Page 119 of One Last Shot
London got into the front. “Now I’m the getaway driver.”
“Just drive, baby.”
She pulled away, and Boo ducked down into the seat. The roads still bore the onslaught of the spring storm, much of the snow debris now shoved to the snowbanks, the roads wet and grimy.
“The blizzard broke early this morning,” London said. “I shoveled before I came in.”
“How is little Hannah?”
“I don’t know. I think she might still be up at the Copper Mountain clinic. Moose was really worried that you’d need surgery, so he made the ambulance bring you here.”
“Four weeks in a brace, then PT. So that’ll be super fun.”
They drove along the shoreline, the inlet still throwing waves against the rocks. Boo’s stomach growled.
“What do I say when Oaken shows up at our doorstep?” London asked.
“Maybe he won’t.”
“And maybe you’ll suddenly get up and run. C’mon,” London said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Hiding only makes things worse. You need to talk to him. This could be a simple misunderstanding.”
“Or talking could make things worse,” Boo said. “He could say the things I am hearing in my head and make them real. Trust me on this.”
London pursed her mouth but said nothing, her gazeback to the road.
They pulled up to the house, and Boo stilled to see a rental car in the lot.
Oh no.
“Seems like he beat us here.”
That couldn’t be, but she nearly told London to put the car in reverse. Then she spotted a man standing on the deck, staring out at the sound. Tall, wide-shouldered, dark hair, wearing a black jacket, boots.
Not Oaken.
All the same, everything tightened inside her. Especially when he turned, spotted them, and came off the deck, walking along the shoveled path to the driveway.
He opened her door and crouched. “Wow. That doesn’t look fun.”
“What are you doing here, Doyle?”
He made a thin line with his mouth. Then, “Dodge called Dad and told him you were missing and to pray we found you. Austen then made me get on a plane. It took me forty-eight hours to get here, and by the time I landed, Moose said they’d found you but you were injured.” He eyed the brace. “Broken leg?”
“Broken kneecap.”
He grimaced. “Okay. Well, let’s get you inside and packed.”
She was scooting toward him but stopped. “Packed?”
“It’s time for you to come home, little sis.”
“I’m not sure what I did,” Oaken said. He stood at the window of the Alaska Regional Hospital, staring out at the thawing parking lot, the sun high and strong.
Twenty-four hours after he’d returned from Copper Mountain, after he’d landed at the Air One HQ, rushed overto the hospital...
“She just... left?” The question came from Seraphina, who held coffee and stared at him from where she sat next to Mike’s bed. He’d been transferred, finally, to the med-surg ward, his leg still in traction, still on O2, although his stats were rising.
And he was managing to be awake for longer periods of time. He still looked wan and thin and diminished, however.