Second Chances: The Bold and the Beautiful (8 page)

As he reached the freeway, Rick pressed the accelerator to the floor, heedless of the speed signs that littered the on-ramp. They didn’t matter. None of that mattered.

He had to talk to Steffy.

He had to make sure she was okay.

The Jag’s soft leather brushed his arms and he worked the stick and the pedals expertly. Rick pushed the car to its impressive limit, his eyes raking across the lanes, trying to spot a wild-haired girl on a big black bike, but there was nothing. He darted in and out of the traffic, swapping lanes to improve his visibility. A huge truck almost wiped him out at one point when he thought he spotted her in a far lane, only to discover the long dark hair belonged to a very large Hispanic man who looked curiously at Rick as he sped up beside him.

Rick was about to give up, deciding she must have gone another way altogether, when he had a thought. He punched numbers on the cellphone resting in its cradle. He knew the number by heart.

“Evans.”

“Mister Forrester.” The voice sounded like iron and tobacco. Rick immediately felt his heart rate settle.

“I need you to find a vehicle for me.”

“Yes, sir.” The best thing about Evans was that he never asked any questions. Rick could have said, “I need you to get information about the illegal trade in elephant testicles,” and Evans would have said, “Yes, sir.” It was just what he did. He was a fixer. He was on hand whenever Rick needed him to solve problems. Rick never asked how Evans got his information, or how legal it was, but he knew he could count on him. And that was what he needed right now.

Rick quickly rattled off what he could remember of the bike before hanging up, Evans’ last words ringing in his ears: “Five minutes, sir.”

Rick continued to shift lanes and scan the freeway furiously, his hope dwindling. She had to be okay.

The desire to know where she was, to know how she was, stuck like a poker in his chest. He felt so responsible for how she was feeling and for what his mother had said to her. Steffy acted so together, but after today, Rick knew just how vulnerable she really was. He just wanted—what did he want? He wasn’t sure, but he knew right now that he wanted her to be safe.

As he swerved and scanned, memories of that other car trip pressed in on him. Phoebe, so angry, screaming, wanting him to stop. But he just wanted to get there. Phoebe, lashing out at him, driving her foot onto the pedals. And Rick realizing that he should have pulled over, that the situation was too dangerous and he simply could not control it. But it was too late. Well, it would not be too late today. It
could not be
too late.

Where the hell was she?

The metallic chirrup of the phone startled him. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes exactly.

“Sir. A bike matching your description exited the freeway four minutes ago at off ramp 101B.”

101B. Rick’s mind scurried. “That’s …?”

“You’re less than a minute from it, sir. Get into the right-hand lane.”

“How do you know—”

“It’s my job to know. Sir.”

Rick finally felt himself exhale. He was only five minutes behind her. “Right. And Evans?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir. Now hurry.”

Rick pulled into the right-hand lane and accelerated.

*

Steffy’s head would not be quiet. It was like the ride was releasing some kind of floodgate, and all the memories that she had been trying so hard to put to bed were flooding out.

And it was not just the memories from the day either.

As she went faster and faster, feeling reckless and wanting to punish herself for all her mistakes, that day came back to her again; the day Phoebe died. Her internal voice was whispering to her:
It should have been you, not Phoebe
.

And she knew it was true. Phoebe had been good and sweet. Innocent. It was Steffy who had done the wild things, made the mistakes. Who had Phoebe ever hurt?

Steffy smelled pine and the sea as she navigated one hairpin turn after another. The unseasonal Santa Anas were whipping through her hair, driving her to go faster and faster as her thoughts spiraled out of control.

She knew she was finally coming down on the losing side of that battle her instructor had told her about; the battle to stay in control of your nerve, and your bike. But she was so tired. She could barely muster the energy to care. Because she knew it was coming. The reflections of the day, and on Phoebe’s death, were all leading up to the grand finale. She could feel it, the thing she had been trying to outrun for the last two months.

The memory of that day.

She felt her palms slide on the handlebars and her lips sting in the hot, dry wind as the memory inserted itself into her mind.

The hospital.

The doctor telling her that her baby was gone.

