crews all trying to get something more on the story than the station next to them. I watch them absently, the mass becoming one big blur. You were a spark of solid color to me in a world that’s always been one big mixed blur of it …

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jolt when someone places their hand on my shoulder. I turn my head and meet the grief-stricken eyes of Justin’s mother. We stare at each other for a moment; no words are spoken but so much is exchanged.

She’s just come from seeing Justin. I want to ask her how he is, what he looks like, if he’s as bad as the images I have in my mind. I open my mouth to speak but close it because I can’t find the words to express myself.

Dorothea’s eyes well and her bottom lip trembles with unshed tears. “I just …” she starts to say and then drifts off, bringing her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. After a moment, she begins again. “I can’t stand seeing him like that.”

My throat feels like it’s closing as I try to swallow. I reach my hand up to my shoulder and squeeze hers, the only solace I can even remotely offer. “He has to be okay …” The same words I’ve uttered over and over today that fix nothing, but I say them nonetheless.

“Yes,” she says with a determined nod as she takes in the circus of the parking lot. “I haven’t had nearly enough time with him. I missed the first eight years of his life, so I’m owed extra ones for not getting the chance to save him sooner. God can’t be that cruel to rob him of what he deserves.” She looks over toward me on her last words, and the quiet strength of this mother fighting for her son is unmistakable. “I won’t allow it.” And the commanding woman that had slipped momentarily is back in control.

“Mom …” The sob is hiccupped as Quinlan re-enters the waiting room. We both turn to face her as she walks toward us, all eyes in the room on her. I watch Dorothea’s face shifts gears as she goes from fierce protector to maternal soother. She pulls Quinlan into her arms and kisses the top of her head, squeezing her own eyes shut tight as she whispers words of encouragement that she fears are lies.

I feel like a voyeur—wanting my own mother more than anything right now—when Dorothea looks up at me over the crown of Quinlan’s head. Her voice is a hushed murmur but it stops my breath. “It’s your turn now.”

“But I’m not …” I don’t know why I’m so shocked that she’s giving me this opportunity. The rule follower in me bristles, but my traumatized soul stands at attention.

“Yes, you are,” she says, a tight smile on her lips and sincerity flooding her eyes. “You’re helping make him whole—the one thing I’ve never been able to do as a mother and that kills me, but at the same time the fact that he’s found it in you …” She can’t finish the sentence and tears well in her eyes, so she reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Go.”

I squeeze it back and nod at her before I turn to go to the man I can’t live without, fear mixed with anticipation streaks through me like fireworks on a pitch black night.

I stand outside of the intensive care unit and prepare myself. Fear and hope collide until one big ball of anxiety has my hands trembling as I turn the corner to stand at his doorway.

It takes me a moment to gain the courage to raise my eyes and take in the broken body of the man I love. The images in my head are worse—bloody, bruised, total carnage—but even those couldn’t have prepared me for the sight of Justin. His body is whole and unbloodied, but he lies there so motionless and pale. His head is wrapped in white gauze and his eyelids are partially closed, the whites of his eyes showing somewhat from the swelling of his brain. He has tubes coming out of him every which way, and the monitors beep around him constantly. But it’s not the sight of all of the medical equipment that breaks me—no—it’s that the life and fire of the man I love is nonexistent.

I shuffle toward the bed, my eyes mapping every inch of him as if I’ve never seen him before, never felt him before. Never felt the thunder of his heart beating against my own chest. I reach out to touch him—needing to desperately—and when I hold his hand in mine, it’s cold and unresponsive. Even the calluses I love—the ones that rasp deliciously over my bare skin—are not there.

The tears come. They fall in endless streams as I blindly sink down into the chair beside the bed. I grip Justin’s hand with two of mine, my mouth pressed to our joined hands, my tears wetting his skin. I cry even harder when I realize the all too familiar Justin scent that feeds my addiction has been replaced by the antiseptic hospital smell. I didn’t realize how much I needed that scent to be there. How much I needed that small, lingering piece of the man I love to remain when everything else has changed so drastically.

