Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (29 page)

I
felt
like the world's biggest shithead the next day after waking up in bed alone. After fucking Luisa, I'd been cold, my fears and anxieties taking over when I should have been focused on the moment instead. In the early morning hours afterward, as Luisa decided to stay in the car while I got my last pickup and brought her home, I was able to reflect on the change in her voice and what happened. Sure, it started with anger, but there was a hint of something else at the end which scared me even more. She hadn't been bitchy, but instead tender and open, showing me something I hadn't seen in her before. It scared me. It scared me because I felt the same way, and I wasn't sure if I was able to open myself up the same way.

I found her at the breakfast table, even though it was nearly eleven in the morning, sipping at a coffee. She'd put on jeans and a t-shirt, and I had to admit, she looked amazing. Her hair glowed golden in the near midday sun, and I had to smile as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. I must have spanked her harder than I had thought the night before. "Good morning."

"If you say so," Luisa said, pointedly ignoring me with her eyes.

I sighed and got my own cup of coffee, glad I had the rest of the day off. I didn't need anymore headaches or concerns today. I sat down across the table from her and took a sip. "Luisa, about last night . . .”

“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, finishing her coffee. She set the cup down and for the first time looked over at me, her dark eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "You had your fun—you broke me down. You won our little sex battle, and you got your prize, while I just have a sore ass. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go shopping. I need some fresh clothes for the rest of my stay. I didn't pack to be in America this long."

Getting up without another word, she put her cup in the sink. "Luisa . . .” I tried, and she held her hand up, silencing me and storming off. I watched her go and gulped down the rest of my coffee, putting the cup on the counter and hurrying after her. I watched as she grabbed a set of keys from the pegboard next to the staff entrance, ignoring me as she grabbed her purse and walked out the side door of the mansion. I rushed after her, grabbing her arm. "What are you doing?"

"Leave me alone," she hissed. “Last night was a moment of weakness, but if you touch me again, I’ll break your fucking wrist."

Pulling away, she jumped in the Fiat that she had the keys for and started the engine, nearly running over my foot as she pulled out, spraying me with crushed gravel. Patting my pockets, I was glad that my college habit of grabbing my keys and wallet were paying off, and I ran to my car, jumping in and following her.

I realized, too late, that I'd left my cellphone in my room, and cursed. Still, I couldn’t just let her go off on her own, so I followed her, making sure she didn't do anything too stupid. I didn't want to cause a scene, so I just stayed behind her, making sure she stayed in sight, and let her cool down. Maybe after she'd cooled down, I'd be able to talk to her, and maybe it was time for some honesty between us.

As I drove, I thought about how I should have done things differently the night before. I wanted to tell her the truth, that I was interested in her beyond just my want to fuck her. Sure, she was bitchy, and she had pride that came from a family heritage and her own hard work, but there was another side to her, one that spoke to me in a way that a woman hadn't in a very long time. It was in the way she challenged me—she was a strong woman, and it drew me to her. I wanted to say it, but fear overtook me, and I took the easy way out. For that, I branded myself a coward and a total shit.

Distracted, I didn't notice the black Tahoe that pulled up alongside until it was already next to me. I looked over and saw the driver looking at me like he knew me for a moment before stepping down on his accelerator, surging ahead. I watched as he pulled up next to Luisa's Fiat, paralleling it for a while. I wondered. That face caught in my mind for some reason—until it came to me.

The driver's face had a scar. It was the man we’d been looking for.

I stepped on my accelerator when suddenly, the Tahoe jerked to the right, clipping Luisa's car. Jammed to the side, she kept her wits about her, not losing control as she went with the attack and curved into the bike lane. Her tires skidded along the curb, her car getting crunched until she came to a smaller curb, where her right two wheels went up on the sidewalk. It was a temporary reprieve at best, as I could see ahead street-side parking and trees that were planted in gaps of the sidewalk. I had to act fast.

I didn't have a gun, and I didn't even have a phone. What I had was a sports car and a powerful engine. Not caring about my safety, I plowed my car into the back of the Tahoe, hoping that my tiny little sports coupe had enough mass to do something to the much larger SUV.

Thankfully, physics were not totally against me. The Alfa-Romeo is a small car, but it’s also built low to the ground, with a hood that starts low and curves upward. The Tahoe's back bumper was taller, and I saw as the back end lifted even as the shock of impact jolted through me and the air bag exploded in my face. I felt the painful jerk of my seatbelt pulling tight, a flare of pain in my left shoulder, and then the world went hazy.

I don't know how long I was out. It couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes. The first thing I was aware of was a very bright redness in my vision. The second was a screeching sound. I slowly opened my eyes to find that the screeching sound was the fire department rescue team using the Jaws of Life to cut the support struts on the roof of my car. There was a firefighter next to me, holding a blanket to prevent sparks or metal falling on me. Looking out the front, I saw that the front of my car was crunched, and my left ankle felt numb. "What?"

I had to give the firefighter credit. He didn't get startled at all. Instead, he looked at me, then back to the cutting. "We're getting your car open. Next time you try to rear-end someone, pick a car bigger than a roller skate."

I mumbled, the effort of speaking overcoming me. My vision went swimmy again, and darkness followed afterward. In it, I only had one thought. Was Luisa okay?

* * *

"
H
e's waking up
."

My eyes fluttered again, and I saw that I was in a hospital now, which I didn't like. Being in a hospital meant that I had been taken in by ambulance. And ambulances have a disturbing tendency to be in the proximity of the police.

Still, the people in the room reassured me as I saw Dom Petruzelli, my father, and a doctor. "Yeah, I'm awake.”