And telling her the rest of it. That it was all done for her, there would never be any children. Lying on her side in the white, white room, on the white, white sheets and wishing she could see the blood. Wishing there was a wound she could look at, to prove it was real. That she was real. The gnawing emptiness, grabbing at her stomach and her womb, aching and taunting. Spreading her hands across her belly and feeling the flat warmth of it. Imagining as hard as she could that the little life was still there. Crying herself to sleep, and then waking and realizing it was real, that it had not been a nightmare. Her baby was gone.

A brutal hairpin turn loomed ahead of her. She could see the point where the road jutted out like a sharp elbow before turning back on itself. Huge trees decorated the verge and a big yellow sign screamed warnings to drivers about the perils of the place.

Steffy shook her head in the warm breeze and squeezed the throttle again.

*

At last, he saw her up ahead of him. She was taking the corners wide and low, avoiding the path of least resistance and treating the road like a race track.

Rick swore under his breath as he realized she had discarded her helmet, but he was also momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her hair flying behind her. She looked like some kind of mad Venus.

As the road bent, he lost sight of her again, only to catch her as he accelerated along the next stretch. He watched as her knee tilted dangerously close to the asphalt on the next bend. His breath caught and he wanted to call out to her, tell her she didn’t need to do this.

The symbolism of it all wasn’t lost on him. The motorbike. He knew enough about grief to know that this was classic self-blame and self-punishment. He’d been there himself. Oh boy, had he been there.

He just needed to talk to her again. Look her in the eyes and tell her she was good, she was worthwhile. Wrap her in his arms and tell her that he would stand by her and protect her, and—

What?

What the hell was he thinking? Wrap his arms around her? She was still married to Liam, for God’s sake. And he’d only spent a day with her.

He shook his head to clear the errant thought, but he couldn’t excise the vision of Steffy, still and sad, beside him in his car. The perfect line of that perfect mouth. As hard as he tried to remind himself that he had no business thinking about her mouth, it kept swimming before his eyes. And her eyes, so sad and so blue.

Why? Why was he doing this?

As he pumped the accelerator hard, Rick felt the car creep up to her. If he could just get in front of her, he could slow her down. Hopefully get her to stop, call out to her. But as he watched, the sleek black motorbike took on the ugliest hairpin so far. Her brake lights didn’t even engage. He saw the car coming before she did. His extra distance gave him perspective she didn’t have, and he could see it, barreling down the other side of the bend.

There was nothing he could do.

As he watched, a second or two shattered into a thousand pieces and felt like hours. There was going to be a terrible accident.

He was going to lose her.

As the thought settled in his brain, another overtook it. There was something he could do. He beeped his horn furiously, long and low and loud. The oncoming car swerved to miss the bike as Steffy swung out wide. The car missed Steffy but as she overcorrected, she lost control of the bike and it slid out from underneath her and hurtled toward a large tree.

She slid along the edge of the asphalt and then the roadside on one thigh, dangerously fast, before landing in a patch of grass.

Rick was seconds away. He screeched the Jag to a halt and leaped from the car, his legs like jelly as he ran toward her. The air was filled with the smell of petrol and smoke. He could see Steffy lying immobile on the grass, a long bloody scratch on her face.

Rick knew he was fast. He had been working out a lot lately while he tried to get his demons under control. He knew he could do a mile in six minutes, but if felt like it took an hour to cover the hundred yards or so between his car and where Steffy had landed.

As he ran to her, two realizations occurred to him. The first was that he could not lose her. Not the way he had lost Phoebe. Too much about this scene was familiar. It was a twisted déjà vu, and he just knew he could not take it. Not again.

The second was that his feelings for Steffy ran deeper than he had thought. Something had happened today. He had come to see and desire her in a whole different way. He wanted to be close to her. And not just as a friend. He wanted to offer her comfort and protection. He wanted to show her that she was capable of more. That she was good, and that she deserved love. Despite what Liam, Caroline, his mother said. He wanted to help her expel her demons, and maybe even let her help him with his.

But she was lying on the grass. So still.

Rick slid in beside her, falling to his knees and throwing himself onto her chest. Through the background sounds of the other vehicle, he could hear the dull thud of her heart. But it sounded weak, and her breathing was labored.

Oh God. Oh no.

“Steffy.” He shook her shoulders gently but she said nothing. Her face had blood down one side, but she still looked beautiful. Her perfect lips were parted, and her eyelids were closed, highlighting each sinfully long lash.

He wriggled around behind her, calling out to the approaching driver of the other car to call an ambulance. “Do you have any first aid training?” The man shrugged, his face a picture of horror as he pulled out his cell and retreated.