Incoherent words cross my lips and muffle against our entwined hands. “Please wake up, Justin. Please,” I sob. “You can’t leave me now. We have so much time we need to make up for, so many things that we still need to do. I need to cook you horrible dinners and you need to teach me how to surf. We need to watch the boys play little league and I need to be in the grandstands when you win a race.” The thought of him getting back in a car makes my heart lodge in my throat, but I can’t stop thinking of all the things we still have left to experience together. “We need to eat ice cream for breakfast and eat pancakes for dinner. We need to make love to each other on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and when you walk in the door, I’ll push you up against it because we just can’t get enough of each other. I haven’t had my fill of you yet …” My voice fades as I close my eyes and rest my forehead against our hands, Justin’s name a repeated prayer on my lips.

“You know, I’ve never been as angry with him as I was last night.” Beckett’s voice jars me from my scattered focus.

I look up through blurred eyes to see him leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes focused on his best friend. I know he’s not expecting a response from me—and frankly, I’m hoarse from crying so I give him the only answer I can manage, an incoherent murmur before turning back to look at Justin.

“I’ve been pissed at him plenty of times, but last night took the cake.” Becks breathes a long, frustrated sigh, and then I hear his feet shuffle across the floor. He sits down in the chair opposite me and hesitantly reaches out to squeeze Justin’s free hand. He looks over toward his friend’s impassive face before holding my gaze across the lifeless body of the man we love. “When I knew Justin was willing to let you walk away without telling you the truth or putting up a fight...” he shakes his head in disbelief as tears swim in his eyes “...I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off or wanted to throw a punch at someone as much as I did when he told me to leave your room.”

“Well, we were both being stubborn asses,” I concede, wishing that we could be back in that hotel room—repeat the day—so that we just could stop fighting and I could wrap my arms around him a little tighter, a little longer. I wish I could rewind time so I could warn Justin of what was going to happen at the track. But I know it wouldn’t matter. My reckless rebel thinks he’s invincible and would have climbed into the car anyway.

I look back up at his face and he’s anything but invincible now. The sob rises in my throat, and I try to hold it back but fail miserably.

“He’s so used to thinking he’s not worth any of the good fortune that’s come his way. He’s never given me specifics, but I know he thinks he doesn’t deserve any better than what he was from, wherever he came from. He thinks he’s not enough for you and—”

“He’s everything,” I gasp, the truth in my words resonating clear within my soul.

A ghost of a smile turns up the corners of Beckett’s mouth despite the sadness in his eyes. “I know, Selena.” He pauses. “You’re his lifeline.”

I lift my eyes from Justin to meet his. “I don’t know how that’s going to help him now. I left him last night after you walked out of the room,” I confess, staring again at our two hands intertwined, guilt consuming me. “After what he said to me, I kept thinking, I can’t be with him anymore under these circumstances. I thought I could stick around—help him heal everything that’s broken—but I couldn’t stand around and be cheated on, so I left.”

“You did the right thing. He needed a taste of his own medicine. He was being an ass and was using his fear to fuel his insecurity … but he went after you, Selena. That in itself tells me he knows how much he needs you.”

“I know.” My voice is almost a whisper and is drowned out by the incessant beep of the machines. “I’d gladly walk away from him again and never look back if it would prevent us from being here right now.”

I say the words without any conviction because I know deep down that wherever Justin is, I would never be able to stay away from him.

We sit for a bit, each battling our own thoughts when Becks stands abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor and shattering the antiseptic silence in the room. “This is fucking bullshit. I can’t sit and look at him like this.” His voice is thick with emotion as he starts to walk out.

“He’s going to pull through, Becks. He has to.” My voice breaks on the last few words, betraying my confidence.

He stops and sniffles before turning around to look at me. “That fucker is stubborn in everything he does—everything—he better not disappoint me now.” He shifts his attention to Justin and strides to the side of the bed, the grief turning into anger with each passing second. “It’s always got to be about you, doesn’t it, Wood? Self-centered bastard. When you wake the fuck up—and you will wake the fuck up because I’m not letting you go out like this—I’m going to kick your ass for making us worry.”

