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“We don’t know. Ed called Dad, said it got her legs, but they won’t let us see her. I thought . . .” A sniffle and a sob this time. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“I’m on my way. Text me the hospital address.” She makes a sound of agreement, and I can hear her dissolve into tears, but I can’t comfort her right now. I have to get to Erica.
I bang on the motel door, three hard raps, and the two short seconds it takes Mark to answer are two seconds too long. “Fuck, man.” Mark’s confused irritation at my aggressiveness with the door changes instantly when he sees my face. “What’s wrong?”
“I need the truck keys.” I don’t wait for him to give them to me, grabbing them off the dresser myself. That’s all I need, keys in my hand and my wallet in my back pocket.
Mark blocks my way at the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Erica. There was a fire at the races. She’s at the hospital. That’s all I know. I gotta go.” He shows no emotion, but he’s gritting his teeth like they did something wrong. I push past him, throwing over my shoulder, “Sorry.”
I hear Katelyn answer, so he must’ve still been on the phone with her when I barged in. “We’re on it, Brody!”
I don’t remember the drive. I got in the truck, and a moment later, I’m pulling into the hospital lot and parking like one of those assholes who thinks the lines don’t apply to them.
I don’t need to glance at my phone to know where to go. Emily’s text is burned into my mind.
Burned.
Fuck.
The doors open automatically as I stomp my way toward them, and the smell of antiseptic hits me full-force.
In the back corner, what looks to be the entirety of the racing community is pacing around like there’s a track on the floor that only they can see, I see Ed, Jerry, Mike, and Clint, along with a few other familiar faces.
The crowd parts, and I see her . . . flip flops and shorts, long, dark hair down her back. For a brief moment, I think it’s all a mistake. Some misunderstanding or trick. And then she turns.
Emily.
I can tell them apart easily, but my heart had hoped for a moment that Erica was okay. Fuck, let her be okay.
“Brody.” Emily’s cry is accented by the thwack-thwack of her flip-flops as she runs to me. “You’re here.” She hugs me solidly, her tears starting fresh though the dried tracks down her face say this isn’t her first or second time to break down.
“What do we know?” My throat is tight, the words clipped.
“Nothing. Dan came in to help since it’s Rix and said he’d let us know.” I pat her back, looking at the doors leading into the treatment area. I want to get through them, need to get through them to Erica.
“Who are you?” a deep voice asks.
Emily jerks and pulls back, clearing her throat. “Uh . . . Dad, this is Brody. Brody, this is Keith.”
He’s sizing me up, and I know there’s no way I measure up. Even on my best days, I’m a dirty, rough cowboy who smells like cow shit. Today, I’ve been sweating my balls off in a barn with cowboys who smoke like chimneys, cows that shit where they please, and I think I spilled some of my beer on my shirt when Emily first called. Keith Cole is a little over six feet tall, but beneath his Carhartt T-shirt and pants, he’s lean muscle. His hair is dirty blond shot through with gray at the temples, and he’s got a matching blond-gray goatee and mustache. His eyes are bright blue and laser-locked on me. I can see the resemblance with Erica in those eyes—not the color, of course, but in that fiery spark. He might not be her nature, but he’s her nurture through and through.
I hold my hand out. “Brody Tannen.”
He shakes my hand, squeezing a little too hard. “Keith Cole. And again, who are you?”
“So good of you to come,” Janice interrupts, also making a move to hug me.
“You know him?” Keith asks Janice, who shrugs and doesn’t look the least bit sorry.
“We met at the farmer’s market.”
That seems like a lifetime ago, even though only a couple of months have passed.
Jerry comes over, offering me a hand and interrupting the third-degree interrogation Keith is ready to launch. “Hey, Brody. Our girl’s gonna be just fine, you hear? She’s a tough one, that Rix.”
Keith’s back goes ramrod straight, and I try to imagine what he’s going through right now. I knew Erica was racing, knew that there were inherent dangers, but I trusted that she would do everything to mitigate those. But sometimes, shit still happens.
Sometimes, the good ones, the ones who deserve to stay around the longest, leave too soon, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
