Page 66 of Hook Up

Add another line on my to-do list.

The throbbing in my brain refuses to back down, so I fill the tub and soak for an hour, desperate to get warm. Desperate to feel anything but this gnawing in the pit of my stomach that reminds me how my world is upside down, and it’s all my fault. Ryder may be an asshole, but I believed him.

That’s on me.

When there are no more tears to cry, I hoist myself from the tub, staring at my reflection and looking for answers that aren’t going to come. My reflection thinks I’m a blooming idiot, too.

Time to head for the airport and back to my reality, or whatever term we want to use for this funhouse of nightmares. My phone rings, and I grab it, fully expecting yet another call from Mr. Givens.

It isn’t Mr. Givens. It’s Greg, and he’s called twenty times.

That means one of two things, possibly both. Ryder won the race and Greg is gearing up for one hell of a celebration tonight, or my brother has learned of my brief marriage and impending annulment all in one fell swoop.

No doubt he’ll have some choice words for us both once that debacle hits the airwaves.

Dialing my brother, I fall back on the mattress, a loud whoosh sliding from my lips.

Greg answers on the first ring. “Gigi, where are you? I’ve been calling for an hour.”

I’ve heard my brother upset before, but there’s something in his tone that strikes fear into my heart. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“You don’t know? Gigi, where are you? You need to get to Charlotte. Now.”

“I’m in Charlotte.”

“Get to St. Luke Hospital immediately.”

I bolt upright, my blood pounding in my ears. “Are you okay? What happened?”

My brother’s sobs break through my hangover haze. “Don’t turn on the television, Gigi. Ryder has been in an accident.”

Chapter 11

Greer

An hour later, I dash through the front entrance of St. Luke. I’m shocked the cab driver could understand me through my rash of tears, but he gave my hand a squeeze before proceeding into the snarled mess of the Charlotte parkways.

Greg told me to avoid watching any replays of the accident, but he should know me better after all our years together. I’ve seen the video a minimum of fifty times, each time more devastating to my heart than the last.

Ryder was in the lead as he pulled into pit row and it looked as if he would win the race. Another trophy in his gilded case. But then, as he pulled out, everything went wrong. His car jerked, and he didn’t pick up speed. Instead, another driver slammed into him, upending Ryder’s car and tumbling him like a rag doll down the track.

I can’t watch beyond the moment of impact. My professional training is both a blessing and a curse. I don’t want to know how dire the prognosis is until I’m by his side. All I know is that he’s alive, and right now, that’s all that matters.

The anger I feel regarding Ryder’s betrayal? That will keep until he’s better. Then, I’m serving up the ass-kicking of a lifetime for breaking me.

The hospital staff directs me to the Neuro ICU, and my heart sinks. That unit is reserved for critically ill patients will all manner of head and spinal injuries. You don’t need a medical degree to know it doesn’t bode well.

I rush off the elevator, which moved at a snail’s pace and hurry to the waiting room. Inside, I find Greg, his head buried in his hands. I haven’t seen that posturing since the day he discovered he could no longer race.

“Greg.”

His head shoots up hearing my voice, and I see the tears brimming in his dark depths. Then I’m in his arms, his embrace so tight it constricts my breathing. “Thank God you’re here, Gigi.”

I grasp his face, trying to calm him. “How is he?”

“I don’t know. They don’t know. It’s all my fault.”

My brother slumps back into the chair and I scan the room for a doctor or nurse—anyone with more information than Greg. He tends to fall apart during times of family stress and Ryder is as close to family as they come.

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