He reaches his hand out and, in contradictory fashion to his gruff words, lays a hand on Justin’s shoulder for a brief moment before turning and walking out of the room.

I’m left alone with the man I love, the weight of the unknown pressing down upon us but hope finally starting to bleed through the edges of the pain.

I can feel the car—the engine’s rumbling in my chest that tells me I’m alive—before I even see it slingshot out of the backside of the turn. I focus on my hands. They’re shaking, fucking trembling. I can’t hold onto the wheel, to my thoughts, to fucking anything at all. The wheel shudders beneath my goddamn fingers. Fingers that can’t quite grip to control the fucking chaos unraveling around me.

The confidence I own in a place that’s always been my salvation is fucking gone. Dust in the motherfucking wind.

What the fuck is going on?

The sound of metal giving—fucking shredding—mixed with the squeal of rubber sliding across asphalt echoes all around me. Jameson’s car slams into mine. And with the impact—the jolt of my body, the theft of my thoughts—my memories crash and collide like our cars do.

The thought of Selena sucker punches me first.

The fucking ray of light against my goddamn darkness. The sun shining through this crash-crazed haze of smoke. The one and only exception to my fucking rule. How can I hear her sobs through my headset and yet see her doubled over in shock from a distance? Something’s fucked up here. Like bat-shit crazy fucked up.

But what? How?

And even though there’s all this smoke, I can still see her face clear as day. Violet eyes giving me something I don’t deserve—motherfucking trust. Begging me to let her in, to let her help heal the parts of me forever damaged from a past I’ll never outrun—never escape—even when slamming head first into the fucking wall.

I see my car rise above the smoke—above the goddamn fray of broken trust and useless hope—and I lose my fucking breath and my chest feels like it’s exploding, detonating like the shrapnel of memories embedding themselves so deep in my mind I can’t quite place where they land. Even though I’m watching it, I can still feel it—the force of the spin, the strain on my muscles, the need to hold tight to the wheel. My future and past coming down all around me like a goddamn tornado as I roll out of control struggling to fight the fear and the fucking pain I know is coming next.

That I can’t ever escape.

Debris scatters … on the track and in my head.

Collateral damage for another poor fucking soul to deal with. I’ve had more than my share of it. I choke on the bile that threatens—the soul siphoning fear that stabs into my psyche—because even mid-flight, when I should be free from everything, she’s still there. He’s still there. Always a constant reminder.

Colty, when you don’t listen, you get hurt. Now go be a good boy and wait for him. When you’re naughty, naughty things happen, baby boy.

The crunch of metal, his masculine grunt.

The smell of destruction, his alcoholic stench.

My body banging into the protective cage around me, his meaty fingers trying to take me, own me, claim me.

Tell me you love me. Say it!

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I welcome the impact of the fucking car because it knocks those words off my tongue. I can see it, feel it, hear it all at the same time as if I’m everywhere and nowhere all at fucking once. In the car and outside of it. The resonating, unmistakable crunch of metal as I become weightless, momentarily free from the pain. Knowing that once I’ve spoken those three words only hurt can come.

The fucking poison will eat at me piece by piece until I’m the nothing I already know I am.

The goddamn fear will paralyze me—fucking consume me—dynamite exploding in a vacuum chamber.

My body slams forward but my shoulder harnesses strangle me motionless, like Selena urging me to move forward. Like the fucking memory of him holding me back—unforgiving arms trapping me as I fight against the blackness he fills me with. Against the words he forces me to say, forever fucking up their goddamn meaning.

The impact hits me full force—car against barrier, fucking heart against chest, hope against demons—but all I see is Selena stepping over the wall. All I can see is him coming at me while she’s walking away.

“Selena?” I call out to her. Help me. Save me. Redeem me. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. All my hope is fucking lost.

