The downtown Austin skyline comes into view as I take the exit towards the venue. I’m almost there. I run through what I want to say when I see him for the millionth time.
Surprise, baby. I couldn’t stay away.
That’s the truth—I can’t.
But then I notice them.
Two black Escalades behind me, practically riding my bumper. Fast. No signals. Just headlights and pressure. Then, the familiar flashes of cameras light up the car as if I’m in the middle of a thunderstorm.
“Fuck me,” I curse, trying my best to stay in control as I grip the wheel tighter.
Have they been following me since I got off the plane? How did I not notice?
They swerve closer, one of them pulling up beside me as the flashing intensifies. I don’t know if they’re trying to get a shot or just intimidate me, but there’s no way I’m going to slow down. Not when I’m this close.
The other Escalade surges ahead and cuts me off, trying to make way for the first one to get their shot.
I overcorrect.
The tires screech as I swerve.
The brakes lock.
The wheel rips from my hands as the car clips the divider and tips.
Glass explodes around me.
Metal screams.
Then—darkness.
Chapter forty-six
"Still Yours (From The Doc)" - The Kid Laroi
Grayson
I’m fucking done with hospitals.
Done with the smell—bleach and whatever God-awful cafeteria food is dying a slow death in the vents.
Done with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, making my brain itch.
Done with the waiting rooms and their cheap, uncomfortable chairs and drab, gray walls, filled with magazines no one wants to read.
But mostly, I’m done with feeling powerless.
I stand in the middle of the emergency room lobby, staring down the front desk like I could make someone appear.
Why is no one here?
Don’t they know there are people out here waiting on life-changing updates? That someone’s whole world might be collapsing just beyond the damn door?
I’m one second away from breaking down the door clearly marked “STAFF ONLY” and demanding some answers when a nurse finally comes out.
“Can I help you folks?” she asks in an overly-nice Texan drawl.
It feels like we’re about to order sweet tea and a chicken sandwich, not beg for someone’s fucking life.
