Beautiful Broken (23 page)

Atticus straightens, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me. I meet the gaze steadily. "Scout gets me, Atti. I know you don't like that, but she understands me and all my issues. She doesn't question why I am the way I am—she understands. And I get her. I know why she started using, and why she's still a mess, why she needs counseling and has nightmares—I know all of it and can be a safe place for her."

"Tell me," he says. I take a deep breath. It's a line in the sand, and he won't like it.

"Atti, it's her business. I love you—I do. And I think she needs to talk to you, but I won't force her to. And I won't go over her head and tell you what she hasn't."

I wait, watching him. Hating that I'm doing this. It feels wrong—Atti is my brother. I shouldn't hide anything from him.

But Scout matters more, and I won't do that to her.

"What about the girls in the clubs. And Mel?"

"I haven't been to a club since we've been together—that night—" My eyes flick to Avery. "—with Kelly was the last night I was out. I broke up with Mel before that."

Atti shakes his head and opens his mouth. But I can't argue about this, not right now. Now when she's god knows where, and upset. "We can argue about the rightness of my relationship later. Right now, I need to find her. She had a counseling appointment today, and she's been upset since. The fight can't have helped. Call Lou, find out if she went there." I pause for a heartbeat, waiting, and Atticus nods sharply, grabbing his phone. It's not much, and I know we have shit to talk about, a lot to overcome, but for now it's enough. Until I have her safely back home, it's going to have be enough.

I hit her number, and it rings twice before going to voicemail. I growl and try again. Same response. She's ignoring my calls. I try once more, watching Atticus as he talks to Lou. From the slump to his shoulders, she isn't there. Fuck.

I tap out a quick text.

Dane
: Just tell me you’re safe, babe. That's all I want to know.

Then I shove my phone in my pocket and look over at Atti. "I'm going to look for her."

"She took your car, dumbass."

"Which is why I'm taking yours," I say, smirking.

He rolls his eyes and nods. "Let's go."

We check the Hill. Atti's apartment. The big house, the college, Lou's house. Even Curtis Interiors. We look at the graveyard. Eventually, we check her old haunts—the places she'd go when she needed to score.

I'm unbelievably happy when we don't find her. I'm also increasingly nervous when we can't find her. "Where else could she be?" I ask. It's been over an hour, and I'm running out of ideas—Branton is a small town, and Scout is a creature of habit.

"You know her so damn well—where would she go when she's upset?" Atti growls.

Where would she go that Atticus doesn't know about? But that I do?

"The shack," I mutter. I glance at my phone again, at the black screen. "Take Old Ridge Road."

Atticus shoots a glance at me, but I don't say anything. It's a dirty, muddy road that I would never voluntarily take my Viper down—but it's how she got to the shack. I'd find her there, after she fought with her parents or broke up with one of those idiots in high school. It's raining, and the chances she'll be there are slim, but at the same time, she's nowhere else.

"This mud’s gonna be a bitch to get off," Atti says as we turn onto Old Ridge Road. I don't talk, leaning forward in my seat as we follow the road along the river's edge, curving back and around.

Then we come around a bend, and the world stops.

Lights are flashing, everywhere. A tree has fallen across the road, and, at first, I think that's what's brought out the fire department, why cops are flashing their blues in the rainy night.

I see the crumpled silver car a few second after Atticus, his whispered, "Fuck!" cluing me in that something is wrong—much more than first glance appears.

My Viper, a broken mess, resting on its side. The door is almost torn off, and two firemen work to extracting something.

Someone.

Oh, Jesus, not again.

I can't hear, can't hear Atticus, or the sirens, can't hear my own scream—I just feel it, ripping at my throat as I fall from the still-moving truck. It jerks to a stop behind me, but I'm stumbling forward. Something catches me, arms holding me back in the eerie silence, and I can't feel them, can't hear anything. All I can see is Scout, limp and pale, blood on her face as they pull her from the car.

Atticus is there, his hand on my shoulder, shoving the firefighters away from me, catching me by the shoulders when I stumble and almost fall. "Dane. Dane," he says, and I slowly focus on him, on his voice.

Everything rushes in, and I gasp, falling to my knees in the mud, my throat raw from my screams, the firefighters asking inane questions. "Do you know the driver?"

Do I know the driver? What. The. Fuck?

"She's my girlfriend," I whisper. Atticus cuts me a look, but I ignore him, shoving to my feet unsteadily. Reaching for her. They've got her out of the car, are strapping her to a stretcher. "Is she alive?" I force out, and the fireman stares at me, sympathy flicking in his gaze.

"Yeah. She's in critical condition, but she's still alive. We're transporting her to Branton General."

I nod. "I'm riding with her."

Atticus doesn't stop me—I don't think he could, even if he tried. I see her purse, sitting near the car, and snatch it up then climb into the back of the ambulance.

I see Atti, and he meets my gaze. Gives me a short nod. It's not a lot—god knows we have a long way to go, but its progress. I take Scout's hand and try to stay out of the way as the paramedics work to keep her alive while we race to the hospital.

Scout

It hurts. To breathe, to not breathe. To exist. It fucking
hurts
. I want to let go, let the pain fade away—I hang upside down in the car, the pressure of the seatbelt against my chest, and I want so bad to let go.

Except, I can't do that. Not to Dane. He's lost too much. I take a deep breath, and something in my chest shifts, piercing and sharp. I scream, a shrill noise that ends in a painful gasp.

Footsteps are near my head, and something black lands by the car. My phone rings, and it occurs to me, through the haze of impossible pain, that I shouldn't have my purse. That I left it with Boyd.

A face drops down near the window, and I see the face I’ve seen in my nightmares. He grimaces, then curses. Dials quickly and mutters, "There’s been an accident on Old Ridge Road. Think there’s a girl in there."