… I’m broken …

I watch the car—feel its movement encompassing me—slowly come to a stop, the damage unknown as the darkness consumes me.

… and so very bent …

My final exhale of resistance—from him, for her—as the fight leaves me.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

“We’re losing him. He’s crashing!

… I wonder if there’s pain when you die …

“Justin, come back. Fight goddammit!”

Minutes turn into hours.

Hours turn into days.

Time slips away when we’ve lost too much of it as it is.

I refuse to leave Justin’s bedside. Too many people have left him in his life, and I refuse to do it when it matters the most. So I ramble to him incessantly. I speak about nothing and everything, but it doesn’t help. He never reacts, never moves … and it kills me.

Visitors drift in and out of his room in sporadic bouts: his parents, Quinlan, and Becks. Updates are given in the waiting room where some of the crew and Tawny still gather daily. And I have no doubt that Becks is making sure Tawny keeps her distance from me and my more than fragile emotional state.

On the fifth day I can’t take it anymore. I need to feel him against me. I need that physical connection with him. I carefully move all the wires to the side and cautiously crawl on the bed beside him, placing my head on his chest and my hand over his heart. The tears come now with the feel of his body against mine. I find comfort in the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my ear, instead of the electronic beep of the monitor I’ve grown to rely on as a gauge of his momentary status.

I snuggle into him, wishing for the feel of his arm curling around me, and the rumble of his voice through his chest. Little bits of comfort that don’t come.

We lie there for awhile and I’m fading off into the clutches of sleep when I startle awake. I swear it’s Justin’s voice that is pulling at me. Swear I hear the chant of superheroes, a tumultuous sigh on his lips. My heart races in my chest as I reacquaint myself with the foreign surroundings of his room. The only thing familiar is Justin next to me, and even that’s a small comfort to the riot in my psyche because he’s not the same either. His fingers twitch and he moans again, and even though it’s not the words that awoke me, deep down I know he’s calling to them. Asking for the help to pull him from this nightmare.

I don’t know how to soothe him. I wish I could crawl inside of him and make him better, but I can’t. So I do the only thing I can think of, I start singing softly, his dad’s comments ringing in my ears. I thought I’d forgotten the words to the song I’d heard long ago, but they come to me easily after I struggle through the first few.

So in this cold and sterile environment, I attempt to use lyrics to bring warmth to Justin by singing the song of his childhood: Puff the Magic Dragon.

I don’t even realize I’ve fallen asleep until I jolt awake when I hear the squeak of shoes on the floor and look up to meet the kind eyes of the charge nurse. I can see the reprimand about to roll off the tip of her tongue but the pleading look in my eyes stops her.

“Sweetie, you really shouldn’t be up there with him. You risk the chance of pulling a lead out.” Her voice is soft and she shakes her head when I meet her eyes. “But if you want to while I’m on shift, I promise not to tell.” She gives me a wink, and I smile gratefully at her.

“Thank you. I just needed to …” My voice trails off because how do I put into words that I needed to connect with him somehow.

She reaches over and pats my arm in understanding. “I know, dear. And who’s to say it won’t help pull him from his current state? Just be careful, okay?” I nod in understanding before she leaves the room.

I’m left alone again in the darkness with the eerie glow from the machines illuminating the room. Still snuggled into his side, I angle my head up and press my lips to that favorite place of mine on the underside of his jaw. His scruff is almost a beard now, and I welcome the tickle of it against my nose and lips. I draw him in and just linger in the feel of him. The first tear slips out quietly and before I know it, the past few days come crashing down around me. I am lying holding on to the man I love—still afraid that I might lose him—overcome with every form of imaginable emotion.

And so I whisper the only thing I can to express the fear holding my soul hostage.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

My tears subside over time, and I slowly succumb to the clutches of sleep again.

I awake disoriented, eyes blinking rapidly at the sunlight filtering in through the windows. Murmured voices fill my ears but the one that surprises me the most is vibrating beneath my ear.

