Losing Romeo (13 page)

Chapter Twenty

Bryson slowed the truck to a crawl, leaning forward in his seat and squinting out the windshield. With the sun nearing the horizon, sending light into his eyes, it was difficult to make out the scene ahead—all he could see was that there was something in the road and a couple of stopped vehicles.

As he got closer, the trees blocked the sun, revealing the deer in the middle of the road. Well, more like what was left of it. The bloody carcass was huge, with horns any hunter would be proud to mount.

Dafne gasped, and he followed her line of sight. Her silver truck was off the road on its side, crumpled against the trees. A navy blue Ford F-150 sat on the shoulder of the road, an ambulance just behind it. Before Bryson fully stopped the truck, Dafne threw opened the door. He slammed on the brakes, lurching to a stop, and she burst out of the truck and ran toward the ambulance.

Bryson sucked in a shaky breath, trying to pull himself together. It wasn’t working. He got out of the truck and stared at the scene before him.

All that blood on the road. The smashed truck. His heart clenched, no longer beating but just hanging there useless in his chest.
What if she’s not okay?

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. The last thing he’d done was tell her she was stupid. That he didn’t even want to be her friend.

Walking became difficult, like he was trudging through quicksand and he’d never make it to the ambulance. Scenes from Tammy’s wreck came rushing back. The smashed up vehicles. Winslow falling to his knees. The paramedics zipping up that black body bag.

A few months before it’d been a similar scene, but in his house, with his mom.

The lights of the ambulance blurred as all the blood rushed to his head. The world spun around him. The floodgates he’d built to hold back the hurt opened and pain deluged his system.

Not again.
Panic dug its claws into his chest
. I can’t lose another person I care about.

“…so sorry, Aunt Dafne,” he heard. Rosaline’s voice. He pulled in a gulp of air, the relief washing through him so strong he might’ve dropped to the ground if it weren’t for his cane.

Another step and he could make out the top of her blond head. Dafne was hugging her, and there was a paramedic off to the other side. The wind carried snippets of the conversation toward him. “You trust me and I…stupid Bambi darted right out…jerked the wheel…airbag went off and then I was rolling and, and look at your poor truck.”

“All that matters is you’re okay,” Dafne said in a soothing tone.

Bryson moved a little closer so he could hear better, but he still only got glimpses of her. He wanted to run over and lift her in his arms—to examine every inch of her and see for himself that she was okay. Instead he stood in place, his heart in such a tight a knot it hurt every time it tried to beat.

I’m probably the last person she wants to see right now.

So he stayed back, letting the people who knew what they were doing help her, praying she was okay. At least she sounded okay. Maybe she was just in shock, though.

“What about the shredder and the groceries?” Rosaline asked. “They went everywhere and—”

“All I care about is that you’re okay.” Dafne looked to the paramedic. “She’s okay, right?”

Bryson held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“She’ll be sore, and I think she suffered a concussion,” the paramedic said. “When Mr. Raines got here, she wasn’t making sense.”

“That might not be the concussion,” Rosaline said. “I rarely make sense. It’s totally overrated.”

Bryson smiled, a glimmer of happiness breaking through. If she was already joking around, she must be all right.

Winslow’s Range Rover pulled up behind the ambulance—Dafne had called him when she and Bryson were getting into his truck. After she’d hung up, she’d relayed that he’d said he was coming from the other way and would keep his eyes open.

Winslow walked over to Dafne and she flung her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her the way Bryson wished he could hold Rosaline.

A couple of minutes later, Winslow came over. “You okay?”

Bryson nodded. “Is she?”

Winslow looked paler than usual, and he wondered if he was thinking of Tammy, too. “She’s got some cuts and bruises. They want Dafne to keep an eye on her and have her take it easy for a few days, but she was lucky.” He tipped his head toward the commotion. “Aren’t you going to go over?”

“I’ll only get in the way.”

“It sounds like they’re wrapping things up. I’ll bring Dafne and Rosaline home. You can go on ahead.”

