Page 84 of High Velocity

He covers my mouth with his fingers before I can get a word out.

“I spent way too many hours yesterday evening and through the night imagining the worst possible outcomes, and the one thing foremost on my mind was I would never have had a chance to tell you that. Hard to believe, just a couple of years ago, I was ready to throw in the towel. That would’ve been a tragedy, because I’d never have known there was someone out there perfect for me. I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

I grab hold of his wrist.

“Jackson…”

“You’re it for me, Stephanie. You’re my person.”

Twenty-Seven

Stephanie

“He’s awake?”

Jackson leans in to buckle me up. Turns out that’s not so easy to do with only one functioning arm.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’s talking yet. He may not be able to.”

Wouldn’t be surprising, given Laine had brain matter leaking from the hole in his head, but I would want to be the one to poke around what’s left of it. So many questions remain, some of which I’m not sure I want the answers to.

Maybe it’s best if opening his eyes is all the progress he makes for now. At least until I have a chance to find answers to a few of my questions on my own.

I’m lost in thought as Jackson rounds his truck, which now has four brand-new tires, and gets behind the wheel.

I’m heading home. Not my apartment here in Kalispell, but back to High Meadow where—as Alex so sternly pointed out—I can be properly looked after while I recover. Not that I had any real desire to go back to my cramped apartment, where I’d be staring out my window at the self-storage facility across the road all day. I’d be crawling up the walls in no time. The view at the ranch is much nicer, and you can’t beat the company.

I glance over at Jackson, who has barely left my side since I was brought in five days ago. I’ve had a surprising number of visitors over the course of those days, but Jackson has been the one constant. Even when Bellinger and Wilcox stopped by to question me and indicated they wanted to talk to me alone, Jackson wouldn’t budge. He grabbed my hand demonstratively, sat down on the stool beside my bed, and stared them down until they gave up their attempts.

I spoke to them a few times this past week, first going over the order of events, and after that trying to help fill in gaps that remain. It’s a weird experience, being on this side of an investigation. I got an earful from Bellinger, who was pissed I’d meddled in an active investigation, when I was technically on leave. Even worse, I got my partner in trouble. Wilcox ended up admitting he’d been the one to run that trace on the cell phone for me, and that didn’t go over well at all.

Bellinger had steam coming out of his ears, and if I hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed, I’m pretty sure he’d have fired me on the spot. I’m frankly surprised he hasn’t done it yet, although that may change after he finds out what I’ve been holding back.

I know it’s wrong to keep potentially important information to the case from him, but this is a loose end I’m determined to resolve myself. Unfortunately, it’s going to have to wait until I’m back on my feet, because this is not something I can handle with just a phone call.

“You’re quiet,” Jackson observes, placing a hand on my knee. “Are you hurting?”

“Not really.”

That’s to say, it isn’t bad, considering I’ve passed on anything stronger than ibuprofen these past two days. The pain medication they had me on worked wonders on the pain, but it also made my mind sluggish—as if I was under the influence—which I didn’t like so much. It’s the kind of drug that could easily develop into a habit, which is why I stopped taking them.

What was pure fire before has settled into more of a gnawing ache that runs all the way down to my fingertips which, by the way, I was able to move a little yesterday when the physical therapist came by. Progress will come in small increments, I was told. Sadly, patience is not my strong suit.

Luckily, it’s an arm, and not a leg. I can walk fine, and I’m sure with a day or two recovering back at Jackson’s cabin, I’ll be able to get some things done. Like officially quit my job before anyone has a chance to fire me. I also need to find another place to live; I don’t want to continue living in Kalispell, or keep mooching off Jackson. But most of all, I need to make a little trip. Unfortunately, since I can’t drive myself, I’ll need Jackson’s help with all of those.

“Hey, have you ever been to Michigan?”

Jackson turns his head and grins at me. “Yeah, I’ve been to Michigan. Why?”

I let my eyes drift out the windshield.

“I’m thinking of paying my father a quick visit in the next week or so. Would you be able to come?”

His face immediately turns to thunder.

“You’re kidding, right? The man couldn’t even bother to call you while you were laid up in the hospital and yet you want to visit him?”

Calling my father had been Bellinger’s doing. I didn’t know he’d talked to him until he mentioned it the first time they questioned me. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. I imagine he was probably annoyed his daily routine was interrupted. After Mom died, the only other person he cared about was my brother, and after David passed away, I swear my dad’s heart atrophied completely.

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