Awareness jolts me when I realize the rumble is Justin’s voice. In a split second my heart thunders, breath catches, and hope soars. My head dizzies as I sit up and look at the man I love, all others in the room forgotten.

“Hi.” It’s the only word I can manage as my eyes collide with his. Chills dance over my flesh and my hands tremble at the sight of him awake and alert and aware.

His eyes flicker over my shoulder before coming back to rest on mine. “Hi,” he rasps as my elation soars. He angles his head slightly to observe me, and even though confusion flickers over his face, I don’t care because he’s alive and whole.

And he’s come back to me.

I just sit there and stare at him for a moment, pulse racing and the shock of him awake robbing my words. “Iron-Ironman …” I stutter, thinking that I need to go get the doctor. I don’t want to move. I want to kiss him, hug him, never let him go again. He just looks at me as if he’s lost and understandably because he’s just woken up to a frantic mess and the only thing I say is the name of a superhero.

I start to shove off the bed but he reaches out and grabs my wrist. “What are you doing here?” His eyes search mine asking so many questions that I’m not sure that I can answer.

“I—I—you were in an accident,” I stutter, trying to explain. Hoping the trepidation snaking up my spine and digging its claws into my neck are just from the overload of emotions over the past few days. “You crashed during the race. Your head … you’ve been out for a week …” My voice fades as I see his eyes narrow and his head angle to the side. I can see him trying to work through the memories in his head, so I give him the time to do that.

His eyes glance back over my shoulder again, and it’s now that I remember there were voices in the room—more than one person—but something about the look on his face makes me afraid to look away. “Justin …”

“You left me.” His voice is broken and heart wrenching, filled with disbelief.

“No …” I shake my head, grabbing onto his hand as fear starts to creep into my voice. “No. I came back. We figured it out. Woke up together.” I can hear the panic escalating in my tone, can feel the pounding of my heart, the crashing descent of the hope I’d just gotten back. “We raced together.”

He shakes his head gently back and forth with a stuttering disbelief. “No, you didn’t.” He looks back over my shoulder as he pulls his hand from mine and holds out his now free hand to the person behind me. “You left. I chased you but couldn’t find you. She found me in the elevator.” The smile I’d been silently needing, wanting to reaffirm our connection, is given … but not to me.

The air punches from my lungs, the blood drains from my face, and a coldness seeps into every fiber of my soul as the smile I love—the one he only reserves for me—is given to the person at my back.

“Justin couldn’t remember everything, doll.” The voice assaults my ears and breaks my heart. “So I filled him in on all of the missing pieces,” Tawny says as she comes into view, scrunching up her nose with a condescending smirk. “How you left and we reconnected.” She works her tongue in her mouth as the victorious smile grows wider, eyes gleaming, message sent loud and clear.

I won.

You lose.

The bottom drops out of my world, blackness fading over my vision, and nothingness left to contend with.

I awake with a start. My lungs are greedy for air and my mind reaches to cling to anything real through its groggy haze. The scream on my lips dies when I realize I’m in Justin’s room, alone, with him beside me. My head is still on his chest and my arm still hooked around his waist.

I blow out a shaky breath as my adrenaline surges. It was a dream. Holy shit, it was just a dream. I tell myself over and over, trying to reassure myself with the constant beep of the monitors and the medicinal smell—things I have grown to hate but welcome right now as a way to convince myself that nothing has changed. Justin’s still asleep and I’m still hoping for miracles.

Just ones that don’t involve Tawny.

I sink back down into Justin, my nightmare a fringe on the edge of my consciousness that leaves me beyond unsettled and my body trembling with anxiety. I’m so lost in thought—in fear over both nightmares—that as the adrenaline fades, my eyes grow heavy. I’m so lost to the welcoming peace of sleep that when a hand smooths down my hair and stills on my back, I sink into the soothing feeling of it in my hazy, dreamlike state. I nestle closer, accepting the warmth offered and the serenity that comes with it.

And then it hits me. I snap my head up to meet Justin’s. The sob that chokes in my throat is nothing compared to the tumble in my heart and awakening in my soul.