Bryson hated the thought of leaving, but standing here watching it all wasn’t doing anything for anyone. So he climbed into his truck and drove away, his insides feeling heavy and wrong.

***

After what seemed like forever of being poked and prodded, the paramedic finally let Rosaline out of the ambulance.

Pain shot up her leg, but she tried to mask it so they wouldn’t force her back inside the vehicle for another round of twenty questions.

Winslow had his hand on Dafne’s back, rubbing small circles there.
Well, what do you know? Apparently it takes a wrecked truck to get him to make a move. I wonder if Dafne will think it was worth it.

Gritting her teeth against her beat up muscles, she took another step, looking around for Bryson. She’d caught a glimpse of him earlier. He’s stood back in the shadows, and she’d wanted to yell at him to come over already.

Just after the wreck, when the world was upside down and her thoughts were fuzzy, she’d had two thoughts. One, that Dafne had trusted her, and she’d screwed it up, and two, that she wished Bryson were with her. Not in the wreck, but right after. Because he’d know what to do and she just wanted to see him and for things to be good with them again.

But she didn’t see him anymore. His truck was gone, too.

Which meant while she was ready to forgive, he hadn’t even cared enough to stay.

***

Bryson kicked off the covers, his muscles aching and his skin on fire. He rolled one way. Then the other. He punched his pillow and lay back down, but it was clear sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the crumpled truck. Rosaline in the back of the ambulance. His throat tightened until it became impossible to swallow.

She could’ve died.

He hated himself for not marching over to the ambulance and telling her that he was sorry and that she meant everything to him.

All the bad memories and old pain had gotten in the way and messed with his head. But the truth hit him hard. He couldn’t shut off his feelings for her, no matter what she’d done. Rosaline was one of the funniest, kindest people he’d ever met. When he was upset, she tried to fix it with fairytales. She put up with his moods and gave him chance after chance, even when he was an ass—she wouldn’t even let him hide his scar. Looking back on his life before she got here, it all seemed so empty.

Tomorrow he’d fix it.

And if she had a drug problem, he’d help her get clean.

This time, he wouldn’t fail.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bryson paced the entryway, wondering how early was too early to go over to see Rosaline.

Winslow walked into the room, steaming mug of coffee in hand. “What are you doing?”

“When’s Dafne coming into work? Nine?” It was two minutes till.

“I told her to take the day off so she could take care of Rosaline.”

“But surely they’d be up by now?”

The front door opened, bathing the room in early-morning sunlight, and Dafne stepped inside. “Hey, I’m all out of Tylenol. I gave Rosaline the last one I had last night, and I’m not supposed to give her anything else in case there’s bleeding on the brain. I hoped you had some.”

All Bryson could do was stare as the words
bleeding on the brain
echoed through his head. He charged into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed the Tylenol.

Dafne reached for it as he approached, but he gripped it in his hand. “I’ll take it to her,” he said. “I’m going over anyway.”

Dafne blocked his path. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t think she’ll want company.”

“Well that’s too damn bad.”

“Bryson!” Winslow put his arm around Dafne’s shoulders. “If Dafne says—”

“Please, Dafne. I need to see her.” Bryson’s voice caught. Normally, he’d be embarrassed. Right now, he didn’t care. He just wanted—no,
needed
—to see her. Needed to hear her voice, to see her face, to beg for forgiveness.

A couple seconds of deliberation, and then Dafne stepped aside. “The door’s unlocked, and she’s on the couch. She’s sore and beat up, but not so much she won’t yell at you.”

“Good. At least then I’ll know she’s okay.”

Dafne gave him a small smile, and he walked out the door, moving as fast as his bum leg would let him.

When he got to Dafne’s, he knocked on the door and then opened it so Rosaline wouldn’t try to answer it. She looked up from her spot on the couch, her eyes meeting his, and everything inside him came undone. He crossed the room in a couple large strides. All his planning and he couldn’t even get out one word.