Dad chuckled and looked at the doctor. "He sounds fine to me."

The doctor shrugged and looked at some machines above my head. “His pulse is steady, but that ankle's not going anywhere for a while. He’s probably got a concussion too. Hold on."

The doctor got his little penlight, and I felt a distinct sense of deja vu. I was getting checked for head injuries far too often for my liking. "Follow the little light, I got it," I grumbled, my eyes watering from the brightness. "Keep it up, and I'm going to go blind."

"He's going to have a splitting headache, but I think overall, the main things are his shoulder and ankle," the doctor said. "I would suggest that he stay here for the next day or two, at least until the swelling goes down in the ankle and we can get it booted properly."

"What's wrong with my ankle?" I asked, looking down. Sticking out from under the blanket at a slightly weird angle was a chunky, bulky air cast. At least the damn thing wasn't heavy, although my leg already itched. It was then that I noticed I wasn't wearing any pants either. "Oh. Shit, you guys could have at least just cut the jeans off at the knee."

"We'd have had to finish the job when you go under for full casting," the doctor said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, Mr. Bertoli. I'm sure you can afford a new pair. Oh, and congratulations, by the way."

I looked over at Dad and Dom, confused. "Congratulations?"

Dad nodded. "You're a hero, Tomasso. About a dozen witnesses and three traffic cameras caught you ramming Frakes's vehicle. By the way, that was his name—the bomber and driver. Leonard Frakes."

"Mr. Frakes is in surgery," Dom added, "since your little stunt did a number on him. After that, the FBI will be taking him into custody."

I looked at the doctor, who pulled a face and left the room. "And the Seattle PD?"

"They're happy because they were the ones to get first arrest on the guy," Dom said, "although I think Fritz and Taguchi are having a coronary right now. You're a certified hero, and there's no way in hell they can even approach you, and that's going to hold up for a long time. After all, they still have to convict this guy, and that's going to start a whole new news cycle about your heroism."

I shook my head, stopping when a pounding pain started to bounce from temple to temple. I guess I did have a concussion after all. "And Luisa?"

"She's getting checked out for some minor bruising, but she’s fine," Dad said. "You, on the other hand, have a broken ankle and a dislocated shoulder. The shoulder wasn't much—the doctors said that they popped it back in soon after getting here, but the ankle . . . they're not sure, but you might need surgery."

I looked down at the lumpy air cast at the foot of my bed and realized that my ankle did look a little wonky. Something about the angle, or perhaps the way it turned or something. "I don't feel any pain. What does our favorite grumpy family doctor have to say about it?" I asked, and Dom was the one to laugh.

"We'll check. We've been a little busy running the other loose ends down."

At the mention of loose ends, my smile disappeared, and I looked down. "Guess I screwed up, didn't I? I'm sorry."

Dad glanced at Dominic, who nodded and left the room. Alone, just the two of us, I was surprised when he patted me on my good shoulder. “You did good. You did our family proud today."

I straightened up, smiling, and he continued. “You rest. I'll keep these vultures in the press taken care of. Most of them owe me favors anyway. Dominic can take care of the law. They'll want a statement, of course, but we can delay that a few days. The cops don't care too much—they have Frakes, and they’ve got plenty on him. And Luisa apologized for not telling you she was going shopping, and that her stress was too much for her to deal with."

I nodded, reminding myself to talk to her about that later.

He patted me on the shoulder again, then looked out at the hallway. "Okay. I'll let you rest, and go handle things. I should give Luisa's father a call. He'll be happy to know that the person responsible was caught.”

Dad left, and I looked out the window of my room for a little bit. I was sleepy, and I let my eyes droop shut for a while, only to be woken up when a nurse came in. "Mr. Bertoli? Try not to fall asleep—doctor's orders. At least, not for another four or five hours."

"Well, you could have given me something less sleep-inducing than whatever the hell it is you pumped into me," I grumped, exhausted. My body was already all screwed up because of the swings in sleep and work, and now I had trauma and drugs pumping through my body. I wasn't suffering from concussion issues—I was fucking tired. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Four thirty," the nurse said. "And if you need, I can turn on some television. It's not much, but it might help keep you awake. Dinner comes around in a half-hour, but you're on a liquid-only diet today. Hospital concussion protocol."

There was a polite knock at the door, and I turned to see Luisa, a bandage on her cheek and her wrist wrapped in an ACE bandage, but still looking better than anything else I'd seen so far. "May I come in?"

The nurse gave her an approving nod and left, closing the door behind her. Luisa walked closer and stood next to my bed. We looked at each other for a minute, trying to find the words to break through everything we both wanted to say. I cleared my throat, and she scratched underneath her bandage, then finally, she looked at the blanket over my lower body.

"How's the leg?" she asked, looking down. She reached out hesitantly before laying her uninjured hand on my thigh, above the bulge of my splint.

I cleared my throat again and put my hand over hers. "I might need surgery, they said. If anything, I'll be wearing a cast for a while. I don't feel much yet, at least. How's your wrist? They didn’t tell me about that.”

She raised her arm up and showed it to me. “It’s nothing—just sprained. I’m supposed to wear this for a few days, but I think it’s just for show.”

"That’s good," I said. "I'm glad you didn't get hurt."

Luisa smiled, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "You were very noble today. Stupid, brave, wonderful, and crazy too. But noble for sure."

She took my right hand and stroked it with her thumb, looking at me as she thought about what to say next. I knew what I had to say first, though. "Luisa, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she replied softly. "I shouldn’t have blown up at you today."

I shook my head, pleased that my headache didn't return. "You had every reason to. I treated you like shit last night. After we . . . well, you know."