When our eyes meet I’m frozen, so many thoughts flitting through my mind, the most prevalent one is that he came back to me. Justin is awake and alive and back with me. Our eyes remain locked and I can see the confusion flicker through his at a lightning pace and the unknown warring within.

“Hi there,” I offer on a shaky smile, and I’m not sure why a part of me is nervous. Justin licks his lips and closes his eyes momentarily which causes me to panic that he’s been pulled back under. To my relief he reopens them with a squint and parts his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Shh-Shh,” I tell him, reaching out and resting my finger on his lips. “There was an accident.” His brow furrows as he tries to lift his hand but can’t, as if it’s a dead weight. He tries to angle his eyes up to figure out the thick bandages surrounding his head. “You had surgery.” His eyes widen with trepidation and I mentally chastise myself for fumbling over my words and not being clearer. The monitor beside me beeps at an accelerated pace, the noise dominating the room. “You’re okay now. You came back to me.” I can see him struggle to comprehend, and I wait for something to spark in his eyes but there is nothing. “I’m going to get the nurse.”

I reach out to pull myself off the bed and Justin’s hand that’s lying on the mattress clasps around my wrist. He shakes his head and winces with the movement. I immediately reach out to him and cradle his face with one hand, his skin paling and beads of sweat appearing on the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t move, okay?” My voice breaks when I say it, as my eyes travel the lines of his face searching to see if he’s hurt anything. As if I would know if he had.

He nods just barely and whispers in an almost absent voice, “Hurts.”

“I know it does,” I tell him as I reach across the bed and push the call button for the nurse as the hope deep within me settles into possibility. “Let me get a nurse to help with the pain, okay?”

“Selena …” His voice breaks again as the fear in it splinters in my heart. I do the only thing I know might reassure him. I lean forward and brush my lips to his cheek and just hold them there momentarily while I control the rush of emotions that hit me like a tsunami. Tears drip down my cheeks and onto his as the silent sobs surge through me. I hear a soft sigh and when I pull back, his eyes are closed and his mind lost to the blackness behind them once again.

“Is everything okay?” The nurse pulls me from my moment.

I look over at her, Justin’s face still cradled in my hand and my tears staining his lips. “He woke up …” I can’t say anything else because relief robs my words. “He woke up.”

Justin comes in and out of consciousness a couple more times over the next few days. Small moments of lucidity among a haze of confusion. Each time he tries to talk without success, and each time we try to soothe—what we assume from his racing heartbeat—are his fears, in the few minutes we have with him.

I refuse to leave, so fearful that I’ll miss any of these precious moments. Stolen minutes where I can pretend nothing has happened instead of the endless span of worry.

Dorothea has finally convinced me to take a few moments and head to the cafeteria. As much as I don’t want to, I know I’m hogging her son and she probably wants a minute alone with him.

I pick at my food, my appetite nonexistent, and my jeans baggier than when I first arrived in Florida a week ago. Nothing sounds good—not even chocolate, my go to food for stress.

My cell rings and I scramble to get it, hoping it’s Dorothea telling me Justin’s awake again, but it isn’t. My excitement abates. “Hey, Had.”

“Hi, sweetie. Any change?”

“No.” I just sigh, wishing I had more to say. She’s used to this by now and allows the silence between us.

“If he doesn’t wake anytime soon, I’m ignoring you and flying my ass out there to be with you.” Here comes Haddie and her no-nonsense attitude. There’s no need for her to be here really. She’d just sit around and wait like the rest of us, and what good is that going to do?

“Just your ass?” I let the smile grace my lips even though it feels so foreign in this dismal place.

“Well, it is a fine one if I may say so myself … like bounce quarters off of it and shit.” She laughs. “And thank God! There’s a bit of the girl I love shining through. You hanging in there?”

“It’s all I can do,” I sigh.

“So how is he? Has he come to again?”

“Yeah, last night.”

“So that’s what, five times in two days according to Becks? That’s a good sign, right? From nothing to something?”