Rick strained to remember what to do. Keep her flat. Keep talking to her.

“Steffy,” he said, gently brushing the hair from one cheek. “Steffy, are you okay?”

Suddenly, he felt sure, very sure, that he was going to lose her. Just when he had found her again.

“Steffy,” he said. “Steffy, don’t go. Stay with me, honey.”

Her body felt warm next to his but he wrapped his fingers around one tiny wrist and her pulse felt weak. “Steffy,” he tried again. “Please be okay. I need you.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

Steffy opened her eyes to see the gathering dusk pressing in on her. A harsh throb drilled into her thigh and buttock and sparks of pain danced down her right side. She smelled pine and dust and the sea, and the air felt too warm for this time of year.

Where was she? What had happened? Her hand flew to her stomach.

The baby! Was it okay?

As her fingers spread protectively across her stomach, awareness closed in on her, narrowing her vision to a pinpoint before she closed her eyes against the gnarled fingers of pain that clawed at her.

No. Of course. There was no baby.

She was Steffy, and all alone.

A great black fog of sadness filled her nose and lungs, choking and burning. Her baby. Her baby was gone. Tears stung her eyes and she felt the howl even before it was out—low and wild, like a shewolf whose cub has been taken. She didn’t know where she was, why she was here or who she was with, but she knew that something that had been buried deep and safe inside her had been released. A kind of wicked genie she had worked hard to keep a lid on.

And now the lid was gone, and the thick ooze of pain and guilt and self-recrimination was pouring out. Out of her eyes and her heart and her brain, and most of all, out of her mouth. The wail broke her in two even as it assuaged the hot burn of grief inside her.

Gone. Her baby was gone.

Finally, she cried, grabbing hold of the body underneath her, tears pouring from her eyes as wild cries spilled from her mouth.

Then all the memories slid back into her brain as one: Paris, coming home, Liam, the cemetery, Phoebe, Rick.

Rick?

Steffy became aware of strong, warm arms wrapped around her and a low voice murmuring to her. “It’s okay, honey, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Rick?

Even wailing and crying, she was aware that he wasn’t telling her to be quiet. Wasn’t trying to stop her crying. He was just holding her, half propped up in his lap. One big hand was rubbing her hair and her cheek while his other arm wrapped around her protectively. It felt good.

She struggled to sit up, but the drilling pain slammed her back down. She brought a hand to her face and then pulled it back, seeing the sticky red blood on her fingers like they belonged to someone else. “Rick?”

He was there, patting her hair. “You’re okay, honey. The paramedics will be here soon. I think you’re okay, but you’ve got a nasty scratch on your face and you’ve hurt your thigh. I think you should lie still.”

She sank back gratefully onto Rick’s hard thighs as the wailing subsided into hiccupping sobs. “I’m here, baby,” Rick said, continuing to rub her cheek and her hair. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

She studied his face upside down as he smiled at her. It was warm and bright, his cheeks flushed and his smile wide. He looked … elated. “I thought you were gone,” he said. “But I think you’re going to be okay. Some bad knocks and you’re going to be sore, but your pulse is picking up and your breathing is coming back to normal. Thank God.” Dark blue eyes drilled into hers. “Thank God, Steffy.”

Now she remembered all of it. How she had flown from the penthouse. The motorbike. The death wish that had slid into her brain as she had burned up the miles, taking each corner faster and wider, daring death, knowing she deserved it. How she had flung the helmet from her head, the last desperate act of defiance.

She didn’t deserve Rick’s care, his attention, his gratitude that she was unharmed. She didn’t deserve any of it. Any more than she deserved Liam. Or the baby she had failed to protect.

She rolled herself off Rick’s thighs and sideways onto the warm grass, facing away from him. “Go away, Rick,” she muttered, her hands once again moving to cradle her belly. She breathed in the warm sweet smell of the grass and wished the ground could open up and swallow her whole, like in a fairytale. This was too hard. She was too tired. She didn’t want to deal with any of it.

But Rick did not seem keen to go anywhere. In seconds, he had moved himself around to where she lay. He unfolded his frame and lay down on the grass beside her. Her irrational brain thought about how lovely his crisp white shirt was, and how dirty it was going to get, lying on the grass. She thought she should mention it to him. But a sudden shiver rocked her, even in the warm night.