Her cheekbone was bruised, a couple of scrapes on top of the purple. Seeing the physical proof she’d been hurt turned everything inside him to mush. And still, all he could do was stare.

Finally, he extended the Tylenol to her. “Here. Take a couple of these.”

She smacked the bottle out of his hand. It fell to the floor, the pills rattling together as it rolled under the coffee table. “’Take these?’ That’s all you have to say to me?”

Man, she’s cute when she’s mad
. It reminded him of the night he’d found her wandering in the fields, headed the wrong way but refusing to admit it. He reached out and trailed his fingertips next to the bruises, careful to avoid the raw places, but needing to touch her.

“Why did you leave last night?” Her voice shook, and tears bordered her eyes. “I needed you, and you left me there alone.”

He sat down and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry about everything.”

She leaned her head on his chest, and his heart felt like it might explode. After a moment, she looked up at him. “Not that it makes it okay, but I only took drugs the one time, and I know it was stupid, and I’ll never do it again.”

Relief flooded him. Once. He could deal with once. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I’ll tell you why; I’ll explain it all. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about my leg. I’m miserable without you.”

A smile curved her beautiful lips. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t. I tried, but I can’t.” He hugged her tighter, then worried he was hurting her and sat back. “You really okay? Anything hurt besides the bruises?”

“My leg got twisted pretty good. Guess I need a cane too now.”

“You can use mine,” he said.

“I don’t want to have to touch the skull.”

Warmth filled him, and he felt good—whole—for the first time in days.

Her big eyes lifted to his. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I was in the truck, hurt, no idea how long it would be until anyone came for me.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling. Getting shot wasn’t fun, but…the fear. Lying in that alley after the guys who attacked me ran away? I thought I was going to die. Part of me wanted to just die and get it over with.” Looking into her eyes became difficult, so he dropped his gaze, staring at the swirled pattern on the couch. “Anyway. I’m saying I get it.”

She grabbed his hand. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. Then he stood, grabbed a cup of water, and picked the bottle of pills off the floor.

Rosaline gave him a suspicious look as he held them out to her. “I thought you were going to stop pulling away.”

“It might take me some time to break the habit. Plus, guys don’t like admitting we’re afraid of anything. Makes us uncomfortable.”

She grinned up at him. “Don’t worry. I think you can take out anything, you big strong man.”

“That’s right. Now take your pills.”

Electricity ran through him as her fingers brushed his.

Footsteps sounded outside, and the door swung open. “Just thought I’d make sure everything was okay,” Dafne said.

Eyes locked onto his, Rosaline said, “Everything’s good.”

That pretty much summed up his feelings exactly.

“Since I’m homebound today, Bryson’s going to bring me movies and watch them with me so I don’t get too bored.” She raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “He’s basically going to be my servant.”

Keys jingled as Dafne tossed them on the counter. “I don’t think you’ll get much rest that way.”

“He likes movies you have to read, so they’ll put me right to sleep.”

That smile. I’ll never get sick of that smile

“Fine. But I’m going to be here working, checking on you constantly.” Before Rosaline could argue, and it looked like she was about to, Dafne said, “You got hurt and I’m taking care of you, so deal with it.”

It ruined his chance to be alone with Rosaline, which meant there was no way he’d get up the courage to tell her how he really felt about her, but he could see it meant a lot to her that her aunt cared so much, so he’d deal with it.

Eventually, he
was
going to tell her. And he hoped when he did, it didn’t ruin everything they’d just repaired.

***

Rosaline swung her feet to the floor so Bryson could sit down on the couch. He sat next to her, leaned over and grabbed her legs, and pulled them onto his lap. She leaned back on the armrest, watching him more than the movie he’d put on, even though he’d brought a comedy instead of ninja with subtitles, just for her. Sitting with him like this, his hand on her knee, she swore they were on the verge of something.

Which thrilled her as much as it scared her.