“I guess … I don’t know. He just seems so scared when he wakes up—his heart rate on the monitors sky rockets and he can’t catch his breath—and it’s so quick that we don’t have time to explain that it’s okay, that he’s going to be okay.”

“But he sees you all there, Selena. The fact you’re all there has to tell him he has nothing to fear.” I just give a non-committal murmur in response, hoping her words are true. Hoping that the sight of all of us soothes him rather than scares him into thinking he’s on his deathbed. “What does Dr. Irons say?”

I breathe in deeply, afraid if I say it my fears might come true. “He says Justin seems stable. That the more often he wakes up the better … but until he starts talking in full sentences, he won’t know if any part of his brain is affected by everything.”

“Okay,” she says, drawing the word out so that it’s almost a question. Asking me what I fear without asking. “What are you not telling me, Selena?”

I push the food around on my plate some, scattered thoughts focusing for bouts of time. I work a swallow in my throat before drawing in a shaky breath. “He says sometimes motor skills might be temporarily affected …”

“And …” Silence hangs as she waits for me to continue. “Put your fork down and talk to me. Tell me what you’re really worried about. No bullshit. You’re not a lesbian so stop beating around the damn bush.”

Her attempt to make me laugh results in a soft chuckle turned audible exhale of breath. “He said that he might not remember much. Sometimes in cases like these, the patient may have temporary to permanent memory loss.”

“And you’re afraid he might not remember what happened, good and bad, right?” I don’t respond, feeling stupid and validated in my fears at the same time. She takes my lack of a reply as my answer. “Well, he obviously remembers you because he didn’t freak out when you were lying in bed with him the first time, right? He grabbed your hand, stroked your hair? That has to tell you he knows who you are.”

“Yeah … I’ve just found him though, Haddie, and the thought of losing him—even if it’s in the figurative sense—scares the shit out of me.”

“Quit thinking about something that hasn’t happened yet. I understand why you’re worried but, Selena, you’ve made it through some pretty random shit so far—Tawny the twatwaffle’s antics included—so you need to back away from that ledge you’re sitting on and wait to see what happens. You’ll cross that bridge and all when it comes, okay?”

I’m about to respond when my phone beeps with an incoming text. I pull my phone from my ear and my heart rockets when I see Quinlan’s text. He’s awake.

“It’s Justin. I gotta go.”

Pain pounds like a fucking jackhammer against my temple. My eyes burn like I’m waking up after downing a fifth of Jack. Bile rises and my stomach churns.

Churns as if I’m back in that room—dank mattress, crab weeds of trepidation blooming in me as I wait for him to arrive, for my mom to hand me over, trade me … but that’s not fucking possible. Q’s here, Beckett. Mom and Dad.

What the fuck is going on?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shake away the confusion, but all I get is more of the goddamn pain.

Pain.

Ache.

Pleasure.

Need.

Selena.

Flashes of memories I can’t quite grasp or understand blindside me before disappearing into the darkness holding them hostage.

But where is she?

I fight to gain more memories, pull them in and grasp them like a lifeline.

Did she finally figure out the fucking poison within me? Realize this pleasure isn’t worth the pain I’ll cause in the end?

“Mr. Donavan? I’m Dr. Irons. Can you hear me?”

Who the fuck are you? Ice blue eyes stare at me.

“It may be tough to speak. We’re getting you some water to help. Can you squeeze my hand if you understand me?”

Why the fuck do I need to squeeze his hand? And why is my hand not moving? How the hell am I going to drive in the race today if I can’t grip the wheel?

My heart hammers like the pedal I should be dropping on the track right now.

But I’m here.

And last night I was there, with Selena. Woke up with her … and now she’s gone.

… checkered flag time, baby …

It all zooms into focus at once. And then complete darkness. Checkered holes of black—polka dots of void—throughout the slideshow in my head. I can’t connect the dots. I can’t make sense of anything except that I’m confused as fuck.