Rick looked into her eyes and rubbed her arm with one big, warm hand. “You’re in shock, honey,” he said. “You’re not thinking straight. Can you remember what we did today? Where we went?”

“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes because his dark blue gaze was like a truth beam in her face and she knew she could not take it. “Of course I can. That’s why you need to go. I remember all of it, and your mother was right, Rick. You deserve better. Much better than me.”

Her voice caught, but she wouldn’t let him hear it. Let him think her the same selfish, ungrateful Steffy she had always been. Let him think anything if it meant he would leave. He was right. He had grown up. He had really worked on the things about himself that had been vain, and jealous. He had become a better person. And he deserved better.

But Steffy? She was just poison. Poison to all those who loved her. A screw up. Surely Rick, of all people, could see that.

She ploughed on, knowing she had to make him believe her. “Today was … just a moment.” She swallowed, knowing now, in her heart, that it wasn’t true. But knowing she needed to say it, for him. To give him a chance of something better. Maybe he could patch things up with Caroline. “We were just overwhelmed by our—” She stopped, closing her eyes again as she searched for the right words. “By our shared grief.”

He raised himself on one elbow, still stroking her arm as he shook his head vehemently.

Steffy opened her eyes. She had to convince him, and she couldn’t do it lying there, refusing to look at him. She heard sirens in the distance and knew the interaction was almost over. They would be here in a moment, and tend her. She just needed to get this done.

“I get it, Rick,” she said. “I know there was a … spark.” Oh, yes, she remembered that spark all right. That delicious leap of possibility that had sizzled between them. She crushed the memory mercilessly. “But it doesn’t matter. It was nothing. An echo of a past love affair.” She reached out to touch his face, her fingers creeping into his hair as though they had a will of their own.

Rick laughed. “Nice try, Steffy,” he said. “I don’t think so.” He grasped the hand that had been in his hair and brought it to his mouth, turning it over and pressing a kiss onto the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Even with a kettle drum playing a symphony at the back of her skull, her skin reacted, lighting up like Christmas at his touch. “Do you feel that?” he asked, the rough rasp of his beard scratching the sensitized skin of her wrist. “Is that a memory?”

No. Her heart boomed inside her ribs as he continued the gentle assault on her inner wrist.

Steffy snatched her hand away as she heard the ambulance pull over.

Rick began to sit up, lifting himself on one arm. “Don’t kid yourself, Steffy,” he said. “And don’t patronize me. Nothing about today was past tense. It was all very much now. And you know what else?”

Steffy shook her head, not trusting her voice as the aftershocks caused by his lips still raced through her blood. She felt molten and confused.

“I know you,” he said, his voice so low and deep she felt it right in the center of her. “I realize now that I have always known you. We’re alike, you and I. And once I would have thought that was a very bad thing.”

Steffy heard the paramedics emerging from the van and making their way toward them.

Rick went on. “But not any more. There is nothing bad about you, Steffy. You’ve done things you’ve regretted. You know what? Big deal—we all have. Time to get over it and give yourself permission to be. To live. Fully and freely and without apologies. It’s not so crazy what you did tonight. You’ve been bottling it all up. Phoebe, for years. The loss of your baby, for months now. Grief makes us crazy, Steffy. This—” He swept his hands around the scene, the twisted motorbike, the torn up grass. “This is pretty normal. And you.” He touched her nose lightly. “You’re normal too. More than normal. I’ve seen those sketches, Steffy.” He touched her face gently as he began to stand up. “They’re beautiful. You.” He brushed one finger over her lips, seemingly mesmerized by them. “You are beautiful. Inside and out. No matter what anyone says.”

Steffy’s breath hitched at his words and at the dark and sensual tone in them.

“So you think I’ve changed?” She wanted to squash his mistake.
I haven’t changed. I’m dangerous. Don’t trust me, Rick. Don’t trust in me. Don’t want me.

Rick shook his head as the paramedics covered the last few yards between them. But he didn’t seem to care that they could hear what he said as they kneeled beside her. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve changed at all. I think you’re a sweet, sweet girl. And you always have been. Despite what anyone says. Despite what
you
say.”

And then the paramedics were tending her and Rick moved back behind them. But not far, she noticed.

