My blood runs cold. "What happened? Is he okay?"
"All I can say is that there's been an accident. Mr. Torres was brought in about thirty minutes ago."
CHAPTER NINE
DIESEL
Pain radiates through my body with each shallow breath. White hospital ceiling tiles blur above me as voices filter in and out of my consciousness. Something beeps rhythmically nearby. I try to move and immediately regret it, a sharp stab in my ribs forcing a groan past my lips.
"Mr. Torres, please try to stay still." A nurse appears in my field of vision, adjusting something on the IV in my arm. "You've got three broken ribs, a concussion, and quite a collection of cuts and bruises."
Memory flashes in disjointed fragments—Vanessa's smug smile across a table at The Velvet Antler. Her ultimatum. My refusal. Following her outside, the argument escalating. Then headlights, a black SUV accelerating toward me. The impact. Darkness.
"Sandra," I croak, my mouth dry as sandpaper. "Did you call her?"
"Yes, about twenty minutes ago." The nurse checks my vitals, her movements efficient. "She's on her way."
Relief washes through me, followed immediately by dread. What will I tell her? How can I explain any of this without losing her?
"What... what time is it?" My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
"Just after eight." The nurse adjusts my pillows with practiced ease. "The doctor will be in shortly to discuss your injuries. You were lucky, Mr. Torres. It could have been much worse."
Lucky isn't the word I'd choose. The attack was a warning—Vanessa's way of showing me she's serious. She always was one for dramatic gestures.
"The police?" I ask, though I already know the answer. Crimson Hollow's small department won't find anything. The SUV will be gone, Vanessa with it. She's too careful for that.
"They took a statement from witnesses, but they said there wasn't much to go on. Hit and run." The nurse frowns sympathetically. "Black SUV, no plates visible. Sheriff Parker said he'd stop by tomorrow for your statement."
Parker's a good man, but he's out of his depth with this. They all are. This is Vancouver business. My past catching up with me in the worst possible way.
"Diesel!" Sandra's voice cuts through the hospital noise from the hallway. "Where is he? I need to see him!"
My heart rate spikes, the monitor beside the bed betraying my reaction. The nurse gives me a knowing look before stepping toward the door.
"He's right here," she calls. "You can come in, but he needs rest."
Sandra appears in the doorway, face pale with fear, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion. She's breathing hard like she ran the whole way. Our eyes lock, and the raw emotion in her gaze nearly undoes me.
"Oh my god," she whispers, rushing to my bedside. Her hands hover over me, afraid to touch and cause pain. "What happened? They just said accident..."
The nurse discreetly slips out, leaving us alone. I reach for Sandra's hand, needing her touch despite the pain movement causes. "I'm okay. Looks worse than it is."
It's a lie. I feel like I've been hit by a freight train. But the relief that floods her face makes it worth it.
"Bullshit," she says, voice breaking as she carefully takes my hand. "You're in a hospital bed covered in bruises. That's not okay." Her fingers gently brush my forehead where I can feel stitches pulling at my skin. "Was it... was it her? Vanessa?"
I close my eyes briefly. No point lying. "Not directly. But yes."
Sandra's jaw tightens. "Tell me everything. Right now."
I swallow, the time for half-truths and evasion gone. "Help me sit up first."
She adjusts the bed controls, easing me to a more upright position. Even with the painkillers flooding my system, the movement sends fire through my ribcage. I can't quite suppress a wince.
"I met Vanessa at The Velvet Antler," I begin once the pain subsides to a manageable level. "She's... she's my ex-wife."
Sandra's eyes widen. "Wife? You were married?"