All eyes in the room stare at me like I’m the side show at the goddamn circus. And for his next act folks, he’ll move his fingers.

I try my left hand and it responds. Thank fucking Christ for that.

My mind flashes back. Crunching metal, flashing sparks, engulfing smoke. Crashing, tumbling, free-falling, jolting.

… It looks like your superheroes came this time after all …

My mind tries to figure out what the fuck that means but comes up empty.

Selena’s gone.

She doesn’t love the broken in me after all.

I try to shake the bullshit lies from my head but groan as the pain hits me.

Max.

Me.

She left.

Can’t do this again.

I can’t believe I was selfish enough to even ask her to.

“Justin.” The doc is talking again. “You were in a bad accident. You’re lucky to be alive.”

A bad accident? The flickering images in my head start to make more sense but gaps of time are still missing. I try to speak but my mouth’s so dry all that comes out is a croak.

“You injured your head.” He smiles at me but I’m wary.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He may have given me life again, but the fucking reason for living isn’t here. She’s smart enough to leave because I just can’t give her what she needs: stability, a life without racing, the promise of forever.

“The nurse is bringing you some water to wet your throat.” He notes something on his tablet. “I know this might be scary for you, son, but you’re going to be okay. The tough part’s over. Now we need to get you on the road to recovery.”

The road to recovery? Thanks, Captain Obvious—more like the speedway to Hell.

Faces fill my immediate space. Mom kissing my cheek, tears coursing down her face. Dad hiding his emotion but the look in his eyes tells me he’s a fucking wreck. Quin beside herself. Becks muttering something about being a selfish bastard.

This must be pretty fucking serious.

And yet I still feel numb. Empty. Incomplete.

Selena.

After a few moments they slowly back away at my Mom’s insistence to give me space, to let me breathe.

And the air I’ve just gotten back is robbed again.

I turn to look at the vague blur I notice in my periphery, and there she stands.

Curls piled on top of her head, face without makeup, hollow, tear-stained cheeks, eyes welled with tears, perfect fucking lips in a startled O standing in the doorway. She looks like she’s been through Hell, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

Call me a pussy, but I swear to God she’s the only air my body can breathe. Fuck if she’s not everything I need and nothing that I deserve.

Her hands are fiddling with her cell phone, my lucky shirt hanging off her shoulders, and I can see the trepidation in her eyes as they flit around everywhere but at me.

Breathe, Donavan. Fucking breathe. She didn’t leave. She’s still here. The neutralizer to the acid that eats my soul.

Her eyes finally find and lock onto mine. All I see is my future, my salvation, my singular chance at redemption. But her eyes? Fuck, they flicker with such conflicting emotions: relief, optimism, anxiety, fear, and so many more unknown.

And it’s the unknown I focus on.

The unspoken words telling me all of this is tearing her apart. That it’s not fair for me to put her through this again. But racing is my life. Something I need as much as I need the air that I breathe—ironic considering she’s my fucking air—but it’s the only way I can survive and outrun the demons that chase me. The black ooze that seeps in every crack of my soul making sure it can never be eradicated. I can’t be selfish and ask her to stand by me when all I want is to be the most self-centered bastard on the face of the earth.

Urge her to go but beg her to stay.

But how can I let her go when she owns every single part of me?

I’ll gladly suffocate so that she can breathe freely. Without worry. Without the constant fucking fear.

Be selfless for the first time ever when all I’ve been my entire life is self-serving.

I should have told her—got over the fucking fear that consumes my soul—but I couldn’t … and now she doesn’t know.

… I Spiderman you …

Words scream through my head but choke in my throat. The words I don’t know if I’ll ever be healed enough to say.

She robbed me of that all those years ago.

And now I’ll pay for it.

By letting my one fucking chance go.

Then I hear the sob wrench from her throat. Hear the disbelief and torment in that singular sound as her shoulders shake and her posture sags.

And I know what I want and what is best for her are two completely different things.

Out of nowhere the sob tears from my throat at the sight of him, lucid and groggily alert. My damaged man that is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

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