He hangs up, and I see him again. Panic claws at my chest. He nods, almost to himself, drops the phone in the mud and walks away.

I come to when sirens shriek through the night. I must have blacked out. I can't feel my legs—they’re pinned by the steering wheel in an unnatural angle, and I wonder if the fact that I can't feel them is a bad thing. I scream, and one of the paramedics shouts, "She's alive!"

And everything fades away.

Someone is screaming, and it isn't me. I wouldn't scream my name, certainly not like that. Like it's the only thing that matters and I'm being stripped away. It's heartbreaking, and tears sting my eyes, mixing with blood and sweat. I whimper. "Shut that man up," a paramedic snaps. "He’s upsetting her."

He
? He who?
DANE
? I struggle to twist my head, to look for him, but they clamp down on my head, locking me into a neck brace before the stretcher lifts with a jolt and everything fades away again.

I see him, in brief, fuzzy snatches, the grip on my hand never easing, his face never far. The vehicle is moving, swaying, and I can hear strange machines buzzing and beeping. But I'm focusing on Dane, until my vision narrows, fading into blackness again.

He's the last thing I see.

Consciousness comes and goes in waves. Once, I wake up and find Atticus standing over me, his face tight with worry as he listens to an older man explaining something I don't understand. I want to say something, but there's something obstructing my vocal cords. I choke, my eyes widening. The monitors flare to life, and I hear his voice, shouting for answers, before a nurse shoves something in the tube in my arm and blackness claims me.

I haven’t left the hospital in four days. I hate hospitals—a bone-deep hatred that borders on fear. But as much as the nurses have tried to pry me out of this room, force me to go home and shower and just leave them the hell alone, I refuse to go. I left once, since she was brought here, and that one time was the time she woke up. I won't do that to her again.

I slump in my chair, listening as Glenda rattles off things I should be concerned about. Tripp has called four times in the past twenty-four hours, a new record for him. I'm neglecting the firm, and I know it. I just can't be bothered to care. "File for extensions, Glenda. I'm not leaving her."

She pauses, a hiccup in her spiel, and then: "Take however long you need, Dane. We'll hold things down here."

"Glenda," I say, my voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Don't let Tripp in the office. Call me if he shows up—then the cops. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, boss. I do."

I hang up and rub a hand over my jaw. It's stubbly; my hair a greasy mess. I need a shower so bad it's ridiculous—I haven't taken one since she was in surgery.

She had three surgeries—one to repair the puncture in her lung, one to set her crushed left leg. A third emergency surgery to stop internal bleeding they had missed. She's been steady for the past two days, but the doctors are keeping her medicated so heavily, she's been completely out of it. But they did take out the breathing tube.

Atticus walks in, tossing me a bag from Smokey Pig. I pull out a sandwich and take a bite. It tastes like heaven, and I groan a little. He smirks, dropping into the chair opposite me. "Any change?"

"Nope. Dr. Cavanaugh came by a little while ago. Says she's fine—she just needs the rest and her body is keeping her under. I want them to lighten her pain meds."

Atti frowns. "She needs those, man."

"She's an addict, Atticus. A recovering addict. This could really mess her up."

Atticus stares at me, hard, but I don't look away. He eventually nods. "Fine. I'll talk to the doctors. Talk about the best way to get her off them—when she’s out of the woods."

That annoys me—that I have no say here. But I swallow it because at least they haven't kicked me out—I expected that days ago, but Atti pulled some strings, so I'm still here.

"Thanksgiving is in a few days."

I cock my head, looking at him. "She's gonna still be here."

Atticus nods. "Avery is taking care of it. We'll have dinner here if we have to."

"Have you finished the book? You can't afford another setback."

Atti grins. "I finished before I came home—that's what I was calling you about, the other day."

I wince. "Look, Atticus, I'm sorry. I should have told you, when this first started happening. I knew you wouldn't like it, but I did it anyway. It was fucked up. And I'm sorry."

"But you'd do it again," he says, quietly.

I nod. Touch her hand, limp and cool on the bed. "Yeah. I would."

"Then you aren't really sorry."

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry you found out the way you did. I'm not sorry I fell in love with her, no."

Atticus shakes his head and stands. "I've got to meet Avery. I'll be back in a while, okay?"

I open my mouth—I want to tell him to stay. I want things back the way they were before he found out. But they can't be, not unless I give her up, and probably not even then. And I'm not willing to let her go.

So I sit back and nod. He kisses her forehead softly, and I feel something loosen in my chest. Then he walks to the door. "Dane?"

I look up, waiting. "I get it, man. I get that you love her—and I'm not even sure that's a bad thing. I just need a little time, to get my head wrapped around it. Can you understand that?"

I nod, my mouth dry.

He offers a small smile and leaves.

I'm half-dozing. I've pulled my chair as close to her as I can, and fuck the nurses who bitch that I'm in the way. I don't give a shit—if I had my way, I'd climb into the hospital bed with her. It doesn't seem right, sleeping without her.

I hold her hand, giving into the exhaustion that's been tugging at me for hours. I don't want to sleep, but I can't keep going on nothing.

Her fingers tightening around mine pull me back to the world of wakefulness. She's blinking, barely moving at all, but her hand is tight on mine, and I can see her gorgeous green eyes. I sit up and lift her hand, kissing it.

"You’re awake," I whisper.

She stares at me, confusion clear in her gaze. "What happened?"

"You flipped the Viper, out on Old Ridge Road. You must have called for help. After Atti checked in town, I figured you were headed for the shack. Jesus, Scout, why didn't you call me?"

Something flickers in her gaze, something like fear, and then: "How long?"

"Four days. You were in pretty bad shape. Your leg was shattered, your lung had collapsed, and you were bleeding internally. A minor concussion."