The paramedics carefully assessed her for head injuries, and bathed the scratch on her face, clucking and marveling at the minimal damage given her lack of helmet. They examined the bruises on her thigh and buttock. Steffy felt shame burn from her scalp right down to her toes. She knew what they were thinking: spoiled little rich girl doing what she wanted, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces.

But something about the presence of Rick, hovering just behind them as they helped her over to the van, tended her wounds and ran some more tests, comforted her. Even though the thought of her stupidity shamed her, she clung to his words. She was sweet. She was normal. She was okay.

The paramedics fought hard to take her to the hospital but she knew right now it was more than she could bear. She just wanted to go home to lick her wounds and process all that had happened. Rick was siding with the paramedics, but she was adamant.

Finally, Rick ran frustrated fingers through his hair and sighed. He turned to the paramedics. “What are the risks of her going home?”

The elder paramedic shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with her except superficially,” he said. “She’s going to have a really sore leg for a few days, but the painkillers we’ve given her should help with that. We’d just really like to keep an eye out for signs of shock and concussion. Vomiting. Drowsiness. Hallucinations.”

Rick nodded. “What if she came home with me? I could keep an eye on her.”

“No.” Steffy put a hand on Rick’s arm. “No, Rick. I’m fine. I’m going home.”

The paramedic shook his head. “Uh uh. You leave solo, lady, and I’m going to have to ring it in.”

Steffy turned to Rick, who shrugged meaningfully at her.

She nodded, and felt something tug deep and dangerous in her tummy at the sweetness in those blue eyes.

*

“They said to bathe the cut,” Rick said, his mouth set in a determined line.

“I can get Mrs. Harrison to do that,” Steffy whispered, looking mutinously at Rick as he held up the new dressing. The air between them was charged with electricity. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she really did let him tend to her wounds.

“I gave her the night off,” Rick said quietly.

Steffy narrowed her eyes at him. Maybe Rick hadn’t changed that much—he always had an eye out for an opportunity.

He laughed at her. “Shame on you, Steffy. She has a sick child,” he said drily. “What do you take me for?”

“I’m not sure,” Steffy replied, wrapping the fluffy dressing gown Mrs. Harrison had given her more tightly around herself as she sat on the stool facing him. But she smiled as she said it because he looked so offended.

“C’mon, Steffy,” Rick said, his eyes wide. “It’s been a long day. You need to go to bed. And despite what you think, I’m not so hard up for a lover that I would jump on you in the state you’re in.”

Steffy worked hard to squash a little whine of disappointment that threatened to spill from her lips.

As though he could read her mind, Rick smiled. “You may not be so safe tomorrow, so keep that gown handy. It’s so frumpy it’s almost a chastity belt. Where did Mrs. Harrison find that thing?”

It was Steffy’s turn to smile. “Hmm,” she said. “Well, I’ll try not to be offended that I look like a grandma.”

Rick lowered the arm holding the dressing. “Oh no, Steffy,” he said, very slowly and carefully. “I said the dressing gown was frumpy. You, on the other hand, could be wearing a terry-cloth robe and shower cap and still make the cover of
Sports Illustrated
.” He swallowed, then smiled quickly, as though he needed to change the subject.

Steffy smiled back at him, and turned her face so he could access the scratch, closing her eyes. “Okay, Florence Nightingale,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Bathe away.”

Steffy heard Rick drag in a deep breath. He had already set up a bowl of warm water and disinfectant beside his makeshift dressing station, and she saw him dip a cloth into it before she felt the warm sting on her face. “Ouch.”

He stopped. “Too sore?” His voice was a little ragged, but she could tell he was working hard to keep it light.

Actually, the feeling was exquisite, sore but soothing all at once. “No,” she said. “No, it’s nice, keep going.”

He started again, building up a rhythmic pattern. Dip, press, stroke. She kept her eyes closed and made friends with the sting just to enjoy the silken drag of the warm material against her sensitized skin.

Dip, press, stroke.

“So.” She cleared her throat. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important.”

Dip, press, stroke.

Her skin warmed under his touch and the sting and ache abated a little. But her tummy didn’t feel so comforted; it felt weak and watery as the stroking continued.

“For some reason,” Rick mused, his voice seeming to become one with the rhythm of his hands, “nothing seems more important than this today.”

Steffy thought about his words. “Because of Phoebe?”

For the first time, Rick stopped and a small whimper of protest escaped Steffy’s lips.