Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

is rare. I’ve never found it with anyone else and I realize the chances of me doing so are one in a million.

It’s a depressing thought that takes me deeper into that dark place I’ve fallen.

Part of me refuses to give up the last shred of hope I still cling to with both hands, like a woman hanging off a cliff, clinging to that one scraggly sapling and praying it holds.

I wonder if there’s a chance I misread his feelings. Perhaps he wants to maintain this relationship as much as I do. Perhaps he’s just scared. And isn’t that what’s holding me back from just bringing it out in the open and talking about it? Perhaps I shouldn’t assume I know what he’s thinking or feeling. Maybe I just need to straight out ask him.

Have courage, Sara, and be a badass! Take control of your own destiny! The pep talk I give myself bolsters me enough to pull my phone out and decide to call him. Right now, before another minute passes, and I lose that courage.

Glancing down at my screen, I see I have a missed call from him that must have come in while my phone was in the bin in the security check. I look, but there’s no voice message. I call back but it goes straight to voicemail.

The gate attendant makes an announcement. “Travelers on Sun Air flight #4454 to Los Angeles it has been delayed two hours due to fog at its origination point in Denver.”

Groans fill the air in the seats around me.

Two hours. That gives me some time. I contemplate going back to ask Irish the question burning in my brain; if I stay, is that what he wants? I stand, grabbing my carryon, and only take a step before I hear another page come over the intercom.

“Sara Winston, please find a courtesy phone. Sara Winston, please find a courtesy phone.”

I ask the gate attendant where I can find one.

“Just there, ma’am.” He points out a phone in the corridor.

I grab my bag and roll it behind me, wondering what this could be about. Perhaps it’s Janis with another emergency from the film set.

I reach the courtesy phone and put it to my ear. “Hello? This is Sara Winston.”

“Miss Winston. You had an emergency call asking you to call back at this number. Are you ready to take it down?”

I frown. “Did they say who was calling?”

“A Mr. Cole Austin, ma’am. He said it was urgent you call back before boarding your flight.”

I press the receiver to my chest wondering what this could mean. A chill moves through my body and the hair on my arms stands up.

19

Green

My eyes flutter open, and I look around. I’m in a hospital room. Vague, hazy flashes of memory flip through my mind. I remember being asked if I know my blood type. Another of being rushed down a hall as lights flash past overhead. I remember coming awake briefly in the recovery area, seeing a nurse over by a desk, and a clock on the wall. I remember each time I woke, trying to focus in on the time before I fell back asleep, trying to see how much time was passing, but I could never remember what the time had been the last time I woke up.

I don’t remember how I got up to this room or how long I’ve been here. It’s dark outside, but I can’t see a clock.

I glance down. My leg is bandaged, a special film covers a section that looks like raw meat from severe road rash, my left arm is in a brace, and two fingers are splinted. I wiggle my toes and fall back to stare at the ceiling, and thank God I’m not paralyzed. I’m alive and breathing on my own, two very good signs. I turn my head, thankful that I’m able to do that. My good arm has an IV, but I’m able to reach up and touch my face, checking my jaw and head.

Overall, I’m damn lucky I’m not in a coma on a respirator or paralyzed.

The door opens and I turn my head.

Cole comes in.

“‘Bout time you woke up. How you feeling, brother?”

“Like I got run over.”

“Damn close. Wolf said you were thrown ten feet in the air when the pickup hit you. Saw it from the clubhouse parking lot. You didn’t make it half a block.”

“Fuck.”

“Everybody scrambled, racing to get to you. Crash put a tourniquet on your leg. You broke your femur, and blood was gushing from the bone jabbing through your jeans. He wrapped it with a bungee cord until the paramedics got to you.

“What’s wrong with my arm?”

“Separated shoulder. Doctors said you were damn lucky. Guess that figures, you and your damn Irish luck paid off this time.”

“Yeah, feels like it.” I joke darkly.

“You in a lot of pain?”

“Not at the moment.” I glance up at the two IV bags piggybacked into one tube. “I’m guessing they’ve got me on something good.”

“Probably.”

“How’s my bike?”

“Fucked up, but I’ve already got it in the shop. We’ll get it fixed.”

“Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary, Green.”

“When do I get out of here?”

“Gonna be a couple days, brother. Your leg is fucked up pretty bad.”

“Am I gonna be able to ride?”

“They didn’t say. First, we’ve got to get you walkin’ again.”

I glare over at him. “I’m not ridin’ a damn trike, Cole.”

“You’ll ride it if that’s all you can. That or you turn in your patch. You know the rules.”

“Two wheels or nothing. I’m not gonna be some grandpa.”

“Will you shut up about the bike?”

“Why? So I can get depressed about Sara leaving? What time is it anyway? How long have I been here?”

“It’s almost dawn. You were in surgery for hours last night.”

My head falls back on the pillow. “Guess she got on that plane. Must be back in LA by now.” I lift my head. “Where’s my phone? I need to call her.”

“You’re phone’s toast, dude. It’s in pieces back on the