Real Sexy (Real Dirty Duet #2)(42)

Mr. Thrasher's truck is idling at the gate, and Grant pulls me around to the passenger side and yanks open the door. "Get in."

I climb up and he hops into the backseat. Once the doors are closed, Mr. Thrasher takes off, steering around the people in the parking lot.

"Bet you can beat 'em there, Dad."

"We'll get there at the same time. I ain't taking chances with either of you two."

Tense silence chokes up the cab of the truck until Grant finally breaks it.

"Fuck, I'm going to have to apologize to him if this is anything like he felt while I was being airlifted to Germany."

I remember Boone saying he was on a USO tour when his brother was injured in Afghanistan.

"That was the hand of God making sure my boy wasn't alone in his time of need."

"Where was the hand of God tonight with the hoof of that fucking bull?"

Mr. Thrasher shakes his head. "Doesn't matter as long as he's okay, and he's gonna be okay."

When we pull up in front of the hospital fifteen minutes later, Grant and I both jump out of the truck like it's on fire. The ambulance is already parked at the doors to the ER, so we rush inside. Boone's mom is standing in the waiting room, her arms wrapped around herself.

"They took him back to be examined. Told me to wait out here for a few minutes." She looks at me. "Grant, give Ripley your sweatshirt. Poor thing is freezing."

I'm shivering, but it's not because of the cold. "It's fine. I'm okay." I look down at my hands, streaked with dried blood from Boone's head, just like they'd been covered with blood from my mama.

I have to get it off. I have to get it off.

I jerk my head around, looking for the sign to the restroom. When I see it, I look at Grant and Mrs. Thrasher. "I'll be right back. If they come out . . . please . . ."

Grant glances down at my bloodstained hands and then meets my eyes. He nods at me like he gets it. "We'll wait for you."



       
         
       
        

"Thank you," I whisper before making a beeline toward the ladies' room door.

No one else is inside the institutional white bathroom, and I'm thankful for the privacy. I pump soap from the dispenser and flip on the water, scrubbing my hands together harder than necessary, but I have to get it off.

I look into the mirror as I rinse, my eyes wild.

I could lose him. In the flash of a moment, the possibility slaps me in the face again. I haven't even decided if I want to make this real, and I could already lose him. A tear breaks free and tracks down my face. I drop my gaze. I can't watch myself cry because I'll end up bawling like a baby, curled into the corner, and Boone deserves better than that.

That thought doesn't stop another tear from sliding down or the vise that binds my chest, crushing it and stealing my breath. I can't lose him. His family can't lose him.

The tears come faster now, and the blood still hasn't come off my hands. I get more soap from the dispenser and keep scrubbing to try to take my mind off the path where it was headed, but I can't.

My reflection is impossible to make out now with the tears clouding my vision, so I blink and look up at the ceiling.

That sweet little boy can't lose his uncle. Please, God, if you're out there listening, please don't put this family through the hell of losing him. I know they're strong, but they're good people, and they don't deserve this.

Before I can start making promises about what I'll do if he'll just let him live, someone pushes the door open and walks toward the stalls.

I duck my head and attempt to wipe my tears on my bare shoulder. After I rinse my hands one more time, they're finally free of blood. I grab paper towels from the dispenser and use them to erase the tear streaks on my face as well.

It's not until I'm leaving the bathroom that a thought crosses my mind.

What would I have been willing to promise to make sure Boone pulls through?

When I see his family huddled in the corner of the waiting room, his dad curving an arm around his mom's shoulder and Grant squeezing her hand on the other side, I know the answer.

Anything.

They look like such a solid unit that I don't want to cross the floor to interrupt them. I'm an outsider, and I know it. I fold my arms around my now chilling skin and squeeze.

Grant releases his mom's hand when he spots me and rises to his feet. He strides toward me and yanks off his hoodie before stopping in front of me and draping it around my shoulders.

"You're not gonna say no. I could see you shivering from across the room."

Cocooned in the huge sweatshirt, I push my arms into the sleeves and curl my fists into the fabric. 

"Thank you. I would've been fine."