He’d called her “baby,” too. Said it with such tenderness and sincerity, her stomach whirled as she remembered it.

She glanced back at Dafne, sitting in the corner of the kitchen, computer out, facing away from them. Then she leaned forward and traced her fingers across Bryson’s scar.

He looked at her, his eyes boring into hers in a way that made her heart beat like crazy. If they were going to cross a line—if she was really going to put herself out there—she needed to know he was serious about letting her in.

“What happened that night? Why wasn’t anyone there to help you?”

He sighed and put his hand over hers, holding it against his cheek. “Because, as you love to point out, I push people away. As for what happened…well, it all started because of a girl. Her name was Jen. Her brothers raced, and she knew more about motocross than any girl I’d ever met.”

The way he said it, all admiration, Rosaline decided she needed to study up on motocross.

“She and I had been going strong for about four months,” he continued. “She came to all my races—to see me and her brothers. I’d just won this big race in Hidden Valley, which is just outside Memphis. A group of us went into town to celebrate, and Jen was with me. These guys started making crude comments to her, so I yelled at them. One of the guys got in my face and I…” He winced. “I believe I said something like, ‘She’d never go for a wannabe-gangster piece of shit like you.’”

Rosaline raised her eyebrows. “Charming.”

“Yep, that’s me. It came out before I thought it through. Or realized he had two other guys with him. One of the dudes who worked at the place told us to break it up or get out. I took Jen to a table in the back, but then she and I got into a big fight. She told me she was sick of me acting all jealous and possessive.”

Funny, because right now, Rosaline was kind of wishing he’d be jealous and possessive of her.

“I yelled, she yelled, and then she left with her brothers,” he said. “I was miserable after, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. I rushed out of the place, hoping to find her and apologize.”

Bitterness churned through Rosaline’s stomach. It was ridiculous how strongly she disliked a girl she’d never even met.
Jen. Juliet. What is it with girls whose name starts with J?

Bryson’s features grew pale and pinched. “Instead, I ran into the guys who started it all. They jerked me into an alley and whaled on me good. I tried to defend myself—got a few hits in, too—but since there were three of them…” He squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

Right when she was about to tell him he didn’t have to talk about it if it was too hard, he said, “They got me down; then the guy with the knife said, ‘Who’s a piece of shit now?’ and gave me this.” He ran his thumb along the scar. “The guy with the gun was yelling at me, something about disrespecting him, I think. My hearing was all fuzzy, and blood was pouring down my face. I couldn’t make out the words. Then he just…pulled the trigger.”

The movie playing in the background suddenly sounded loud in the following silence.

Now that she had the whole story, she didn’t know what to do with it. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to say she was sorry it happened, but sorry didn’t seem like enough.

“So there you have it,” he said. “How I went from a shot at a career in motocross, to shot and bleeding in the alley.” The muscles along his jaw tightened. “Jen never even came to see me. Not in the hospital, not after. Then I felt pretty stupid for getting into a fight over her.”

Rosaline was searching for something—anything—to say, when he patted her leg. “I need to go get some fresh air.”

She caught his hand as he stood. “But you’ll be back?”

He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back.”

***

The movie ended, and Rosaline stretched. Staying quiet for the rest of the movie wasn’t easy. She was dying to find out more about Bryson. Like why he used to get in so many fights, about his parents, and what was going on with his leg now. She wanted to know everything about him. But she’d pushed him far enough for the day.

She pulled up her legs, hugging them to her chest. “How you doing?”

“I’m good. How ‘bout you? You need me to get you anything?”

“I’m a little stiff”—Rosaline raised her voice—“but if Dafne asks, tell her I need another day off from office work.”

“Nice try.” Papers rustled together, and then the legs of the chair scraped the floor. Dafne came over and stood behind the couch. “Bryson, thanks for keeping Rosaline company, but I’m afraid she and I need to make a phone call.”

“A phone call?”

“We’re going to have to tell your parents about the wreck.”

Just like that, all the happy vibes got sucked right out of the room.